No minors 🔞| any minors caught following this blog will be blocked | if your age isn’t stated at all you will also be blocked
✨Main Masterlist ✨
prompt list | 2
One very important piece of information I need to point out now is that I write all my stories with a female reader in mind. I do not specify: hair color/type, race, body types, eye colors unless it is a necessary factor for the story. As a woman of color I want everyone to be included so I try my best to avoid those details. Besides writing a specific gender, age plays a very important role here. I do not write fic with minors romantically involved with a fictional character or actor. This being said minors are not allowed to access any of my writing or adult content that I may reblog. If you are following me and I see that you are a minor or do not have your age in your bio I will block you. I’m sorry but I will do everything I can to protect myself and other blogs from being deactivated or worse all because a minor accesses and consumes adult content.
Actors
All RPF is marked with ‘AU!’ to clarify that I do not personally know them and do not and will not write with purpose spread negative things about their families and personal relationships
Films & Shows
Marvel, DC,The Night Agent, Shadow and Bone, Top Gun, The Mandalorian, The Witcher, The Punisher, Criminal Minds , Star Wars, Supernatural, Peaky Blinders, GOT, Walking Dead, Daredevil, and more
Pairings | Alpha Ghost x Omega Reader, Alpha Price x Omega Reader, Alpha Soap x Omega Reader, Alpha Gaz x Omega Reader, 141 x Reader.
Summary | Six months ago you overheard them planning to make you theirs. So you ran. You had no idea they were going to chase you.
Tags | Slow burn, omegaverse, non-traditional omega reader, Reader has a spine and uses it, suppressed heats, wolf going dormant, found and dragged back, John being terrifyingly patient, Simon being terrifyingly honest, Kyle being soft about it, Soap being a menace, angst, found family if you squint, the hunt is very much still on, she is NOT going to make this easy for them, upcoming heat arc, no instalove just instinct fighting instinct, 141 being possessive jerks, injections, blood, period mentioned, sick omega.
This is an ongoing Jack Abbot x reader / Jack Abbot x you fanfiction. So new chapters will be added as we go.
I can't add any more links to this post (apparently there's a link limit and I had no idea). So this is part 1 of my series master list - you'll find part 2 at the bottom.
If you ever have ideas, thoughts or something you'd love to see, feel free to drop me a message or an ask. I can't promise anything, but I'll definitely see what I can do.
Content warnings: some angst, some fluff, unplanned pregnancy and relationship trouble - because we like to suffer a little before things get better
Summary: When you went grocery shopping you didn't expect to come home with the number of a very handsome ED doctor
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
Part 1: You stole my cart
When you went grocery shopping you didn't expect to come home with the number of a very handsome ED doctor
--- --- ---
Part 2: Wanna grab coffee?
You finally kiss him. Later you google his name... and understands he's carrying far more than you'd expected.
--- --- ---
Part 3: "Wanna come over?"
What starts as a flirty dinner invitation becomes a night of honesty and careful firsts.
--- --- ---
Part 4: I knew you were trouble
Your first morning together. One cheeky comment from you. And suddenly - another first.
--- --- ---
Part 5: Am I your girlfriend?
All you wanted was clarity. Instead it became an inside-joke - and the start of your favourite little game.
--- --- ---
Part 6: And you are...?
You just came to pick your boyfriend up for breakfast after his shift. Instead you accidentally became the main attraction of the entire emergency department.
--- --- ---
Part 7: I can't compete with ghosts
A shower, a bedside drawer and a discovery you never expected - and suddenly you're in your first real fight.
--- --- ---
Part 8: I'm like Mary Poppins - just more handsome and with more drugs
Two days of fever, no voice and ignored messages. (Un)fortunately for you, Jack Abbot notices.
--- --- ---
Part 9: I've got a face for television, baby
A cozy lake house getaway. No bodies to bury. Just some fluff.
--- --- ---
Part 10: I pretend I'm not completely confused by this
You were always the one preaching honesty and open communication. And now you're the one keeping a secret.
--- --- ---
Part 11: I told you to slow down with the drinks
When Jack thinks you're sick because you drank too much, the real reason turns out to be far more sobering - for both of you.
--- --- ---
Part 12: Don't you dare apologize, kiddo
The night isn't over yet and neither is the conversation
--- --- ---
Part 13: I'll be right here and clean up the mess
Some nights are harder than others. Good thing you're not facing them alone anymore.
--- --- ---
Part 14: Reminds me of my time in Afghanistan, just a bit nicer
You can take the doctor ouf of the hospital but you can't take the hospital out of him.
--- --- ---
Interlude I
The next three chapters will be a little different in style. I wanted to show a bit of Jack’s side of the story, and there’s probably no better way to do that than through his therapy sessions.
Tell me about it (The Jack Sessions - Part I)
Tell me about it (The Jack Sessions - Part II)
Tell me about it (The Jack Sessions - Part III)
--- --- ---
Part 15: What's next? Bungee jumping?
What happens when you're finally released from the hospital? Apparently: snow, Christmas plans, Jack being overprotective… and a whole lot of fluff.
--- --- ---
Part 16: Grief-induced rebound-shag? Did he really say that?
Christmas Party at Robbys place. That's it. That's the plot. Enjoy!
--- --- ---
Part 17: You can't say that anymore
Apparently the thought of fatherhood changes a few things about Jack. Unfortunately, one of those realizations happens in the bedroom.
--- --- ---
Part 18: I'm not Santa but I brought gifts anyway
Christmas decorations appear where Jack definitely didn’t leave them, gifts are exchanged, and pregnancy hormones make New Year's Eve a little different than planned.
--- --- ---
Part 19: You shouldn't be worrying about money
You never liked talking about money. Unfortunately sometimes life forces the conversation. Luckily Jack doesn't mind taking care of things.
--- --- ---
Part 20: The eyes, Jack. The eyes.
You are telling a funny story. And Jack... listens.
--- --- ---
Part 21: Didn't know your dad was here helping you move
Moving day, creepy neighbour and a jealous Jack. Happy ending guaranteed.
--- --- ---
Part 22: I'm a hopeless romantic trapped in the body of a slightly sarcastic boomer
Jack was never the most romantic guy. And then Valentine's Day happened. The morning brings a surprise neither of you ever wanted.
A/N: This chapter contains some angst, including bleeding during pregnancy, mentions of blood and a miscarriage scare
--- --- ---
Part 23: I've been thinking about something...
Jack has been thinking about you again. It's lucky he's a brilliant physician because communication clearly isn't his strongest skill.
--- --- ---
Part 24: Hard to predict what I'll do in the haze after night shift
Jack likes to be prepared. Unfortunately for you that now includes preparing for the baby like it's a medical emergency.
--- --- ---
Part 25: I'm not your punching bag
Pregnancy hormones, old wounds and the difficult art of actually talking to each other.
--- --- ---
Part 26: Not my fault you can't keep it in your scrubs
Sometimes all a man needs is brunch with his best friend.
--- --- ---
Part 27: That's not enough time
Sometimes honest conversations take time… and it seems like the time has finally come.
--- --- ---
Part 28: Congratulations on the degree, Dr. Abbot
Waiting is the worst part - especially when nerves take over. And especially when your boyfriend is a highly trained physician who’s used to being in control… until he’s not.
--- --- ---
Part 29: I didn't know she was your girl
A quick trip to your old apartment turns into a lesson in boundaries - Jack style.
--- --- ---
Part 30: You guys act like he committed a crime
You had one simple plan: in, out, no drama. Well. The plan did not survive.
--- --- ---
Part 31: You never have to apologize for calling me or being scared
You're home alone, very pregnant and suddenly your body starts doing something it definitely did not do before...
--- --- ---
Part 32: It's about the fact that I don't want you to die
When Robby asks you to pick up your boyfriend you expect him to be drunk. Not… whatever this is.
--- --- ---
Bonus chapter: Did you actually think this through?
Jack gets hurt on a SWAT call and calls the one person he trusts most - unfortunately, this person has opinions.
--- --- ---
Part 33: You had a problem. I fixed it. No big deal.
Jacks an emergency medicine specialist. If you have a problem he will find a way to handle it. Apparently he’s also an expert in any kind of emergencies.
--- --- ---
Part 34: Sorry for being so fucking late
It starts with “This is probably nothing” and ends with “Oh god, this is happening.” And the only question is: where is Jack?
--- --- ---
Interlude II: And she called you?!
Let's answer the very important question before moving on: Where the hell was Jack? (A very short interlude)
--- --- ---
Part 35: You did so fucking brilliantly, kiddo
He made it. And now there’s no turning back.
--- --- ---
Part 36: She deserves to become her own person
The first quiet moment alone with your daughter and your boyfriend. You are happy - but the guilt hasn’t quite let go yet.
--- --- ---
Part 37: I think we made a mistake
Robby is the first visitor. He did not plan on getting emotional about it.
--- --- ---
Part 38: You two do realize you're not a couple, right?
Jack introduces his newborn daughter to the ED. Featuring proud dad energy, Robby being the worlds most intense godfather and a team that is absolutely losing it over baby Lizzie.
--- --- ---
Part 39: I don't know what to do. I don't know anything
The first days with a newboarn aren't easy... but you're not doing it alone.
--- --- ---
Part 40: I'm glad he finally stuck with something
Jack is excited for his sisters visit. You try to be too. But something about her just doesn't feel quite... right.
--- --- ---
Part 41: It's not against you, darling. It's just... personal
Some comments linger. Some truths explode. And not everything said can be taken back.
--- --- ---
Part 42: I get it. Family isn't easy
Bad timing, family drama and a man who is absolutely done being polite.
--- --- ---
Part 43: I don't want you thinking about my sister the first time we have sex again
You try to make an effort. He makes it very clear you don’t have to.
--- --- ---
Part 44: You had it coming
Family is complicated. Especially when the truth finally shows up.
--- --- ---
Bonus Chapter: You don't get to decide what kind of woman I should be
Some conversations aren’t about winning. They’re about being heard.
--- --- ---
Part 45: I didn't think it was all battle royal out there
Daycare hunting hits like a competetive sport you didn't know you'd already lost
--- --- ---
Bonus chapter: Wow. Not even hypothetical me gets any freedom?
Jack and Robby try to figure out childcare. It's not their ... most productive conversation.
--- --- ---
Part 46: You wanna tell me something?
What should've been a quiet brunch turns into a fight about something that means very different things to both of them - and suddenly thirty years of friendship feel shaky.
--- --- ---
Part 47: But now listen carefully - Daddy's first important life lesson for you
First baby group, first mom friends - and Jack who’s somehow more nervous about all of it than you are
--- --- ---
Part 48: That face needs to populate a whole bloodline
What starts with a new member in the baby group turns into jealousy - and ends in an insufferable ego boost.
--- --- ---
Part 49: I know exactly who to call
Lizzie needs her first shots. Jack thinks he can handle it. Spoiler: he cannot.
--- --- ---
Part 50: I think I'm more comfortable falling apart in my own apartment
A sleepless night, a screaming baby and the overwhelming fear of failing.
--- --- ---
Part 51: It's just a rough patch. Okay?
You are one breakdown away from walking out. Jack has seen worse - and he's not letting you fall apart.
--- --- ---
Part 52: If you think I'm helicoptering - he's next level
You hit your limit last night. Today you pick yourself back up- with help, of course.
--- --- ---
Part 53: She's totally judging you
A quiet afternoon, a gentle conversation... and Lizzie having opinions
--- --- ---
Part 54: I don't need an audience
An intimate moment gets unexpectedly interrupted.
--- --- ---
Part 55: Good call, labeling your boss the department slut
Lizzie is already a few months old but that doesn't stop the Pitt crew from throwing a party.
--- --- ---
Part 56: I think that's a bad idea, girl
When the nights get too overwhelming, you find yourself reaching out for help. But some things are easier to hide than to explain.
--- --- ---
Part 57: I thought things were going well
Too many things left unsaid, one moment too far - and suddenly the damage is real. (Aka Jack fucks up tremendously.)
--- --- ---
Interlude II:
Tell me about it (The Jack Sessions - Part IV)
Jack's in therapy. It gets uncomfortable fast.
--- --- ---
Part 58: Please tell me she insulted you
Brunch again. Jack has a conversation with Robby that's uncomfortable - for at least one of them.
--- --- ---
Part 59: Must be a world record with only one-and-a-half legs
Sometimes tough conversations really are just a walk in the park. (With Robby of all people.)
--- --- ---
Interlude III:
Tell me about it (The Jack Sessions - Part V)
Therapy again. That's the plot.
--- --- ---
Part 60: We're okay. So let's be... okay
A small breakdown, a quiet reset - and the work begins.
--- --- ---
Interlude IV:
Let's talk about it (The Couple Sessions - Part I)
Jack takes his therapist's advice… and you end up in couples therapy.
--- --- ---
Part 61: And sorry I'm not a woman you could hit on
When you and Jack plan your first baby-free night out, you find a babysitter. It's not Robby - and he takes it personally.
--- --- ---
Part 62: Maybe they think we're having an affair
No baby. No chaos. Just them, wine, bad joked - and a piece of Jacks past that no one was supposed to know.
--- --- ---
Part 63: That was the funniest thing you ever said
You were just going to do some laundry. Instead you find something Jack’s been hiding - cue a misunderstanding, a minor crisis and Jack trying (very badly) to be responsible.
--- --- ---
Part 64: Don't do that, girl. Some of us had a rough shift
Lizzies first Thanksgiving: an extra guest, a questionable amount of food, a brief deep dive into systemic issues and a resident performing turkey surgery. Karaoke may or may not be involved.
--- --- ---
Bonus chapter: robbby forced me. 0/10 expeirence. miss you.
Karaoke.
--- --- ---
Part 65: I feel like we missed a memo
Plan: sexy breakfast for boyfriend. Reality: boyfriend brings coworkers.
--- --- ---
Part 66: So, we are negotiating with terrorists now?
Jack Abbot, experienced medical professional, outsmarted and emotionally manipulated by a baby with strong opinions and excellent grip strength.
--- --- ---
Part 67: I think I could use your help too
Jack runs into his therapist in public and is forced to watch Robby hit on her in real time.
--- --- ---
Part 68: I'm working nights over Christmas, by the way
Jack reveals he's working over Christmas turning a simple holiday plan into a quiet but painful argument.
--- --- ---
Interlude V:
Tell Me About It (The Jack Sessions - Part VI)
Jack is in serious need of therapy today
--- --- ---
Part 69: I just need a break
Jack tells you the real reason he chose to work Christmas. It goes about as well as you'd expect.
--- --- ---
Part 70: That's not a win. That's a warning
Jack has a therapist. And then he has Robby. Reality checks included. Coffee optional.
--- --- ---
Bonus chapter: A knee to the balls would probably fix that dick-swinging behavior
What happens after you walk out on Jack - and before you go back to face him? Well… the answer’s simple: A much-needed girl talk. (And wine.)
--- --- ---
Part 71: That is emotional bullshit with fake snow
Christmas arrives. You expect the worst - and get something better anyway
--- --- ---
Part 72: I'm a big girl, you know?
Jack is late. And this time you don’t wait.
--- --- ---
Part 73: Not now, Lizzie. Daddy needs his hands free to sort that guy out
In the weird limbo after Christmas, you decide to throw a New Year’s Eve party - complete with too many guests, a little harmless flirting and the ongoing challenge of keeping Robby away from Mara.
--- --- ---
Part 74: She's doing coke with some guy in the bathroom
“It's just a few days.” Turns out a few days is more than enough for Jack to realize what he actually wants - and what he might be losing.
--- --- ---
Interlude VI:
Tell me about it (The Jack Sessions - Part V)
It's day five of your absence and Jack has another therapy session - one that’s very much needed and emotionally charged.
--- --- ---
Bonus chapter: Tell me again - why didn't you bring Jack?
You were looking forward to some alone time with your mom - until she called you out.
--- --- ---
Part 75: You're really not making this easy for me, huh?
You come home. Nothing is fully fixed - but it's a start.
--- --- ---
Part 76: Can I ask you something?
Coffee, communication and the quiet realization that you're actually going to make this work.
--- --- ---
Interlude VII:
What the hell are you working on?
Jack at the gym. A very short interlude.
--- --- ---
Part 77: But boy, I guess he’s a disaster on the inside
A much mneeded girls night and an unexpected visitor. Tumbler included.
--- --- ---
Interlude VIII:
:)
Some texts between Robby and you.
--- --- ---
Interlude IX:
Inter-Interlude: Your best friend is completely unhinged
In the spirit of democracy, this summer is going to be a DBF series double-header ;)
On a camping trip celebrating your father's fiftieth birthday party, you cross paths with Jack, his best friend and old military pal. What follows is a seventy-two-hour love affair that ends with his abrupt departure. No note, no calls. You don't even know how to find him - or if you want to.
Four years later, you begin your ER residency at PTMC. Your night shift attending? The same man who took your virginity, broke your heart, and then disappeared without a trace. But you're not the same wide-eyed girl he left behind, and you soon prove yourself as an impressive force of nature.
He’s a curse you can’t break. You are the temptation he can’t resist.
Coming soon to a Tumblr near you!
Weekly Updates starting Friday, April 17th. 12:00AM PST.
[In Progress] 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. (ongoing)
Read on AO3!
NOTE I do not have a taglist. Follow @notify-fxckingjo for all updates :))
UPDATE: The semi-official Crash Course soundtrack is here!!!
‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚. jack abbot x kindergarten teacher!reader
❀ jack abbot who comes into his wife's kindergarten class every year on careers day to tell the kids all about being a doctor
❀ jack abbot who keeps all of the drawings the students make for him
❀ jack abbot who is always called for paediatric cases because he spends so much time in his wife's class, and knows what to talk to the kids about to keep them distracted
❀ jack abbot who remembers the names of all his wife's students and remembers everything she tells him about them
❀ jack abbot who sits quietly on saturday mornings and reads medical journals while his wife marks her students work
❀ jack abbot who helps out with all the school fairs and performances, he even goes on all their fields trips (for practicality of course, he can be a first aider if needed, not because he secretly loves the trips to the aquarium)
❀ jack abbot who helps decorate her classroom every summer (and for halloween and christmas)
❀ jack abbot who always buys his wife two bouquets of flowers, one for the dining table and one for her desk in her classroom
summary: after receiving an invitation to your ex’s wedding, you make it everyone else’s problem. until jack decides he’s had enough and offers a solution.
word count: 3.5k
after a uni and work induced hiatus i am so happy to be back ive missed you all lots and lots xxx
You cursed yourself and whatever higher power encouraged you to scan through your junk email whilst taking a breather from the ER. The stupid, cliche pdf invite and rsvp stared up at you from the screen as you resisted throwing it off the roof altogether.
It had been sent a few months ago and you had managed to miss it. Until now, at 2am, just after halfway into your shift.
Your jaw clenched. You didn’t even feel sad, only anger at the nerve of them. It must’ve been her idea, you had seethed on the phone to your sister, there’s no way he would’ve even thought about having you there.
This news couldn’t have come at a worse time, it was slammed downstairs with drunken idiots and mysterious ailments you couldn’t imagine what people were doing to contract.
Your sister allowed you to rant at her down the phone until the heavy fire escape door opened behind you, one of the nurses was coming to retrieve you.
“We really need you downstairs.” He called out, and you heard the door shut once more. Clearly no time to waste in this retrieval mission as his steps retreated down the stairs.
You should’ve been flattered. Should’ve. That the place couldn’t last 15 minutes without you as you caught your breath but in that moment you couldn’t concentrate on anything but what you had found.
Your ex had invited you to his wedding. That was next week. Conveniently on your day off.
You let out a groan, then a huff and a quiet scream before running a hand through your hair and deciding to brave the ER once more.
It was basically the same as how you left it before you went up to the roof to catch your breath. A patient in every room, and even more in the waiting room and chairs. It was borderline suffocating, but nothing you hadn’t faced before.
Making your way over to the hub, you stopped beside Ellis and put your phone down on the side, sliding it to her.
“Hide this from me, please.” You stated, she let out a dry chuckle.
“You good?” She questioned, turning to look at you and clocking the expression on your face.
You attempted to un-clench your jaw and cleared your throat, nodding as you didn’t trust your voice. Quickly, you looked up at the board and picked the first free case you saw and made your way over to Central 7.
The patient was a seven year old girl who had come in with her father with chest pains that had worsened over the last few days.
You painted the best smile you could across your face as you entered, introducing yourself before beginning to ask the girl about her symptoms.
You sat down on the stool next to her and listened intently as she spoke, determined to not let the email mess with you or your work.
“From what I’m hearing I’m thinking it could be an inflammation of your ribs where they meet in the middle.” You noted how the girl’s eyes widened and her small hand fisted the sheets beneath her. You also noted how her dad did nothing but stare down at his phone, scrolling as various video audios played too-loudly for a hospital room.
“It’s nothing to worry about, I promise. It’ll go away by itself in a couple weeks and we’ll set you up with some painkillers to ease any discomfort.” You assured, looking back at her.
Her dad remained silent, still on his phone but typing something instead.
“Are you listening, sir?” You asked him, your voice curt.
He waved a hand dismissively, “yeah, inflammation or whatever.”
You sighed and stood, opening the door. “Step outside with me for a second?”
He stopped for a second before rolling his eyes and following you.
“Is there a problem?” You asked, arms folded.
“You tell me, you’re the doctor.” He scoffed.
“Well, you’re her dad, I just thought you might care a bit more-“
“Excuse me? Who do you think you are?” His voice raised, people looked over. Jack was one of them.
As attending, Jack made it his business to know everything going on within the ER when it was his, and raised voices was definitely his business.
He glanced up from the computer he was sat at in an attempt to catch up on charting when he heard it, when he heard you. He looked up to see you in a heated discussion with a man who appeared angry from a distance.
Jack watched as the guy threw his hands up at you and then pushed open the door to the room you were stood in front of. He watched you pinch your brow and sigh before making your way to check up on other patients in the north section, your mouth moving as you muttered to yourself.
It was nearing 4am when the madness finally began to calm and the waiting room was cleared out by the efforts of the night shift. You found the time in between patients to set up at a computer and catch up on some charting.
You had managed to keep the invite from your mind and yourself cool and calm - other than the dad earlier but he was being a dick, so that totally wasn’t on you.
That was what you told yourself. The rest of the Pitt came to disagree though. Abbot, Ellis and Shen watched from the Hub as you harshly typed away at the keyboard before you with your jaw clenched and brows furrowed.
The trio attempted to trace the root of your bad mood, with various nurses and student doctors having come to Abbot asking if you were alright - your usual kind and friendly disposition having disappeared.
Shen recalled how earlier he had gotten you a coffee, and you hadn’t even looked at him, just a very dry ‘thanks’.
“I do not wanna poke that bear, I’ll be steering clear for now.” Shen chuckled as he walked off to check up on the queue for CTs.
The final straw for Jack’s concern didn’t come until later, when you snapped at one of the student doctors right in front of him.
“Come on Soto, you should’ve known! I went through this with you yesterday - you gotta be better than this!” Your voice was harsh and uncaring, Soto’s face was drained of colour, humiliated.
Jack watched on in shock, removing his gloves as you stormed out of the room. He trailed closely on your heels.
You were almost at the bathroom door when two hands grabbed you firmly by the shoulders from behind. You startled and turned to see who it was. Jack. Shit.
With his hands still on your shoulders, you allowed him to guide you out into the ambulance bay, parking you by the flower beds. You leant against them and bit your lip, looking sheepishly up at him as he stood over you, arms folded.
“Are you gonna tell me what’s up with you tonight or are you gonna make me guess?”
You felt your cheeks flush, mortified as your behaviour throughout the night dawned on you. You had been so nasty, so rude to everyone, to your friends. How could you let this affect you so much?
Jack watched over you, his expression softening as he noted the quivering of your lip and the sadness that invaded your lovely features.
“Woah now,” He said gently, leaning to sit beside you, his gaze not leaving your face, “look at me, what’s going on?”
You breathed in shakily, unable to bring yourself to look at him just yet as you picked at your nails.
“I-uh- stepped out for a few minutes earlier and saw that my ex invited me to his wedding.”
Jack huffed out a breath at your words. “Jesus, is this the uh- ex fiancé?.” You nodded.
“He left me for another woman, his new fiancée.” You finally looked up at the man sat beside you and watched his face contort in disgust.
“What a shitbag.”
You allowed yourself to laugh, nodding and happily accepting his defence over you and disdain for your ex. You noted the weight of it all lifting as you sat next to your attending, enjoying his company for a quiet moment the manic nature of the PTMC.
“Are you going?” He asked, voice low - cautious almost.
You scoffed a laugh, then bit your lip at the thought. You could go, but you could also sit in pity the whole night with a bottle of wine for one, a tub of ice cream and Sex and the City reruns. Both tempting offers.
Jack noted your hesitation, “I think you should.”
You glanced up at him, brows furrowed and a look of disbelief painted across your face.
“Really?” You asked, he nodded. “Why?”
The attending shrugged, coyly looking out at the rarely-quiet ambulance bay. “Show em what they’re missing.”
“Yeah I’ll show up, alone, probably get too drunk, knock the cake over ‘accidentally’ and make a fool of myself.” You both laughed at the thought of an elaborate tiered cake toppling to the floor of your enemies’ wedding.
He nudged your shoulder with his own, grinning “oh come on, I’m sure there’s a queue of guys - or gals - just waiting for their chance with you.”
You chuckled and thanked him for his faith in you, but nonetheless you were much in the same position. The pair of you remained silent for a moment.
“Hell, I’ll go with you if need be.”
The words shocked you. He said it so casually. You had rarely seen him outside of the hospital, not in scrubs at the occasional Christmas-do or group night out. The thought of being with just him, outside of work made your stomach flip.
“You’d do that for me?” Your voice came out quietly.
He shrugged, “if it means I get my best senior resident back and friendly.”
Your cheeks flushed, and you laughed dryly. “I have been a bit of a dick tonight. God I need to apologise to Soto.”
“You do, but it’s a shitty thing so you’re excused a little.”
You nodded, unable to ignore the pit in your stomach at how shitty you had been to everyone.
“So I’ll pick you up next week?” His head was tilted to one side as he looked at you expectantly.
You nodded, allowing a smile to grace your face, which Jack mirrored as he stood. He placed a warm, reassuring hand on your shoulder as he made his way back inside.
“I’ll tell Soto you’re looking for her.”
—
The wedding venue was about an hours drive outside of the city and, as promised, Jack picked you up the morning of. The two of you had agreed to skip the ceremony and go straight to the reception that was being held at a ridiculously expensive hotel.
Despite your initial worries of spending one-on-one time with Jack, there was no need. There was no opportunities for awkwardness or silence as you two road tripped to the location on the invite, singing along to songs together and chatting as friends.
There was however plenty of opportunities for you to admire him out of his scrubs and combat boots, which had been swapped out for an all black suit and shirt. His greying hair was also combed differently and somewhat styled. All welcome changes in your mind, you hadn’t thought it possible for him to get any more attractive.
As you eyed the arrival time on the maps edging closer, Jack noted your demeanour change. Where you had been giggling and singing along to the music, you now sat and fiddled with the skirt of your dress and remained silent. The reality of where you were going settling in.
Keeping his eyes mostly on the road, he stole glances at you when he could and clenched his jaw at your discomfort in his passenger seat.
“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.” He reminded you, as he had done every so often since he initially offered to go with you.
You shook your head, looking at him even when he couldn’t look back.
“No, I want to it’ll give me closure and I do want to it’s just-“
“Scary?” He finished your sentence, you nodded.
“Well there’s no need, the second things aren’t going how you need them to, we are back in this car. You are smart, successful and an amazing doctor.” He paused as you took in his words, your heart filling with appreciation as you understood how he saw you.
“Not to mention drop dead fucking gorgeous.” He grinned over at you, his eyes raking over your figure.
You laughed loudly at his boldness, accepting the compliment. “I’m sure all the ladies tonight will agree that I’m the lucky one in this pairing. You should start wearing that to work” You wolf whistled to get the point across and he laughed in return.
Glancing out the window, you allowed yourself to appreciate Jack and what he was doing for you, unable to ignore the growing butterflies in your stomach that appeared whenever you seemed to look at him.
You had been able to ignore these feelings for a long time, owing it to the close proximity of the PTMC and his charming nature. But outside of that setting, realising he was giving up his day off for you, going out of his way to dress up and be with you, support you. Could he feel the same way?
The wheels of the car crackled against the stone pebbled driveway and entrance to the hotel as Jack looked for a spot to park, the wedding party clearly filling in most of the spaces. The remainder of the drive had been largely uneventful, your nerves having been put at ease by him and his presence.
It was relatively easy to find the reception, the pair of you trailing behind other guests just arriving and making their way through the lobby of the hotel and into a large dining hall.
In the entryway, Jack offered you his arm which you graciously took, doing your best to hide the blush that had coated your cheeks. You didn’t hide it very well and Jack couldn’t help but feel smug.
After analysing the seating chart, you found yourself and Jack tucked away in the far corner, furthest from the family tables and the bride and groom themselves. What a relief.
The room began to fill up as the rest of the guests filed in from the ceremony, all seats occupied except the final two at the very head of the room.
You looked ahead and watched as people began to stand and applaud. They were making their grand entrance. Jack rested a reassuring hand on your thigh and you couldn’t even find it in you to be flustered or scream internally at your work crush touching you so because your stupid fucking ex was walking into his stupid fucking wedding with his new stupid fucking wife.
They whooped and hollered as they entered, clearly loving all the attention, Jack noted. He analysed the two of them. Your ex was much shorter than he was expecting, and his teeth were yellower than in the photos he had seen. His new wife was nice looking, he had to admit, but her dress was enormous and swamped her entirely, puffing out so much the pair had to lean awkwardly over layers of tulle and satin to kiss.
She looked like a cupcake, Jack thought. His hand remained on your leg, his thumb stroking delicately against the fabric of your dress as he looked back at you.
After the initial shock, and downing the glass of wine a waiter had brought you moments before, you seemed alright. Your breathing was less erratic and your jaw brows weren’t furrowed as Jack had become so used to seeing during the whole affair.
You felt fine. You weren’t happy, of course but you didn’t feel much else. All these pent up emotions, the fear of seeing them both after all this time was no longer there. Acceptance rolled over you, smiling to yourself as you placed your own hand over Jack’s that sat on your leg.
You saw him grinning out of the corner of your eyes.
The reception went on as expected, an okay but definitely overpriced meal, small talk with the others at your table - distant aunts and kindergarten friends of the couple. The speeches were painful though, you and Jack agreed, with the bride’s dad having misplaced his script and trying to replicate his on the spot, and a much too-detailed recollection of the groom’s college frat days from the best man.
You watched out the windows as the day melted into evening then night, the sky darkening as the moon rose and the stars began to shine. And with nightfall, the tables were moved aside, giving way to the dance floor and a DJ deck.
Unwilling to let you sit down all night, Jack had attempted to lead you to dance a little, but accepted your protests of being too sober and instead leading you to the bar. Ever the gentleman, he once more offered his arm which you accepted.
“How you feeling?” His voice was soft, caring.
You nodded, “I’m alright actually, I guess I built it all up so much over the last few years and then they’re just there, no devil horns or pitchforks just, fine.”
“I feel like you had every right to build it all up, but I’m glad you’re okay.” He smiled, and you reciprocated.
At the bar, Jack joined the small crowd waiting to order as he attempted to flag down the clearly flustered bartender whilst you wandered over to a window that looked over the hotel grounds.
Jack joined you once more, handing you another glass of wine whilst he nursed a glass of water for himself, conscious of the drive home when you wanted to leave.
You both stayed silent for a while, taking in the scenery and allowing your shoulders to brush every so often.
“What a beautiful-“
“Now this is a handsome couple.”
A new voice had cut you off, you and Jack both turned to face the photographer who you had previously seen running around the dance floor attempting to get ‘candids’ of the bridal party to no avail.
You smiled politely, squealing internally at him calling you and Jack a handsome couple. You and ultra mega ER hottie a couple.
The photographer raised his camera, ushering you both to place your drinks on a nearby table and into position next to one another, his hand finding its place on your hip as you placed your own on his chest. It felt so right as you both molded to one another.
The camera flashed a few times, you looked up at Jack and the two of you couldn’t help but laugh at the situation.
“Ah! The look of love!” The photographer cooed, you and Jack both tensing slightly at the outright statement of it, both understanding that it could be true.
“Just one more, with a little kiss?”
You thought your brain short circuited for a moment as you both stood, slightly gaping at one another.
“We don’t have to-“ Jack murmured, but you turned to face him, sliding your hands up to rest behind his neck as you pulled him to you, with plenty of room for protest.
He did not, instead, his own hands found refuge around your waist as he met you in the middle. Your lips connected, tentative at first until you both realised what was truly happening; he tilted his head to the side, deepening the kiss as his grip around you strengthened.
You let out a surprised squeal and felt him smile against you before you melted into one another again; until camera clicking pulled you back to the photographer watching on, sheepishly pulling yourself away from Jack to look back at him.
“Such passion.” He grinned with a wink, offering his business card which Jack slipped inside his jacket pocket, “for when you two tie the knot.” Before traipsing back into the main hall to rejoin the festivities.
You cleared your throat, glancing back at Jack who still held you in his strong arms. You laughed softly, raising a hand to wipe his lips where your glittering lipgloss had transferred.
“What? Not my colour?” You had never seen Jack smile so widely as he looked down at you, laughing at his own joke.
You hummed, pulling him back down to you once more, “I guess we’re just gonna have to keep trying.”
The kiss was gentler this time as you both smiled into it, until he pulled himself away much to your dismay.
“Does this mean I’m gonna have to book a meeting with HR?”
You pushed his shoulder away playfully, scoffing and rolling your eyes mockingly as he laughed, drawing you back into him once more.
“You’re right, it can wait.”
-
a/n: omg this was so long and entirely self indulgent i do apologise, but please let me know what you guys think !! i love reading your comments xx
pairing: dr. jack abbot x younger resident!reader
summary: You’re used to handling things alone, even if handling them means skipping meals, ignoring problems, and laughing before anyone can see where it stings. Then Jack Abbot starts noticing too much. He pays attention in that quiet, maddening way of his, all dry comments and practical solutions, until calling him your sugar daddy stops feeling like a joke and starts feeling like the only safe name for something you’re too terrified to admit.
Because the problem with Jack Abbot isn’t that he wants to take care of you. It’s that you want to let him.
wc: 12.9k
a/n: and here it is, the accidental sugar daddy abbot fic i started over a month ago!! was initially toying with the idea to turn this into a multi-chaptered story but eventually settled on a one-shot instead because i have way too many ongoing fics i need to finish at some point lmao. i really wanted to take the sugar daddy trope and make it feel more grounded and in-character for jack, less flashy billionaire fantasy, more quiet practical care that gets way too intimate before either of you knows what to do with it. not beta read.
warnings: age gap, workplace power imbalance, attending/resident turned sd/sb dynamic, class/money insecurity, possessive/soft dom!jack, semi-public sex, piv, car sex, unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk, praise kink, mild degradation, biting/marking, daddy kink adjacent, public humiliation, no use of y/n
MASTERLIST
By the third time your card declined in front of Jack Abbot, you were ready to walk into traffic and let Pittsburgh finish what your bank account started.
Not dramatically. Not even with much feeling.
Just a clean, practical exit from the kind of humiliation that made your skin feel too tight over your bones.
The cafeteria at PTMC was too bright for this hour, all hard fluorescent light and polished floors and the faint, permanent smell of fryer oil losing a war against antiseptic. Behind you, the emergency department pulsed on with its usual awful rhythm—monitors chiming, stretchers squealing past, somebody coughing low and ragged, the sound dragging itself through the corridor, Dana Evans barking for someone to move their ass before she moved it for them. It was a living thing down here. Hungry. Overlit. Never satisfied.
You had a wrapped turkey sandwich in one hand, a bruised banana in the other, and that particular, skin-tight shame of being broke in public.
The cashier, who looked as tired as everyone else in the building, tried not to make a face at the register.
“Sometimes it’s the chip,” she said.
“It’s not the chip,” you said, because apparently your mouth had decided the truth was less embarrassing than optimism.
You could feel the line behind you growing restless. A respiratory therapist with a Diet Coke. A med student in wrinkled scrubs whispering urgently into their phone. Dr. Whitaker, gentle-eyed and awkward, staring at the ceiling like he was trying to give you privacy by force of will. Somewhere near the coffee station, Santos was talking too loudly about a procedure she “absolutely could’ve done faster if anyone had let her finish,” and Dr. Mohan was answering in that careful, measured way that made even a correction sound like she’d considered the whole person first.
You shifted the sandwich lower against your palm.
“It’s fine,” you said, already turning. “I don’t need it.”
A hand reached past your shoulder and tapped a card against the reader.
The machine beeped.
Approved.
You froze.
Jack Abbot stood close enough behind you that you caught the familiar edge of him before you looked up—the clean, medicinal bite of hospital soap, the stale warmth of coffee, the faintest trace of sweat under scrubs after too many hours on his feet. He didn’t look at you right away. He watched the cashier print the receipt with the same expression he wore when waiting for labs, jaw set, eyes tired, patience worn thin but not gone.
“Bag?” the cashier asked.
“No,” Jack said.
You stood there with the sandwich in one hand and the banana in the other, suddenly too aware of the bruised peel, the cold give of the sandwich through the cloudy plastic, the line behind you, and Jack Abbot’s shoulder beside yours.
You stared at him. “Seriously?”
He finally looked at you.
Jack Abbot always looked like he’d been awake since the Clinton administration. It should’ve made him less attractive. It didn't. The exhaustion sat under his eyes and in the lines bracketing his mouth, but there was something about him that made tired look like discipline instead of defeat. His hair was a little mussed, his scrubs were creased at the hips, and his stance had that slight adjustment you’d learned to notice after months of seeing him around PTMC—the subtle distribution of weight that came with his prosthetic leg and the old damage he carried without announcing it.
“What?” he said.
You lowered your voice. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know.”
“That’s my lunch.”
“Looked like it.”
“You paid for it.”
“Sharp today.”
You huffed, heat crawling up your neck. “Jack.”
That got you the smallest change in his face. Not a smile. He didn’t hand those out recklessly. More like one corner of his mouth remembered humor existed and gave a half-hearted twitch before giving up.
“Eat the sandwich,” he said.
“I was going to.”
“No, you were going to put it back and pretend you weren’t hungry.”
You opened your mouth.
Jack’s eyebrows lifted.
You closed it again.
Behind him, Whitaker looked down at his shoes like they might offer instructions, visibly desperate not to be part of this. Santos, unfortunately, had no such instinct.
“Damn,” she said, appearing at Jack’s shoulder with a coffee she had definitely not paid for recently enough to still be that hot. “Abbot’s buying lunch now? Is this a resident perk, or do I need to almost faint near the muffins?”
Mohan didn’t look up from stirring sugar into her tea. “You would never almost faint quietly enough to qualify.”
“I don’t faint,” Santos said.
“You got lightheaded during central line training.”
“That was low blood sugar and a hostile learning environment.” Santos pointed two fingers toward Jack. “But I’m serious. I want in on the cafeteria patron program.”
Jack looked at her.
Santos looked back.
The silence lasted exactly long enough for her confidence to thin at the edges.
“Or not,” she said, taking a sip of coffee. “Noted. Very selective program.”
Dana passed behind the group with a stack of charts under one arm and a look sharp enough to split sutures. “If any of you are done loitering in my cafeteria like it’s a damn wine bar, I’ve got three beds backing up, a grown adult arguing with registration, a kid melting down in triage, and a Lego stuck in one of their ear canals.”
Whitaker blinked. “Who? Adult guy or kid guy?”
Dana didn’t slow down. “That’s the part that’s gonna disappoint you.”
Santos grinned. Mohan gave a small, resigned sigh. Jack, without looking away from you, said, “Eat.”
Your face was still hot.
The sandwich felt heavier now that it had been purchased by him. Not because it was expensive. It was hospital cafeteria turkey on wheat, overpriced and bland, the cloudy plastic crinkling under your fingers every time your grip tightened. But Jack had noticed. That was the part you didn’t know how to hold. He’d seen the little calculation you’d tried to hide, the quiet defeat of deciding hunger could wait until later, and he’d stepped in with no fanfare. No pity. No soft voice.
Just a card tapped against a reader and a dry order to eat.
“I can pay you back,” you said.
Jack’s eyes dipped briefly to the sandwich and then back to your face.
“Don’t.”
“I don’t like owing people.”
“You don’t owe me.”
“That’s not how money works.”
“It is when I decide I don’t care.”
You gave a small, disbelieving laugh. “That’s very generous of you, Dr. Abbot.”
“Don’t make it weird.”
You should’ve let it go.
You really should’ve.
But the humiliation had already burned off into something else, something warmer and more dangerous, because Jack was standing there with his tired eyes and that blunt, immovable steadiness, and you had never been good at leaving tension alone when you could poke it until it bit.
“Careful,” you said, tucking the sandwich against your chest. “People are gonna think you’re my sugar daddy.”
Whitaker made a strangled sound and turned toward the condiments with the strained focus of a man suddenly invested in ketchup packets, while Santos choked on her coffee hard enough that Mohan closed her eyes like she was choosing patience on purpose. Jack only stared at you, and for one awful second, you thought you’d gone too far.
Then Jack took the receipt from the cashier, crumpled it in one hand, and said, flat as a dead monitor, “People think a lot of stupid shit.”
He walked away before you could answer.
You watched him disappear through the cafeteria doors and into the arterial chaos of the ER, shoulders squared, limp controlled, already swallowed by the work waiting for him.
Santos leaned closer, grin wide enough to be medically concerning.
“Oh, that was not nothing.”
“It was lunch,” you said.
Mohan looked at you over the rim of her cup, thoughtful in a way that made you feel unfortunately examined. “He noticed before anyone else did.”
You pressed the cold sandwich wrapper against your burning face.
Dana shouted from somewhere down the hall, “Santos, if you’re socializing instead of working, I’m assigning you Lego ear.”
Santos snapped upright. “I’m not socializing.”
“Good,” Dana called. “Then you can do it faster.”
You stood there with Jack’s lunch in your hands and tried very hard not to smile.
It would’ve been easier if that had been the end of it.
But Jack Abbot, you learned, was not a man who did anything halfway once he decided it made sense.
He didn’t become flashy. He didn’t start acting like some rich asshole in a bad romance novel, throwing cash around and waiting to be thanked for it. That would’ve been easier to resist, probably. Less intimate, anyway. You could’ve rolled your eyes at that. You could’ve made fun of him. You could’ve called it ridiculous and kept your pride intact.
Jack was worse.
Jack was practical.
He bought your coffee the next morning because, as he put it, “I was already standing there.” He brought you half a container of pasta from the staff fridge because “Robby ordered too much and nobody here understands portions.” He left a protein bar beside your laptop during a night when the waiting room looked like every bad decision in Pittsburgh had agreed to arrive at once. He noticed when your left shoe started peeling at the sole and said nothing, which somehow made you more self-conscious than if he’d pointed at it.
Robby noticed before you did.
Or maybe Robby noticed everything and simply chose when to weaponize it.
It was just after noon on a bad shift, the kind where every hallway seemed to have sprouted a stretcher and every call light sounded like one more thing nobody had enough hands to answer. You were near the nurses’ station, trying to make sense of a scheduling conflict that had three departments blaming each other in increasingly creative language, when Robby came up beside you with a tablet in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other.
His hair was doing that thing where it looked like he’d run both hands through it enough times to qualify as a cry for help.
“Is Abbot feeding you?” he asked.
You nearly dropped your pen. “What?”
Robby glanced toward trauma two, where Jack was leaning over a chart with Dr. McKay, both of them listening while Javadi spoke quickly and carefully, too eager to be casual. Jack’s attention was fixed, but his expression had that faintly skeptical set that made med students stand up straighter by instinct.
“Food,” Robby said. “Coffee. Whatever else he’s pretending is a coincidence.”
“He bought me lunch once.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And coffee.”
“Sure.”
“And maybe pasta.”
Robby’s eyebrows rose.
You narrowed your eyes. “Do you have a point?”
“Not one worth putting in writing.” He took a sip of coffee, then winced like it tasted exactly as bad as he expected and somehow worse. “Just be careful.”
That killed the humor faster than you wanted it to.
Your eyes shifted back toward Jack before you could stop them.
Robby caught it. Of course he caught it. He was annoying that way, all ragged compassion and clinical perception, the kind of man who could call out a hemorrhage, a lie, and a panic attack in the same breath.
“He’s a good guy,” Robby said, quieter.
“I know.”
“That doesn’t mean he’s uncomplicated.”
You swallowed. “I know that too.”
Robby’s face softened by a fraction. It made him look older, which was unfair, because he already looked like the hospital had been chewing on him for years and kept forgetting to swallow.
“Okay,” he said. Then, because sincerity seemed to physically pain him if left unbalanced, he added, “Also, if this turns into some HR nightmare, I’m denying I noticed.”
“There’s nothing to notice.”
“Great. Love that. Very convincing.”
You looked back down at your schedule so he wouldn’t see your face.
Across the department, Jack glanced up.
For a second, through the moving bodies and swinging privacy curtains and fluorescent glare, his eyes found yours.
He didn’t smile.
He just looked.
That was becoming the problem.
Jack didn’t flirt the way other men flirted. He didn’t crowd you with charm or drown you in compliments or make a show of wanting to be watched. He looked at you like noticing was a form of pressure. Like every detail went somewhere and stayed there. The coffee order. The bad shoe. The way you tucked your hands into your sleeves when you were cold. The way your voice got flatter when you were trying not to admit something hurt.
You wished he’d be less good at it.
You wished you liked it less.
The car thing happened on a Thursday.
You were leaving PTMC after a shift that had somehow lasted ten hours despite only being scheduled for eight, which felt like a violation of both labor law and physics. Your head ached from fluorescent lights. Your feet throbbed. The parking garage smelled like wet concrete, exhaust, and old rain, with the city beyond it slick and dark under a spring storm that had rolled in hard after sunset.
Your car made the noise again when you turned the key.
Not the cute noise. Not the “haha, she’s old but reliable” noise.
The expensive one.
A grinding, metallic cough dragged itself out from under the hood, followed by a rattle that sounded like several important pieces had started a fight and nobody was winning.
You shut the engine off immediately.
“Please,” you whispered, resting your forehead against the steering wheel. “Not tonight.”
The car answered by doing absolutely nothing, which was at least better than exploding.
You tried again.
The sound came back worse.
A knock hit your window.
You screamed.
Jack stood outside in the harsh garage lighting, rain clinging to his shoulders, one hand braced on the roof of your car. He looked unimpressed by your survival instincts.
You rolled the window down halfway. “Jesus Christ.”
“No,” he said. “Just me.”
“Do you always lurk in parking garages?”
“Only when cars sound like they’re about to die.”
“It’s fine.”
Jack looked at the hood. Then at you.
“That’s not a fine sound.”
“It does that sometimes.”
“It shouldn’t do that ever.”
You tightened your grip on the steering wheel. “I’m taking it in next week.”
“You’re not driving it until then.”
A laugh slipped out of you, brittle and defensive. “Okay, Dad.”
His expression didn't change, but something in his eyes sharpened.
Your stomach dipped.
Not fear. Not exactly.
Something else.
Jack leaned slightly closer to the open window. “Pop the hood.”
“I don’t need you to—”
“Pop the hood.”
There was a particular tone he used in the ER when people were bleeding, lying, or being stupid about symptoms that could kill them. Apparently, your car had been triaged into that category.
You popped the hood.
The storm pushed rain sideways into the garage, misting the concrete in silver sheets beyond the open level. Jack moved around to the front of your car and lifted the hood, shoulders hunching slightly as he looked inside. He wasn’t wearing a jacket, just dark scrubs under a gray zip-up that had seen better decades, sleeves pushed to his forearms. The overhead light caught the tendons in his hands, the salt at his temples, the hard concentration in his face.
It was obscene, honestly, watching a man become attractive over engine trouble.
He checked something, frowned, checked something else, then lowered the hood with more control than the situation deserved.
“Do not drive this,” he said.
You were already shaking your head. “I have to get home.”
“I’ll drive you.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No, Jack.”
He stared at you over the hood. “You got a better plan?”
You did not.
You had forty-three dollars in your checking account, a rent payment looming like an execution date, and a car making noises you couldn’t afford to identify. But admitting that felt worse than standing barefoot on broken glass.
“I can call someone,” you said.
“Who?”
The question was simple. Too simple.
That was the problem with Jack. He had no patience for the decorative lies people used to get through conversations. He stripped things down until you either told the truth or stood there bleeding around it.
You looked away first.
Rain ticked against the garage opening. Somewhere below, an ambulance siren rose and fell, dopplering into the wet city.
Jack’s voice dropped. “Get your bag.”
“I don’t want to be a problem.”
“You’re not.”
“I don’t want you fixing everything.”
“I’m not fixing everything.” He came around to your side of the car, opened the door, and stood back enough to give you room. “I’m stopping you from driving a death trap.”
You didn’t move.
Jack exhaled through his nose, not quite a sigh.
“You can be mad in my car,” he said. “It has heat.”
That was how he won.
Not with softness. Not with a speech.
Heat.
You grabbed your bag and got out.
Jack’s car was clean in the way a person’s car got when they didn’t spend enough time in it to make a mess. There was an old coffee cup in the holder, a folded jacket in the back, a snow scraper on the floor, and a faint smell of leather, rain, and whatever soap he used that always made you think of hospital sinks and his hands.
He turned the heat on without asking. Then, after a second, he aimed one of the vents toward you.
You noticed.
You hated that you noticed.
Neither of you said anything as he pulled out of the garage. The rain blurred the windshield, smearing Pittsburgh into traffic lights and dark brick, ambulance bays and slick streets, the city looking bruised and alive under the storm. Jack drove with one hand low on the wheel, the other resting near the gear shift, fingers flexing once when his leg seemed to bother him.
“You okay?” you asked before you could stop yourself.
His eyes stayed on the road. “Yeah.”
“Your leg?”
“I said yeah.”
“Right. Sorry.”
His jaw worked.
Then, quieter, “Long day.”
That was as much as he usually gave. A door opened an inch, then locked again.
You nodded. “Yeah.”
The wipers dragged water from the glass in steady, tired arcs.
At a red light, Jack said, “Where do you take the car?”
You laughed weakly. “To a mechanic who knows me by name and already looks tired when I walk in.”
“I’ll call someone.”
“No.”
“You don’t know who yet.”
“I know it’s going to involve you paying for something.”
The light turned green.
Jack drove.
You looked at him, incredulous. “You’re not even denying it.”
“Seemed like a waste of both our time.”
“Jack.”
“I know a guy.”
“Of course you know a guy.”
“I’m old.”
“You’re not that old.”
That got you a glance. Brief, sharp, almost amused.
“No?”
“No,” you said, and then because you had apparently decided self-preservation was for other people, you added, “Just old enough to have a guy.”
The corner of his mouth moved.
You felt victorious and doomed at the same time.
“I can handle it,” you said, softer. “The car. I’ll figure it out.”
“I know you can.”
“Then why are you doing this?”
Jack was quiet long enough that you thought he might not answer.
Then he said, “Because figuring it out shouldn’t mean hoping your brakes make it another week.”
Your throat tightened unexpectedly.
You looked out the window so he wouldn’t see it.
The thing about being broke—really, really, broke—wasn’t just the lack of money. It was the math. The constant, grinding math of survival. A sandwich became a calculation. A repair became a catastrophe. A strange noise under the hood became a negotiation with God or luck or whatever indifferent force kept old cars alive for one more day. You got used to making everything stretch until stretching felt like living, and then someone like Jack came along and called it unsafe in that blunt, infuriating voice, and suddenly the whole thing looked different.
Not brave.
Not independent.
Just exhausting.
He pulled up outside your building and put the car in park. Rain ran down the windshield in crooked streams.
You didn’t reach for the door handle.
“Thank you,” you said.
Jack nodded once.
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
“I’ll pay you back if your guy does anything.”
“No.”
You shut your eyes. “Please don’t make me fight you in your car. I’m tired.”
“I noticed.”
“Stop noticing.”
“No.”
Your eyes opened.
Jack was looking at you now, body angled slightly in the driver’s seat, face cut by passing headlights and dashboard glow. Up close, in the dim, the lines around his eyes looked deeper. So did the restraint. He wore it like part of the uniform, like scrubs and a stethoscope and whatever pain he kept filed away under function.
Your voice came out smaller than you wanted. “Why?”
He didn’t pretend not to understand.
“I don’t know,” he said.
It was the first answer he’d given you that didn’t sound like a diagnosis.
That made it worse.
You tried to smile, tried to make the air lighter before it crushed you. “This is getting very sugar daddy of you.”
The joke landed differently in the dark.
You felt it. So did he.
Jack’s eyes dropped to your mouth for half a second. Maybe less. Long enough for your pulse to trip, not long enough to accuse him of anything. Either way, when he looked back up, his face had gone still in a way that made the warm air from the vents feel suddenly too hot.
“You should go inside,” he said.
You nodded.
Neither of you moved.
Then his phone buzzed in the cup holder, snapping the moment clean down the middle. Jack glanced at the screen, saw Robby’s name, and declined the call before typing something one-handed with the resignation of a man who knew better than to leave him unanswered too long.
You opened the door before you could do something stupid, like ask him to come upstairs.
“Night, Jack.”
His hand tightened once around the phone.
“Lock your door.”
You smiled despite yourself. “Yes, Doctor.”
His eyes lifted.
There it was again, that almost-smile. Faint. Dangerous.
“Don’t start,” he said.
You got out before your face could betray you.
The car repair cost eight hundred and sixty dollars.
Jack didn't tell you this.
The mechanic did, because you called behind Jack’s back after getting one text that said, Car’s handled. Pick it up Friday.
Handled.
Like it was a chart. Like it was a consult. Like it was one of the million things at PTMC that needed to be assessed, fixed, signed off, and moved along.
You stood in a supply hallway with your phone pressed to your ear, your grip tightening around the case while the mechanic cheerfully explained that Dr. Abbot had already squared it away.
Squared it away.
You were going to kill him.
Unfortunately, when you found him, he was in the middle of resetting a dislocated shoulder with Robby at the bedside and King handing over medication with careful, focused precision. There was a teenage patient crying, his mother pacing, Dana telling everyone who wasn’t useful to back up, and Jack looking exactly like a man who could not be murdered until after he finished being competent.
You had to wait.
That made you angrier.
By the time he stepped out, stripping off gloves and tossing them into the trash, you had worked yourself into something sharp enough to throw.
“Eight hundred and sixty dollars?” you said.
Jack stopped.
Robby, behind him, stopped too.
Dana looked up from the desk.
Santos, who had the survival instincts of someone convinced she could talk her way out of anything, immediately leaned over the counter.
Jack’s eyes flicked over your face. “Not here.”
“Oh, no, definitely here.”
Robby pressed his lips together and took one very deliberate step backward.
“Coward,” Dana muttered.
“Experienced,” Robby corrected.
Jack lowered his voice. “You called the mechanic.”
“You paid the mechanic.”
“Yeah.”
“Eight hundred and sixty dollars, Jack.”
“Would’ve been more if you kept driving it.”
You stared at him. “That is not the point.”
“That is exactly the point.”
“I told you I didn’t want you fixing everything.”
“And I told you I wasn’t letting you drive a death trap.”
“You don’t get to decide that for me.”
For the first time, something like frustration cracked through his calm.
“No,” he said. “I don’t get to decide everything for you. But I do get to decide what I do with my money.”
Dana made a low sound. “Jesus.”
Santos whispered, “This is better than whatever I was supposed to be doing.”
Mohan, passing with a chart, said, “You're supposed to be working.”
You barely heard them.
Your whole focus had narrowed to Jack’s face, the stubborn set of his mouth, the tension in his shoulders. He looked tired. He always looked tired. But underneath it was something else now, something protective enough to be annoying and personal enough to hurt.
“I can’t pay that back right now,” you said.
“I didn’t ask you to.”
“That doesn’t make it better.”
“It makes it done.”
You laughed once, without humor. “You’re impossible.”
“Usually.”
“You can’t just—” You stopped, aware suddenly of how many people were pretending not to listen. Your voice dropped. “You can’t just keep doing this.”
Jack’s gaze held yours.
“Doing what?”
The question should’ve been innocent, but it wasn’t. Not after the lunches, the coffee, the rides, the mechanic, or the way Jack looked at you like you were a problem he wanted to solve with his bare hands. You stepped closer before you thought better of it.
“You know what,” you said.
For a second, the department moved around you, loud and bright and indifferent, but you and Jack were still.
Then Dana slapped a chart down on the counter hard enough to startle everyone within ten feet.
“Okay,” she said. “As much as I’d love to watch whatever this is turn into a workplace training module, Abbot, bed nine needs you. You—” She pointed at you. “Take a breath before you rupture something expensive.”
Jack’s mouth tightened, but he listened.
Of course he listened to Dana. Everyone did, eventually.
He stepped past you, close enough that his sleeve brushed your arm.
“Friday,” he said under his breath.
You turned your head. “What?”
“Pick up your car Friday.”
Then he was gone.
Santos waited exactly three seconds.
“So,” she said, bright-eyed. “How does one apply for the Abbot scholarship fund?”
Dana pointed at her without looking. “Bedpan in curtain three.”
Santos deflated. “Damn it.”
You hated how badly you wanted to laugh.
By Friday, when you picked up your car, there was a new pair of black nonslip clogs sitting in the passenger seat.
Not fancy. Not wrapped. Just sensible, comfortable work shoes in your size, made for twelve-hour shifts and the brutal, steady wear of the ER. A sticky note was pressed to the box in Jack’s blunt handwriting.
Your old ones were unsafe.
That was it. No apology, no explanation. Just another problem he’d noticed and solved before you could decide whether to be grateful or furious.
You sat in the driver’s seat for a long time, staring at the note, then laughed until your eyes burned.
The fundraiser was Robby’s fault.
At least, that was what you told yourself, because blaming Robby was easier than admitting you had agreed to attend a hospital donor event while quietly hoping Jack would look at you in something other than scrubs.
PTMC held one every year, apparently. A grim little ritual where administrators, donors, board members, and exhausted medical staff gathered in a hotel ballroom to pretend the emergency department wasn’t being kept alive by overworked staff, aging equipment, and the quiet fact that everyone had learned to make do with less. There would be speeches. There would be bad chicken. There would be wealthy people using phrases like “frontline heroes” while nurses calculated how many working monitors the cost of the floral arrangements could’ve bought.
You hadn’t planned to go.
Then Gloria Underwood’s office had needed extra administrative support for check-in, and Robby had said, “It’s easy money. Wear something nice. Try not to let the donors explain healthcare to you.”
You’d said yes before checking your closet.
That was how you ended up in your apartment three nights before the event, sitting on the floor in a towel, surrounded by every dress you owned and the creeping realization that none of them worked. Too casual. Too tight in the wrong way. Too old. Too funeral. Too “college career fair,” stiff in all the wrong places and not nice enough to pass under ballroom lighting. One had a broken zipper. One still had a stain from a margarita incident you refused to revisit.
Your phone buzzed.
Jack:
Car still running?
You stared at the message, then at the graveyard of dresses around you.
You:
yes, dad
Jack:
Don’t.
You smiled despite yourself.
You:
thank you, by the way
for the shoes too
even though you’re insane
Jack:
You going tomorrow?
You stared at the message for a second too long, then looked down at the heap of rejected clothes around your legs.
You:
maybe
Jack:
That means yes.
You should’ve stopped there.
Instead, with the fatal confidence of a woman sitting half-naked on her bedroom floor and losing an argument with formalwear, you typed:
You:
it means maybe now i just need a dress that doesn’t make me look like i wandered into the fundraiser by accident
The reply took longer than usual.
Jack:
Show me.
You stared at the message, suddenly aware of every inch of bare skin the pile of rejected clothes wasn’t covering.
You:
the dress?
Jack:
What else would I mean?
Your face went hot.
You:
don’t ask me that when i’m half naked on my bedroom floor
The typing bubble appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
Jack:
You have tomorrow off?
You stared.
Then stared harder.
You:
why
Jack:
Answer the question.
There were several smart things you could’ve said.
You said none of them.
You:
yes
Jack:
I’ll pick you up at 10.
Your stomach flipped.
You:
jack
Jack:
10:30 if you’re going to argue.
You:
you don’t even know what i was going to say
Jack:
I’m learning patterns.
You pressed your phone facedown against your thigh and sat there half-dressed and mortified, thighs pressed together, waiting for your body to stop reacting like he’d put his hands on you.
The next morning, Jack arrived at 10:28.
Of course he did.
He drove you to a small boutique outside downtown, the kind of place you would’ve walked past without entering because the window displays didn’t include prices, which meant the prices were rude. Jack parked, got out, and came around to your side before you had fully finished spiraling.
“I don’t like this,” you said as he opened the door.
“You haven’t gone in yet.”
“That’s why I still have hope.”
He gave you a look.
You stepped out, hugging your coat tighter around yourself. “Jack, I’m serious. I’m not letting you buy me some expensive dress.”
“Okay.”
You blinked. “Okay?”
“Yeah.”
“That was too easy.”
“You said some expensive dress.” He closed the car door. “Find a cheap one.”
You stared at him.
He headed for the shop.
“That is not a loophole,” you called after him.
“It’s exactly a loophole.”
Inside, the boutique was too quiet, too soft, too expensive in ways it didn’t need to announce. Pale wood floors, warm lighting, racks arranged with almost insulting confidence, the dresses hanging with more breathing room than your apartment closet could spare. The air smelled faintly of steamed fabric and perfume, and the woman behind the counter looked up with the calm precision of someone trained to know who was buying before anyone spoke.
You hated that. You hated more that Jack didn’t seem to notice.
Or he did notice and simply didn’t care.
He told her what you needed in a few clipped sentences: hospital fundraiser, semi-formal, comfortable enough to work check-in, not black unless you wanted black, shoes optional because you had shoes. He didn't mention size like a man trying to guess or gesture vaguely at your body like an idiot. He looked at you when that part came up and let you answer for yourself.
That tiny bit of respect did something inconvenient to your chest.
The saleswoman brought options.
You rejected the first three.
Jack rejected the fourth before you could come out of the dressing room.
“No,” he said through the door.
You looked at yourself in the mirror, startled. “You haven’t even seen it.”
“I saw the sleeve.”
“You can diagnose a bad dress by sleeve?”
“I’ve diagnosed worse with less.”
You pulled the curtain back just enough to glare at him.
Jack sat in a low chair outside the dressing rooms, one ankle braced carefully, elbows on his knees, hands clasped. He looked absurd there, too solid and worn-in for the soft gold mirrors and velvet hangers, like someone had dropped a combat medic into a room built for silk and champagne.
His eyes flicked to the sliver of dress visible through the curtain.
“No,” he repeated.
The saleswoman, traitor that she was, nodded. “He’s right.”
You shut the curtain. “I hate both of you.”
The fifth dress was the problem.
You knew it before you opened the curtain.
The fabric skimmed instead of clung, soft where it needed to be, structured where it counted. It made you look like you’d meant to be invited. Like you hadn’t spent the week calculating grocery money in your head and pretending exhaustion didn’t count if you kept moving. The neckline was tasteful, but not innocent. The color warmed your skin without washing you out. You turned once in the mirror and felt something low in your stomach shift.
Confidence, maybe.
Or danger.
“Let me see,” Jack said from outside.
“You’re bossy.”
“Yes.”
“You admit that way too easily.”
“I’m old.”
You smiled, then caught your own face in the mirror and watched the smile fade.
This was a bad idea. Not the dress—the dress was perfect.
That was the bad idea.
You opened the curtain, and Jack looked up.
For a moment, he said nothing.
The shop noise seemed to thin around you—the music, the soft movement of hangers, the saleswoman tactfully vanishing somewhere behind a rack. Jack’s gaze moved over you once, controlled enough to be deniable and slow enough to ruin you anyway. He didn’t leer. He didn’t smirk. He just looked, jaw set, eyes catching for half a second too long at your waist, your hips, the neckline of the dress, like the only thing keeping his hands to himself was the fact that you were standing under boutique lights instead of somewhere with a locked door.
His jaw shifted.
Your fingers tightened around the curtain.
“Well?” you asked, because silence was going to kill you.
Jack leaned back slightly, but it didn’t make him look relaxed. It made him look like restraint had become physical.
“No,” he said.
Your face fell before you could stop it.
Then he added, lower, “That’s the problem.”
The words landed low enough to make your stomach tighten. You looked down at yourself, then back at him. “Too much?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
His eyes returned to your face like it cost him effort.
“It fits.”
It was such a stupid answer. Controlled, careful, almost useless—and somehow hotter than a compliment, because you could hear everything he wasn’t saying in the rough edge of his voice.
You stepped fully out, smoothing your palms down the front of the dress because you needed something to do.
“It’s probably expensive.”
“Probably.”
“Jack.”
“You like it?”
“That’s not the point.”
“It’s my point.”
You exhaled, trying to laugh, but it came out thin. “You can’t keep buying me things.”
He stood. Not quickly, not dramatically. Just unfolded himself from the chair and came closer, stopping at a respectful distance that still felt indecent because his eyes hadn’t left the dress, or you inside it.
“I can do what I want.”
“You sound like a nightmare.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
You glanced toward the mirror, unable to hold his eyes. In the reflection, he stood behind you, hands at his sides, older and tired and steady, and you looked like something neither of you could keep pretending was professional.
The thought went through you too sharply.
You swallowed. “People are going to think I’m exactly what I joked about.”
Jack’s reflection didn’t move. “What’s that?”
You met his eyes in the mirror. “Your sugar baby.”
There. Said out loud in the warm boutique light, with the dress between you as evidence.
Jack’s gaze held yours. Then he stepped closer, just enough that his voice didn’t have to carry. “That what you want this to be?”
Your mouth went dry. The smart answer was no. The honest answer was more complicated, and the answer your body wanted to give had no business being spoken in public before noon.
So you made it worse on purpose.
“I don’t know,” you said, tilting your head. “Depends on the benefits package.”
Jack looked at you for a long second. Then the almost-smile appeared, brief and devastating.
“Change,” he said. “Before I regret asking.”
You spent the rest of the day pretending your hands weren’t shaking.
Saturday night came wrapped in rain and reflected light.
The hotel ballroom looked too clean, too bright, and too expensive for a fundraiser built around people who spent most days trying to keep the whole place upright. White tablecloths. Gold fixtures. Centerpieces too tall for conversation. A stage at the far end with the PTMC logo projected behind the podium, clean and official and nothing like the controlled disaster of the emergency department. Nurses and doctors looked strangely exposed out of scrubs, like actors at the wrong rehearsal. Dana wore navy and carried herself with the same brisk authority she had at the nurses’ station, like the ballroom was just another crowded hallway she intended to get under control. Robby had put on a suit, but he wore it with visible reluctance, one hand already tugging at his tie before the first speech had started.
Dr. McKay arrived with her hair pinned back, already checking her phone for updates about her son. King stood beside her, fidgeting lightly with her bracelet while listening to Whitaker ramble about how strange it was to see everyone with “normal arms,” which he then tried to explain and somehow made worse. Javadi looked polished and nervous, her mother somewhere in the room like a pressure system. Mohan was composed, elegant, and already listening to the opening remarks with the patient focus of someone rationing her tolerance carefully.
Santos wore a sharp dress and confidence like body armor.
“Okay,” she said when she saw you. “I’m going to say something, and I need you not to make it weird.”
“That’s never a good opener.”
“You look hot.”
“Santos.”
“What? I said don’t make it weird.”
Mohan, passing behind her, said, “You made it weird by announcing you weren’t going to.”
Santos ignored her. “Abbot seen you yet?”
You busied yourself with the check-in list. “Why?”
“Because I’m invested.”
“You need a hobby.”
“I have one. It’s being right.”
You were saved from answering by Dana appearing at your side with two badges and a look that missed nothing.
“You doing okay?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
Dana’s eyes swept over your face, then the room, then the entrance where Jack had not yet appeared. “Uh-huh.”
“You too?”
“Me too what?”
“Nothing.”
Dana handed you the badges. “Honey, I’ve worked ER longer than some of these donors have been pretending to care about ER. I know when there’s a thing.”
“There’s not a thing.”
“Then stop looking at the door like you’re planning an escape route.”
You opened your mouth, found nothing useful, and looked back down at the check-in list.
Dana smirked and walked away.
Jack arrived ten minutes late in a dark suit, and something behind your ribs fluttered hard enough that you had to look away.
It wasn’t fancy. That was the worst part. No special tailoring, no flashy tie, no clean magazine version of him. Just a dark suit on a man who looked like he’d rather be elbows-deep in a trauma bay than standing under chandelier light, his hair slightly unruly, his face tired, his posture adjusted in that familiar way. The jacket sat broad across his shoulders. The shirt opened at the collar because of course he looked better slightly undone. There was a roughness to him the room couldn’t soften, something lived-in and disciplined and worn close to the bone.
Robby said something to him at the entrance.
Jack answered without smiling.
Then his eyes found you.
Everything else blurred.
Not fully. You were still aware of the check-in table under your hands, the murmur of donors, Santos whispering “oh my god” somewhere behind you with absolutely no attempt to hide it. But Jack looked at you in that dress, and the rest of the room slipped out of reach for one dangerous second.
He walked over slowly.
“Hi,” you said, which was embarrassing because you knew more words than that.
Jack’s gaze moved over your face first, then the dress, then back up slowly enough that your skin warmed beneath the fabric he’d bought.
“Hi.”
You tried for a smile. “You clean up okay.”
“I was going to say that.”
“You can still say it.”
“No.”
“Too generous?”
“Too easy.”
His eyes dipped again, just once, and something in your stomach tightened before he seemed to remember the room around you. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper.
You stared. “What is that?”
“Receipt.”
“For the dress?”
“For the car.”
Your stomach dropped. “Jack.”
“Relax.” He slid it across the check-in table with two fingers. “It says paid. That’s all.”
You looked down.
Paid.
Your throat tightened.
“You said you didn’t like owing people,” he said.
“I still owe you.”
“No.” His voice stayed quiet, but something in it made the word feel less like comfort and more like a line drawn in permanent ink. “You don’t.”
You looked up at him, and for a second the ballroom felt too bright, too crowded, too public for the thing trying to break open in your chest.
Before you could answer, Robby appeared beside Jack with the timing of a man either doing you a favor or robbing you of a bad decision.
“Abbot,” he said, “Underwood wants us near the front for the photo.”
Jack’s voice came out clipped. “No.”
“Yeah, that’s what I said. She used the phrase ‘visible leadership.’”
“That makes it worse.”
“I agree.”
Robby looked at you then, eyes flicking once between your dress and Jack’s face. His mouth twitched.
“You look nice,” he said.
“Thank you.”
“Abbot looks like he’s about to be taken out behind the building and shot, but that’s formal for him.”
Jack gave him a look.
Robby clapped him lightly on the shoulder. “Come on, visible leadership.”
Jack didn’t move immediately.
His hand came to rest at the edge of the check-in table, close enough to yours that your fingers could’ve brushed if you shifted an inch.
“Don’t disappear,” he said.
Your pulse kicked.
“I’m working.”
“After.”
Then Robby dragged him away with a level of cheer that was clearly retaliatory.
You watched Jack go and tried to remember how to do your job.
For a while, the event was exactly as awful as promised.
Speeches about resilience. Applause that sounded expensive. Donors talking about “the Pitt” like it was a concept instead of a place where every decision had a body attached to it. Gloria Underwood spoke with smooth authority while Robby stared at the middle distance like a man practicing astral projection. Langdon appeared late and left early, moving through the edge of the room with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Collins was mentioned by someone near the bar, her name landing with that particular hospital weight of people who had been part of the machinery and then weren’t there in the same way anymore.
You checked people in. You directed donors toward their tables. You smiled until your cheeks ached.
And Jack kept finding you.
Not obviously. Not enough for anyone to call it hovering. But he passed behind your chair and set a glass of water near your hand. He appeared during a lull with a plate from the buffet because “you weren’t going to get one.” He stood beside you while an orthopedic surgeon whose name you immediately forgot talked at you for seven minutes about golf, his presence quiet and solid and just intimidating enough to make the man eventually wander away.
At one point, you leaned toward him and murmured, “This is very attentive of you.”
He didn’t look down. “You looked like you were going to stab him with a pen.”
“I was.”
“Bad idea.”
“Because violence is wrong?”
“Because you’d still have to finish check-in.”
You laughed into your glass.
Jack looked at you then, and the humor in his face faded into something warmer before he caught it.
You saw him catch it.
That was the dangerous part.
Near the end of dinner, a donor with silver hair and a smile like a polished blade cornered Jack near the bar. You recognized him vaguely from the check-in list, one of those names with a foundation attached, the kind of man who spoke slowly because he expected people to wait for the privilege of his point. His wife stood beside him in pearls, looking around the ballroom with faint disappointment.
You were close enough to hear because you’d gone to retrieve extra place cards from the side table.
“Dr. Abbot,” the man said, clapping Jack on the shoulder like they were old friends and not strangers separated by several tax brackets and a moral canyon. “Hell of a turnout. You ER people clean up better than expected.”
Jack’s smile was minimal and false. “We try.”
The man’s eyes shifted to you.
You felt it like cold water.
“Well,” he said. “Some of you more than others.”
Jack’s face changed by degrees. Anyone else might’ve missed it. You didn’t.
“This is—” Jack began.
The man cut in with a laugh. “No, no, let me guess. You’re the resident I’ve been hearing about.”
His wife made a soft sound. Not quite a laugh. Not quite disapproval.
Your fingers tightened around the place cards.
Jack went still.
The man looked pleased with himself, encouraged by his own cruelty. “Abbot and one of his young residents,” he said, eyes moving over you slow enough to make the dress feel suddenly too visible. “People do talk.”
Jack’s voice came out clipped. “Don’t.”
“Relax, Jack. I’m joking.” He lifted his glass slightly, like that made it harmless. “I just didn’t think you were going to start making public appearances with your little girlfriend now.”
The words entered you cleanly: little girlfriend. Not girlfriend—that would’ve been embarrassing enough. Little, like you were an accessory, a midlife crisis in a nice dress, something young and decorative Jack had brought out because he could. Something people could reduce in one glance and one ugly little adjective.
Heat rushed to your face so fast it felt like pain, and still you smiled automatically, hating yourself for it.
“It’s not—” you started, because apparently your first instinct was to make yourself smaller for the comfort of a man who had just insulted you.
Jack’s voice cut through yours. “Don’t call her that.”
The donor blinked. So did you. The room didn’t stop, not exactly—the music kept playing, silverware still clinked, someone laughed too loudly near the stage—but the air around the four of you tightened.
The donor’s smile twitched. “Easy, Doctor. No harm meant.”
“I’m not interested in what you meant.”
Jack didn’t raise his voice or step forward. He simply stood there in his dark suit, tired eyes gone cold, body held in a kind of controlled restraint that made the donor’s hand fall from his shoulder.
“If you’ve got something to say about me,” Jack continued, “say it to me. Leave her out of it.”
The wife looked away first. The donor’s face colored.
“No offense intended.”
Jack’s gaze didn’t move. “You don’t get to decide that.”
Your breath caught.
People were starting to notice. Not enough to make a scene, not enough for anyone to step in, but enough that the space around you felt suddenly brighter. Dana had turned slightly from the bar, her attention fixed and assessing. Robby watched from near the stage, glass lowered now. Even Santos had gone still, the eager curiosity wiped off her face by the look on yours.
You couldn’t stand any of it. Not the attention. Not the humiliation. Not the awful, sharp thrill of Jack defending you like he had any right to. Like he wanted the right.
You set the place cards down.
“I need some air,” you said.
Jack’s head turned toward you immediately. “Wait.”
But you were already moving.
You slipped out of the ballroom and into the corridor, then through a side door onto a covered terrace overlooking the wet street below. The rain had softened to a mist, silvering the railings and turning the city lights hazy. Cold air hit your skin, raising goosebumps along your arms where the dress left them bare.
You gripped the railing and forced one breath in, then out. In, then out. In. Out. It didn’t help. The door opened behind you, because of course it did.
You laughed under your breath because the tears were already gathering hot behind your eyes, making the terrace lights blur at the edges, and you refused to let them fall here—not in the dress Jack bought, not with your hands locked around rain-cold steel, not because some rich asshole had found the ugliest name for what you were already afraid this looked like.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” you said.
Jack let the door close behind him. “Done what?”
You turned on him. “Made it worse.”
“They made it worse.”
“Now everyone thinks I’m exactly what he said.”
His face changed at that, anger tightening somewhere beneath the surface, but not at you. Never quite at you.
“They don’t know what you are.”
Your chest pulled tight.
“And what am I?”
The question came out too vulnerable to take back.
Jack didn’t answer right away.
Mist clung to his suit jacket, darkening the shoulders. Behind him, warm light spilled through the glass door, all gold and soft edges, turning the ballroom into something distant and unreal. Out here, the air smelled like rain on stone, cold metal, wet city streets below. Everything was sharper than it had been inside. The railing under your hands. The damp hem of your dress against your legs. The silence between his breath and yours.
He looked so out of place and exactly right, a man built for crisis standing in the aftermath of one he couldn’t stitch closed.
You hated that you wanted him to say it.
You hated more that he looked like he wanted to.
Instead, he said, “Not that.”
A hard little laugh left you before you could stop it. “That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the one I’ve got.”
“Great.”
Jack came closer, stopping beside you but not touching. The restraint was worse than touch. You could feel him there anyway, the heat of his body cutting through the cold night, the careful space he left like distance could still save either of you.
You stared out at the rain-blurred city. Headlights smeared over the street below. Somewhere, a siren rose and faded, thin and familiar enough to make your stomach twist.
“You bought the dress,” you said.
“Yes.”
“You fixed my car.”
“Yes.”
“You buy my food. You show up. You pay for things before I can even figure out how to say no.”
Something moved in his jaw, but he didn’t interrupt.
“What do you think people are going to call that?”
“I don’t give a shit what people call it.”
“I do.”
“Then tell me what you call it.”
The words took the air out of the terrace.
You looked at him.
Jack’s eyes held yours, tired and dark and unflinching. He wasn’t letting you hide in the joke this time. He wasn’t letting himself hide either. That was the terrifying part. The thing between you had been allowed to live as banter because neither of you had forced it to stand under direct light.
Sugar daddy. Old man. Doctor. Daddy.
All those little names you used to turn intimacy into comedy before it could ask something of you.
Now Jack was standing there asking.
Tell me what you call it.
Your mouth felt dry.
“I call it confusing,” you said.
His expression shifted.
You kept going because stopping felt worse. “I call it you being too good at noticing things I wish you wouldn’t. I call it you making it really fucking hard to feel normal around you. I call it embarrassing when someone says the quiet part out loud and I realize I don’t even know how to defend myself because I don’t know what we’re doing.”
Jack’s hands were still at his sides, but nothing about him looked relaxed.
You swallowed. “And I call it unfair that you get to act like this is all practical when you look at me like that.”
His voice dropped. “Like what?”
You shook your head. “Don’t.”
“Like what?”
“Like you already know what I look like under the dress.”
The words left you too soft, too honest, and Jack inhaled slowly. Neither of you moved while rain whispered beyond the overhang and the ballroom noise pressed faintly through the door, muffled and useless, like it belonged to a different night.
Then he said, rougher than before, “I don’t.”
The words went through you slowly, leaving heat in places they had no right to reach.
His eyes lowered, not all the way down your body this time. Just to your mouth.
“But I’ve thought about it.”
The terrace went silent.
Or maybe your body stopped receiving sound from anything that wasn’t him.
You stared at him, suddenly aware of everything at once: the dress clinging where the mist had touched it, the cold air slipping beneath the hem, the damp railing at your back, the small, charged space between your body and his. Jack hadn’t touched you, but the way he looked at you made it feel like he’d already imagined where his hands would go first. The want in his face wasn’t polished or easy. It looked dragged out of him, unwilling and hungry, like every careful thing in him had finally started losing.
“Jack,” you whispered.
“I know.”
“You don’t know what I was going to say.”
“Yes, I do.”
You stepped closer, just enough to watch his control take the hit.
“What was I going to say?”
His eyes lifted.
“That we shouldn’t.”
The truth of it sat there between you, almost laughable.
You shouldn’t. He shouldn’t. The age gap was there, humming under the surface. The hospital. The money. The care. The fact that everyone seemed to have noticed before either of you had admitted it out loud. The fact that Jack carried enough damage to make most people step carefully, and you were standing there in a dress he bought, wanting him to ruin every careful thing about you.
“You’re right,” you said.
Jack nodded once, like the verdict had been delivered.
Then you added, “That's what I was going to say.”
His eyes sharpened.
You took one more step.
“But it’s not what I want.”
For the first time all night, Jack looked shaken.
Not much. He’d never give that much away in public. But you saw it in the slight part of his mouth, the break in his breathing, the flicker of something raw beneath the restraint.
“Say that again,” he said.
The words nearly undid you.
You lifted your chin because if you were going to tell the truth, you were going to do it with your head held high.
“I don’t want you to stop.”
Jack looked at you for one long, unbearable second, then lifted his hand slowly enough to give you every chance to step back.
You didn’t.
His knuckles brushed your jaw first, careful in a way that made your whole body ache. Not rough. Not yet. Worse than rough, maybe, because he was still holding himself back and you could feel the effort in every inch he didn’t take.
“You’re not my little girlfriend,” he said.
Your chest tightened. “No?”
“No.” His thumb shifted under your chin, tipping your face up by degrees, not forcing you, just making it impossible to look anywhere else. “You’re not little. You’re not a joke. And you’re sure as hell not something I’m ashamed of wanting.”
The words sank through you, hot and low, settling in every place he still hadn’t touched. Jack’s eyes dropped to your mouth and stayed there long enough to make the choice for both of you.
Then he kissed you.
It wasn’t frantic at first.
That would’ve been easier.
It was deliberate, a firm press of his mouth to yours, steady and devastating, like he had finally decided to stop lying but still hadn’t given himself permission to forget where you were. His hand held your jaw; the other stayed at his side, fingers curled tight like touching you anywhere else might finish what the kiss had started.
You made a small sound against his mouth.
That was what broke it.
Jack stepped into you, guiding you back until the rail met your spine, and the kiss turned filthy in one sharp, breath-stealing shift. His mouth opened wider, tongue pushing past your lips to lick deep and slow against yours, wet enough to make your knees weaken, sure enough to make heat pool low in your gut. His breath came rough through his nose, his hand sliding from your jaw to the side of your neck, thumb tucked beneath your chin like he wanted to feel the exact second you stopped fighting him and melted under his palm.
You grabbed his jacket.
He made a low sound, almost a warning.
You pulled him closer anyway.
The rail pressed against your back. Damp air cooled your bare arms. Inside, beyond the glass, the fundraiser glowed on with its speeches and donors and useless flowers, but out here Jack’s body cut off the light, his mouth hot and sure, his hand at your neck keeping you exactly where he wanted you.
When he dragged himself back, he didn’t go far.
His forehead hovered near yours. His breathing was harsher now. So was yours.
“This is a bad idea,” he said.
You laughed, breathless enough that it came out softer than you meant. “You kissed me.”
“I know.”
“So your professional opinion is hypocritical.”
His mouth twitched, but his eyes stayed dark, fixed on yours with a heat that made it impossible not to remember his tongue in your mouth. He looked like he was still tasting you, like he was one wrong word away from dragging you back against the railing and making a mess of that pretty, expensive dress.
“You keep talking,” he said, voice low enough to feel like it belonged between your legs instead of in the open air, “and I’m going to forget we’re still at a hospital fundraiser.”
Liquid heat shot through you, sharp and shameless. You curled your fingers higher into his lapels. “Is that supposed to scare me?”
“It should.”
“It doesn’t.”
Jack searched your face for one last sign that you wanted him to be better than this.
You didn’t.
His thumb dragged once along the side of your neck, slow enough to make your thighs press together under the dress, then he stepped back and opened the door.
“Come on.”
“Where?”
His eyes held yours.
“My car.”
The walk through the ballroom should’ve been humiliating. Maybe it was. You couldn’t tell. Jack stayed close without touching you, which somehow looked worse after what had just happened, like distance had become another form of confession. Your mouth still felt swollen from his, your skin too awake beneath the dress, your whole body lit with the kind of want that made every normal step feel rehearsed.
Robby saw you first, because of course he did. His eyes moved from Jack’s face to yours, then back again, and he lifted his glass slightly—not smiling, just acknowledging the inevitable.
Dana caught your eye from near the bar with one eyebrow raised. Santos looked ready to say something disastrous until Mohan turned her gently but firmly toward the dessert table. McKay glanced over, clocked enough to know better, and immediately pulled Whitaker into a conversation he looked relieved to have guidance for. Javadi watched for half a second too long, then looked away like she’d remembered curiosity had consequences.
Jack ignored all of them.
You loved and hated him for it.
The elevator ride down was worse.
Mirrored walls. Soft music. Your reflection beside his. His shoulder inches from yours. The phantom feel of his hand still on your neck. Neither of you speaking because speech had become a loaded weapon and you were both already wounded.
In the parking garage, the air smelled like rain and concrete again.
Jack unlocked the car.
You stopped by the passenger door, suddenly aware of the line you were crossing. Not the moral one. That had been smudged for weeks. This was more physical. More real. A door. A backseat. His face in the dim garage light, turned toward you with all that want and all that control and all the consequences waiting behind both.
He saw the hesitation immediately.
Of course he did.
“You can change your mind,” he said.
The words loosened something in you.
Not because you wanted to.
Because he meant it.
You stepped closer. “I’m not changing my mind.”
Jack’s eyes searched yours.
“Tell me if I do something you don’t want.”
“I will.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
He nodded once.
Then you said, quieter, “Do you?”
His face shifted.
“Do I what?”
“Know what I want.”
The garage seemed to hold its breath.
Jack opened the back door.
“Get in,” he said.
Not loud. Not cruel.
Just low enough to go through you like a match.
You got in.
The door shut behind you, and for one suspended second you were alone in the dark leather backseat with your heartbeat, the rain ticking somewhere beyond the garage, and the reflection of Jack moving around the car in the tinted window.
Then the opposite door opened.
He slid in beside you, too big for the space, too warm, too close. The dome light cut over his face for a second before it faded, leaving him in shadow and stray fluorescent spill. His knee brushed yours. His hand came up, not touching yet, braced against the seat near your hip.
“You still think this is about money?” he asked.
Your breath caught.
You shook your head.
“Words.”
“No.”
“No, what?”
“No, I don’t think it’s about money.”
His gaze dropped to your mouth.
“What’s it about?”
You could’ve said care.
You could’ve said want.
You could’ve said every soft, terrifying thing his hands had been saying for weeks with coffee cups and repair bills and the new shoes you wore until they stopped hurting.
Instead, because you were trembling and stubborn and still you, you whispered, “Your sugar daddy complex.”
Jack’s eyes flashed.
Then he kissed you hard enough to knock your head back against the seat and it was nothing like the terrace—careful and slow and weighted with confession. This was hungry. His teeth caught your bottom lip, tugged, and the sound you made was swallowed by his mouth as his tongue slid against yours, wet and deep and tasting like the whiskey he'd barely touched all night. His other hand found your waist, gripping the silk of the dress, bunching it, pulling you across the seat until your hip hit his and you gasped into his mouth.
"Jack—"
"Don't talk." His lips dragged to your jaw, your throat, the spot behind your ear that made you arch. "Just—let me —"
His hand slid up your thigh, pushing the dress higher, and the leather was cool against the backs of your legs but his palm was hot, rough, callused from years of work and combat and things he never talked about. You spread for him without thinking. He made a sound against your neck—approval, hunger, relief—and his fingers pressed higher, found the wet heat through your underwear, and stopped.
"Fuck," he breathed. "You're already—"
You bit his earlobe. "Your mouth on the terrace did that."
He laughed—a low, broken thing—and his fingers hooked the edge of your panties, dragged them down your thighs. You lifted your hips to help, and he dropped them somewhere on the floor mat, already forgotten, already gone. His hand came back wet.
"Look at me."
You did. His eyes were dark, half-lidded, his breathing ragged. The garage light caught the silver in his beard, the flush rising up his neck, the way his thumb was already circling your clit like he'd done it a thousand times before. He hadn't. But he knew exactly what he was doing.
“I tried to be careful with you,” he said, voice rough, his fingers sliding through your slick folds, gathering, teasing, “I tried so fucking hard. Then I walked in and saw you at that table in the dress I bought you, and I knew I was done.”
Your breath hitched as his middle finger pressed inside you, just the tip, just enough to make your hips buck.
"—and you knew, didn't you?" He pushed deeper, slow, watching your face. "Knew what it was doing to me."
You couldn't answer. His finger was inside you, thick and deliberate, curling, finding the spot that made your vision blur. Then a second finger joined it, stretching, and you heard yourself whimper—high and desperate and not caring who heard.
"That's it," he murmured. "Let me hear you."
He worked you open like he had all night, like the parking garage was empty, like the world had shrunk to the space between his fingers and your cunt. His thumb pressed your clit in slow circles while his fingers pumped—not hard, not fast, just deep and aching, stretching you until you were dripping down his hand, until your nails dug into his shoulder through his jacket.
"Jack—I need—"
"I know what you need."
He pulled his fingers out slowly, deliberately, and you watched him bring them to his mouth. Watched his tongue slide across his knuckles, tasting you, his eyes never leaving yours. The sight of it—this tired, controlled man in his undone suit, licking your wetness off his fingers like it was the best thing he'd tasted all night—made your hole clench around nothing.
"Get on top of me."
It wasn't a question. He was already reaching for his belt, the buckle rasping open, the sound sharp and final in the close air of the car. You climbed over him, the dress bunching around your waist, your knees finding the leather on either side of his hips. His cock was hard beneath his briefs, straining against the fabric, and you reached down and wrapped your hand around it.
He hissed through his teeth. "Fuck —"
He was thick. Hot. The head slick with something that might have been precum, might have been your imagination, but when you stroked him once, slow, his hips bucked into your palm.
"If you keep doing that," he said, his voice strained, "this is going to be very embarrassing for me."
You laughed—breathless, wild—and leaned down to kiss him. "Then stop me."
He didn't.
His hand found your hip, guided you forward, and the head of his cock nudged against your entrance. Wet. Ready. The two of you hovered there, breathing each other's air, and his forehead pressed against yours.
"Tell me you want this."
"I want this." Your voice was barely a whisper. "I want you. Please, Jack—"
He pushed inside you.
The stretch was a shock—full and deep and so much more than his fingers had promised. You gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders, your head falling back as he filled you inch by inch, until you were seated in his lap, his hips flush against yours, his cock buried to the hilt inside your tight, wet heat.
"Fuck," he breathed. "Fuck, you feel—"
He couldn't finish. His hands found your hips, held you there, and for a moment neither of you moved. Just the feeling of him inside you, the throb of his pulse through his cock, the way your body adjusted, accepted, wanted.
Then you moved.
Slow at first—a roll of your hips that made his eyes roll back, a tilt of your pelvis that drove him deeper. His grip tightened on your waist, guiding, and you found the rhythm together: him thrusting up as you sank down, the slap of skin loud in the enclosed space, the wet sound of your bodies meeting.
"Look at you," he said, his voice rough, his eyes fixed on where you were joined. "Taking all of me. Fucking yourself on my cock in a parking garage."
You moaned, riding him harder, the dress bunched around your waist, the silk skin-warm and bunched up. His thumb found your clit again, pressing, circling, and the pleasure coiled tight in your belly, hot and sharp and building.
"The dress," you gasped. "You bought me this dress—"
"I bought it so I could take it off you." He tugged at the strap with his teeth, the fabric slipping down your shoulder, exposing your breast to the dim light. His mouth was on it instantly—hot, wet, his tongue circling your nipple before he sucked, hard, and you cried out, your rhythm faltering.
"Say it again." His mouth against your skin. "Say sugar daddy again and see what happens."
You laughed, breathless, your hips grinding against him. "Sugar daddy."
He bit your shoulder—not hard, but enough to make you gasp—and then his hand was in your hair, pulling your head back, forcing you to meet his eyes.
"Then take what I give you." His voice was low and rough and it made your pussy squeeze around him. "Take this cock like you've been wanting to since I fixed your goddamn car."
You did. You rode him harder, faster, the leather squeaking beneath your knees, the car rocking with the motion, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps. His hand stayed in your hair, his other gripping your hip hard enough to bruise, and he thrust up into you with a rhythm that was pure instinct—hungry, claiming, the restraint he'd held for weeks finally snapping.
"That's it," he growled. "That's my girl. Taking what she needs."
"Jack—I'm close—"
"I know. I can feel you. You're squeezing me so fucking tight—"
His thumb pressed harder on your clit, circling faster, and the orgasm hit you like a wave—sudden and overwhelming, your vision white, your back arching as your cunt clamped down on his cock, pulsing, milking, the pleasure so sharp it was almost pain. You heard yourself cry out—his name, a curse, something that might have been a sob—and he kept thrusting through it, drawing it out, letting you ride him through the aftershocks.
"Fuck—" His voice broke. "I'm going to—"
"Inside me." You grabbed his face, forced him to look at you. "I want it. Please."
He came with a groan that was almost a prayer, his hips driving up one last time, his hand gripping your hip so hard it would leave marks. You felt it—hot and thick, pumping into you, filling you, his cock twitching with each pulse, his breath ragged against your lips. The sensation pushed you into a second, smaller climax, your body clenching around him, drawing out every drop.
For a long moment, neither of you moved. His forehead rested against yours. His breathing was harsh, uneven, mingling with yours in the close air. The car smelled like sex and sweat and the faint, stubborn trace of hospital soap beneath his cologne, and your thighs were slick and trembling, and his cock was still half-hard inside you, and it was the most real you'd felt all night.
Then he laughed.
A low, disbelieving sound, his shoulders shaking against yours. You started laughing too, breathless and giddy, and you kissed him—messy, open-mouthed, tasting salt and spit and the whiskey he'd barely touched.
"Well," he said, pulling back just enough to look at you. "That was—"
"Stupid," you supplied.
"Reckless."
"A really bad idea."
His hand came up to cup your face again, his thumb tracing your cheekbone. "Worth it."
You kissed him again, slower this time, and you felt him smile against your mouth. When you pulled back, you were still straddling him, his cock still softening inside you, and the reality of it settled into your bones like warmth.
"We should probably—" you started.
"Yeah." He didn't move. "In a minute."
His hand found yours on his chest, lacing your fingers together, and the garage light caught the gray in his hair and the tired lines around his eyes and the way he was looking at you like you were the first real thing he'd seen in years.
"I'm not going to pretend this was casual," he said.
"Good," you said. "Because it wasn't."
He helped you clean up with the wet wipes he found in the glove compartment—absurd, practical, so perfectly him—and then he helped you rearrange the dress, his hands careful now, almost reverent, smoothing the silk over your hips like he was putting something precious back together. The fabric was wrinkled now, carrying the memory of his hands, and when you looked at yourself in the window reflection, you saw the flush on your chest, the bite mark on your shoulder, the way your hair had come loose from the careful updo.
You looked like someone who had been thoroughly, completely, indisputably wanted.
He watched you adjust the strap, his eyes following the small, careful movement like it mattered. You sat half-turned against him in the backseat, put back together enough to face the world again, though both of you knew exactly what had happened here. Jack’s hand rested at the back of your neck, thumb moving slowly against your skin, and in the dim garage light he looked less like the man everyone trusted in a crisis and more like someone who’d finally let himself want something he couldn’t triage.
“What?” you asked.
He shook his head.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Look like you’re about to disappear into your own head.”
That almost-smile moved over his mouth, faint and tired. “You diagnosing me now?”
“I learned from a very bossy doctor.”
“He sounds unbearable.”
“He is.”
The quiet settled, full of everything waiting outside the car: the fundraiser, the rumor, the receipt, the repaired car, the shoes, the dress, every careful thing Jack had done before either of you had dared to call it care. You looked down. “I don’t know how to let someone take care of me without feeling like a burden.”
Jack didn’t answer quickly. That made it worse. Better. Finally, he said, “Needing help isn’t the same thing as being helpless.”
Your throat tightened. You hated him a little for knowing exactly where to put the words. You loved him a little for it too.
“Jack,” you said softly.
He waited.
You smiled, small and shaky. “Do I get an allowance now?”
For half a second, he stared at you. Then his eyes closed, and the laugh that left him was quiet, rough, almost unwilling. It felt like winning something no one else got to see. When he opened his eyes, they were warm.
“You get breakfast.”
“That’s it?”
“And your car.”
“Already got that.”
“And the shoes.”
“Also already got those.”
“And whatever else you need,” he said, thumb brushing once at your neck, “if you stop acting like needing it makes you less.”
Your smile faded into something softer. “That sounds an awful lot like a boyfriend.”
Jack looked at you for a long moment, tired and undone and still there. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m working up to that.”
The fundraiser was still waiting upstairs, all polished glassware and polite cruelty, the kind of room where people could turn want into rumor before the night was over. You would have to go back to PTMC after this. You would pass Jack in hallways. You would hear his voice over trauma bays, see his name on charts, feel the weight of every title that should have made this impossible.
But in the backseat, with his thumb moving slowly against your skin, Jack wasn’t looking at you like a mistake, or a risk, or something he’d have to explain away in daylight.
He was looking at you like something worth keeping.
And for what it was worth, you finally believed you were.
synopsisyou and Robby have always had an un-spoken understanding, that if you were two different people you'd fall in love. but he was a mess and refused to bring you down. so instead, fate threatens to take you away forever
warningsANGST. so much angst. stabbing. blood. near death. operations. typical hospital stuff but a happy ending
authornotethis is just completely ripped from that episode of ER when John Carter gets stabbed, like the medical talk is all from that. I also feel like this may be slight ooc robby cause I have struggle with how this man would be affectionate. i had a hell of a lot of fun writing this, angst is by far my favourite, i hope you like too
Pitt masterlist. Other Robby fic!
You weren't sure if it was the thumping in your head or the drum in your heart but you watched Robby closely. It could have been the injury to your head or the closeness of him that had your heart reacting in such a way.
You blamed it on the injury.
“Give it to me straight, Doc,” you joked. One of his gloved hands cupped your chin, nudging your gaze up. The other dabbed gently at the cut to your forehead. “Am I gonna make it?”
There was a line of displeasure in his lips. “Not funny,” he mumbled.
“Sure it is.”
“No, it's not.”
You rolled your eyes before going back to focusing on him.
It was rare you got to watch him in his concentration. Usually you were in the middle of a trauma when he pulled out the serious face and things were moving too fast for you to even catch a glimpse. Now- his focus was all on you. You could study the creases at his brows and the flecks of grey in his beard.
“You ever notice you have these deep lines between your eyebrows when you're concentrating?”
“It's called age,” he said but there was the smallest hint of a smile there.
“Aren't you twenty-seven?”
This time he couldn't stop the smirk of amusement and finally you won.
Robby dabbed away the blood at your cut, changing the gauze. “Don't think you're distracting me.”
You hummed as he tilted your head into the light. “Distracting you from what?”
“Reporting him.”
You grew silent and looked away.
It was Robby's turn to stare at you, eyes without warmth, stern in ways he was with patients that didn't want to listen to good advice. You may be sitting on a bed in exam room four and you may have a chart written up but you were not a patient. “He was scared and confused-”
“ - he pushed you.”
“And I was the one that tripped and bashed my head.”
“He threw you down!”
You winced at his snap and then winced at the pain your wincing brought you.
Robby sighed with some sort of regret. His fingertips brushed your skin as he finished cleaning the cut and you couldn't help but think it was a deliberate move. He'd been so careful not to touch or apply pressure but suddenly the callous of his fingers were there.. “If we don't take care of ourselves nobody else will do it.”
It was the same thing Dana had said to you when she saw the patient push you down and run out the room in distress, hospital gown slipping on his shoulders. She'd taken you under her arm, stirred you to a chair. She was firm in both checking you were okay and that you were going to report him for hurting you.
You look past Robby, trying to see through the glass door. The Pitt carried on it's usual bustle but Dana kept a close eye out on you in the room. “Where is he now?”
“None of your concern,” he said. “The cut's clean, looks like you won't need stitches.”
“You've restrained him haven't you?”
Robby frowned. His head shook slightly in disbelief- like he couldn't believe you. “He hurt you. Jesus- you think I was gonna just tuck him back in bed- you think Dana was!”
You were used to the rise in Robby's voice, as attending it was his job to command everyone. You just didn't like to hear it risen at you. “He woke up, confused and startled.”
The patient was brought in un-conscious at the side of the road, a gash in his arm. Nobody knew his name but you'd admitted him and ran some tests while he was semi-conscious. He'd woken up as you were checking his IV and the next thing you knew hard hands were pushing you away. You'd taken the tray down with you and smacked your head in the process. Then he'd ran and then Robby had you in his arms, willing to pick you up and carry you off if it weren't for your insistence to walk to an exam room.
Robby's body heaved in a sigh as he put his hands on his thighs. “He hurt you,” he repeated, looking up at you through his eyelashes.
You slowly met his gaze as he got closer on the stall in front of you. “I've had worse.”
It wasn't supposed to be a dig but as his eyes met yours in a haze of dark anxiety you figured it came off that way.
Really what happened between you and Robby was ancient history. A whole six months since you'd stopped seeing each other; if that's what it could be called. It was really only one stupid kiss and several flirts that created the thick tension between you two. Nothing had ever been done to encourage it further, yet nothing had also been done to squash it.
Whilst his gaze remained on you, Robby got out his penlight and checked your pupil reaction.
“Any pain?”
“Well, the light's a bit bright.”
He put it down and with his gloved hands he slowly pressed around the small cut on your forehead, hands cupping your face tenderly. “Any pain?”
“No, you've done all this twice now.”
“It's procedure for any patient.”
“It's special treatment,” you grumbled.
Robby grabbed a bandage from the tray. “You're a special patient.”
The heat crept up your cheeks before you stared at the bandage.
“Robby-”
In one hand he held a bandage, in the other a small spider-man plaster that he so obviously got from pedes.
You stared at him. “Really?”
His cheeks tilted in a small teasing grin. “All we have, I'm afraid.”
You seriously doubted it but tapped the spider-man plaster nonetheless. “I'm sure I could have done this myself, you know,” you said as he peeled away the plaster. “Or at least got one of the nurses to do it. I'm sure you're needed somewhere more important.”
He frowned again. “More important?”
“There's a guy that came in with a GSW to the chest ten minutes ago and you're saying you don't need to be there?”
Robby's hands fell to either side of your face, gently taking your cheeks. His thumb brushed the curve of your cheek bone. He could feign he was checking your pupils but you both knew better. “There's nowhere else I need to be.”
Six months ago you'd kissed in a bar ten minutes away from the Pitt. Every day since- you'd been fighting the urge to kiss him again.
At that moment, with his gentle touch and soft gaze, you wondered if he'd been fighting to.
“Look up,” Robby said with a clear of his throat.
You weren't sure what he was trying to check for anymore. Maybe he was just looking for an easy way out.
“I still want you to get a CT scan.”
“Now that's dramatic, I didn't expect that from you.”
“Any nasuea?”
You shook your head as Robby steadied you, sliding the plaster in place.
“Have you been drinking enough today?”
“Two cups of coffee count?”
Robby gave you a plain look as he yanked off the latex gloves, throwing them into a corner of the room. “Ten minutes rest, I'll bring you some food and water.”
You sighed dramatically. “Robby!”
He pushed himself up from his stool. “As you're attending I'm not asking, I'm-”
“Telling?” you guessed.
Robby hovered as you pushed yourself up back on the bed. You wouldn't say it but your head was hurting from the fall. Nothing more than a headache that some painkillers couldn't stop. If you told Robby that yes, you were in pain, you were sure he'd pull the curtain, change you into a gown and play doctor all day.
You lied back on the pillow as Robby plumped it and smoothed out the sheets under you. He was lingering and for a moment you thought of asking him to stay.
Your mouth had opened to ask when the door was nudged open.
“Robby, we got a car crash coming in five,” said Dana. She looked at you then, eyes crinkled in worry. “How you feeling, hun?”
“I'm fine, thanks Dana.”
She nodded once, offering you a small smile before leaving.
You looked up at Robby as his body lingered over yours, one arm stretched high above your head, the other lower. Your gaze flickered up and you could feel the warmth of his breath fan over you. “Ten minutes?” you asked.
“On the clock.”
“Then I'm free to go?”
His head tilted, a sly smirk playing around his thin beard. “I'm not keeping you a prisoner.”
You folded your arms over your chest, glancing away. “Feels like it.”
He chuckled lightly. For a moment his breath lingered over your forehead, closer than before.
When you glanced up he froze, hands clenched on the bed, his jaw taunt. It was as if you'd caught him in the act.
Suddenly you wished you hadn't looked up. You wished you'd let him do whatever he was going to do. Because once he'd been caught he straightened up and threw you an awkward thumbs up. “Ten minutes.”
You trace your finger over the plaster as you slowly left your room, creeping out like you were a teenager sneaking out of your parents to meet a guy. Except you were trying to avoid the guy.
“That was eight minutes!”
You looked up and found Robby at the nurses station, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. “Were you timing me?”
Robby held up his phone, showing you the timer he had counting down as next to him, Dana snorted. “Have you had something to drink? Or eat?” he asked as you leant over the counter. He was still watching you eagerly, waiting for any sign you were in more pain then you let on so he could send you back to bed.
“Thought you were getting me a drink?”
He rolled his eyes before obliging, sliding away to get you a drink. He turned back only once. “Don't go near him!” he called, the both of you knowing who the he was.
You saluted him, watching him go before turning to Dana. “How is he?”
She peered at you over her glasses. “Terrible. He's been worried sick, was practically watching you through those windows. Didn't blink for a minute!”
“Not Robby, my patient. The John Doe.”
“Well that ain't your concern anymore," she said.
“I want to treat him.”
“He's awake now, we've restrained him in twelve but Robby wants you nowhere near him.”
“Robby is over-reacting,” you sighed.
Dana lifted her shoulders. “Of course he is, it's you. You think he's gonna react rationally?”
Nobody was supposed to know about you and Robby and the thing that lingered in the middle. But somehow, Dana always ended up knowing everything.
You backed away from the counter, assuring Robby was nowhere to be seen. “Twelve, you said right?”
Dana huffed but lucky for you there were a dozen more things she needed to do. “Fine! Go! But take security with you!”
You saluted and headed that way. Outside the door, Ahmed was already there.
“Hey, doc,” he greeted. “He's been asking about you, said he wants to apologise.”
You weren't scared like you thought you'd be, stepping into the room while Ahmed promised to stay outside, just a shout away of you needed him. Your heart wasn't pounding as you slowly moved the curtain, finding the patient lying on the bed, restraints around his wrists and tied down. He wasn't thrashing about. He was calm, clocking you as you walked in.
“You're the nurse?” he said.
“Doctor, actually,” you said, introducing yourself.
He smiled but it didn't reach his eyes or add colour to his face. There was nothing in his eyes anyhow. He was pale and the thin bandaging that had been done for his arm while he struggled was bleeding through. “I-I pushed you, I am so sorry.”
You were about to say it was fine, but it wasn't you shouldn't tell him it was. You could accept the apology but still acknowledge that whatever state he was in, you shouldn't have been hurt. “Do you know where you are?”
“The hospital?”
“That's right, PTMC. Can you tell me your name?”
He nodded, gulping. There was a thin layer of sweat over his skin. “David Brown.”
“And do you know what month it is?”
“M-March.”
“Okay, good,” you said, making a quick note of his name in his chart. You sat down on the stool, shuffling to the side of his bed. “Mr Brown-”
“David,” he corrected you.
“David,” you said. “You were brought in just under an hour ago with a pretty bad laceration to your lower right arm. You were found un-conscious. Do you remember anything?”
You watched the sweat bead at his forehead, his eyes scrunched as he tried to think. His breathing grew heavier, face morphed into pain as he tried to think. “It's okay if you don't.”
“I-I don't,” a stray tear fell down his cheek.
“That's okay,” you assured him. “I'm gonna order you a CT and a toxic screening just to rule out any drugs or alcohol in your system. Is that okay?”
David's head jerked in something like a nod before you door swung open, clattering on the other side of the wall.
Robby stood at the end of the bed, face red, hands at his hips. “What are you doing in here?” he snapped.
“Doctor Robby-”
He gave you no time to explain, jutting his head back. “Step outside please, doctor.”
You stood, slowly and walked out slower.
David called out after you. “I really am sorry!”
Robby looked back like he didn't believe him.
The two of you stepped out and you spoke before he could, beating him by a second. “I'm ordering him a CT and toxicity test. That gash on his arms needs to be cleaned and stitched up, it's bleeding out.”
Robby didn't care to hear it. He pulled the curtains over and closed the door as he followed you out. “What did you think you were doing in there?”
“Tending to my patient.”
“I told you to leave him.”
“He wanted to say sorry. Ahmed, didn't he want to apologise?” you said, looking to security for some help.
Ahmed held up his hands. “Oh- I want nothing in this!”
“If he wanted to apologise he could've wrote a letter. Told me to apologise to you,” he said, still holding onto his anger. “I told you to leave it, the guy attacked you!”
“Lightly shoved me from shock!”
“Have you seen what he did to your head?”
“Yeah, a small cut, doesn't even need stitches- that's what you said!”
“It's a wound! There was blood!” he yelled. “You are not to go anywhere near him from now on, do you understand?”
There was a new anger in Robby then, something you saw rarely in him. Dana had said he was worried about you but you saw none of that concern in him now, only anger. Anger because you hadn't listened to him not because of well fair.
“I'm a doctor, I'm supposed to be helping people,” you defended, your own anger not rising to his.
His hands balled into fists. “Help someone who's asking for it. I see you in with that guy again and you're on triage for a week, you understand?”
Where was that softness in his eyes? Where was that care he tended to you in the room all alone?
“You understand?” he snapped again when you didn't answer.
You knew if you turned there'd be several pairs of eyes on the pair of you. Watching, assessing, see how you reacted. Nobody had ever heard Robby speak to you like that because he'd never shouted at you before. “I understand, Doctor Robinavitch.”
“So you yelled at her.”
Robby thought he'd find solace on the roof, that with only him and the night sky he stood a chance at thinking things through logically, for once on the right side of the rail.
Then Jack's voice sounded behind him and the peace he was searching for fell further out of reach.
“Who told you?” he asked, head falling.
“Oh, you know,” he mumbled, shoes shuffling over the roof as he got closer to him. “Just everybody that was in attendance to your little show.”
Jack leant next to him on the rail, staring at him.
Robby could feel his eyes but looked out on the skyline that was more favourable to him. Jacks eyes felt like everybody else that watched him yell at you. He could call it worry- it didn't change the way your face dropped the louder his voice rose.
“You wanna talk about it?” asked Jack.
“No.”
“I heard she got attacked.”
“Or lightly pushed as she'd put it.”
“She's a soldier.”
Robby shook his head. “No, she's a doctor. Today she could have been neither if that man-” the words chocked in his throat. What if he had hurt you even more? Punched you? Strangled you? He'd seen it all in the ER and yes, you'd been hurt before but that didn't mean he needed to have you hurt again.
“I saw her when I was coming up, she seemed fine,” said Jack. “About to clock off, you sure you want to end the day on such a bad note.”
“She doesn't want to talk to me.”
“Come on, she always wants to talk to you,” said Jack. “And I only know that cause you always want to talk to her.”
Robby wished he could say that telling Jack about the kiss so many months ago was a mistake but he couldn't because that would mean kissing you was a mistake. The only mistake made with that kiss is that he hadn't pulled you back in, kissed you every day since. But he'd told Jack on one of those lonely nights when they'd each had one too many beers how much he missed you even if he saw you every day.
“I was so fucking scared, brother,” he admitted with a long exhale of breath. Robby slumped over the rail, catching himself. “Code hula-hoop was called and her name and I- I didn't know...”
Jack's hand was firm on his back. “I know.”
Robby nodded, head tucked down. He wouldn't cry, he wasn't sure how these days but he sure as hell felt like it. It had been a hell of day, worse when he couldn't join your side without you walking off.
“You were worried, you don't know what to do with that,” said Jack.
He could admit that much.
“You go home now, she goes home, you're carrying this weight to the next day and it'll continue,” he said, therapizing him. “You were scared you might have lost her?”
Robby glanced Jack's way. There was never any judgment, only a keen understanding he sometimes didn't like.
“You might lose her if you don't do something about it.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
Jack shrugged. “Apologise.”
Robby hesitated, the words 'I'm sorry' foreign on his tongue.
Jack chuckled low in his throat. “Is that really so hard for you?”
He nodded and Jack carried on laughing. By the end, even Robby was chuckling through watery eyes.
“Okay, okay, let's try,” said Jack, straightening up, encouraging him to do the same. “Repeat after me, I'm sorry.”
“Jesus-”
“Jesus, you can't even say it-listen we'll go slow, I'm-”
Robby's phone rung in his pocket, thankfully saving him from the embarrassment. “Dana-” he answered as he spotted Jack's phone going too.
“Get down here, now!”
“What's going on?” he asked, though his feet were already moving.
He didn't see the way Jack looked at him, he hardly heard how Dana said your name because when she did Robby dropped his phone and ran.
“Robby!” Jack called but he was off the roof and furiously pressing the elevator button. He managed to slide past the doors before they closed on him. “What did Dana say?”
But Robby couldn't speak. He heard Dana's voice re-play in his head again and again. That you had been attacked, that they needed him. He couldn't think beyond that. Beyond you and attacked there was nothing.
Jack was watching him closely. “Okay-” he must've known it was bad too. “Okay, Robby, we don't know what's going on down there but you gotta stay cool, okay? You gotta stay cool or leave us to it.”
He should've kept a closer eye on you, should've sent you home.
“Robby if you get in our way I'm taking you out of there, understand?”
The doors slid open and Robby ran out, Jack quick on his heels.
“Where?” he barked out. There were no faces around him he could figure out, no Dana, no Langdon- so everyone must have been in with you-
“Trauma one!”
Robby burst through the doors.
The chaos was everywhere and he paused. There were more bodies in the trauma room then he'd ever seen. In between them all a body that he could vaguely re-call as yours. Your trainers- usually white- were seeping in blood.
“Can you open your eyes?”
“No respond to command!”
“Two stab wounds to the left flank! First one L-two, second L-five.”
“Is it the spinal chord?” asked Whitaker.
“Can't tell it depends on the angle!” said Langdon. “Jesus- there's too much blood, I can't see a thing!”
You lied on the bed, blood splattered around your clothes, un-responsive to everyone around you. You were letting them prod, push and pull when you'd hardly let him asses your cut just hours ago.
Hours when you were teasing him and he was thinking about kissing you again.
What had happened.
If it was a papercut you'd be feigning death.
This was the closest you'd ever looked to dying and Robby couldn't feel his legs.
"Doctor Robby?" someone called in the room but it wasn't you. You weren't responding to anyone. “Doctor Robby!”
Jack moved past him, body knocking his. “I'm here!”
“BP seventy over fifty, pulse one-twenty.”
Jack moved around you, pressing the chest piece of the stethoscope to your chest. “Push in two litres of O-neg. Good breath sounds bilaterally.”
Robby's ears were ringing but he could feel himself shake his head. “She's not-she's not O-neg, she's B-positive,” he heard himself mumble.
There was a sharp beeping through the room and Robby thought it was a strange sound for his heart breaking.
“Pulse ox ninety-three!”
“Do we intubate?” asked Mohan.
Your body jerked and as if you were the puppet master tugging on his strings, Robby found his feet and moved to your side.
He moved around until he was the closest to you, replacing anyone else at your side. Others watched, un-sure if they should've told him to wait outside like he was family.
Jack gave them the nod and the room moved again.
“Give me ten by mask, no intubation. Send a trauma panel!” ordered Robby.
“We need X-ray for a chest!” yelled Jack.
“X-ray can come to us! I am not moving her!” he shouted. “Help me roll, let me see!”
The blood on the front of your scrubs was splashed but as they turned you, leaning you on your side Robby's body slumped, something like a chocked sob wracking through his body.
He couldn't see the puncture wounds through the blood that soaked you. Just as Langdon had said it was a mess. “Jesus chr- oh god.”
“Pressure's up to ninety palp!”
“Who did this?” he yelled out as they gently set you back.
“The guy who came in un-conscious earlier!”
Jack looked over at Robby.
Robby felt the muscles in his jaws work and he grunted. “I'll kill him,” he grumbled.
“Robby!” lectured Jack.
But he wasn't going to take back his words. “He's fucking dead.”
“He fled the hospital,” Langdon told him. “Left his knife in the room though, they'll find him.”
It couldn't have been a scalpel, it couldn't have been scissors. The guy came in, found a knife- or brought one from home- to harm you. If Robby ever saw him again he'd kill the guy and deal with the consequences that came.
“Toes are down going, no spinal injury,” said someone else in the room but he was losing all focus that wasn't you.
Garcia walked through the doors, joining the crowd of people around you.
“Tell me you've got an OR booked!” said Jack.
“With her name on it! How we doing in here?”
Santos pushed her way ahead, a small and un-characteristic tremble to her hands. There was another unit of blood pushed into your bloodstream and Robby was seconds away from hooking himself up and giving you his very blood. “Pressure's up!” she reported, lingering over you with a light. “Right pupil five millimetres and reactive -”
Suddenly your body jerked at the light. Your head thrashed side to side as you slowly returned to consciousness.
“Huh... I-wha-”
“Hey! Hey!” Robby pushed his way to you, looming over you and catching your eyes.
They were wild, looking around before settling on him.
“Robby?” you uttered, lips dry, dried blood at your neck. Your eyes were looking around like you couldn't quite see.
“Yeah- yeah it's me.” His hand flew to your hair, brushing it back as your eyes were going from him to around you, panic rising in your eyes. “Look at me, focus on me.”
“What-what?”
“You were stabbed,” he uttered.
Your eyes widened and he brushed back your hair again, doctors moving around the two of you. They could've been right on his back or a thousand miles away. All he focused on was you. Your hands waved around, getting in the way of tubes and the doctors.
Robby grabbed your hand, squeezing.
You focused on him and he tried to smile, tried to make himself convinced everything would be alright. He knew it was a grimace.
He'd never hated his medical training more. Because he knew this amount of blood loss was bad, he knew stabbing so close to the spinal chords was dangerous. He knew you were strong and hated staying still for too long and now you'd be forced to recover.
“My pressure?”
“It's up.” He watched as your eyes teared up, looking away from him again. “Good, that's good.”
Your hair sprawled out as you shook your head. “Am I gonna.... will I walk again?”
Robby hesitated. “Yeah- yeah we think it missed your spinal chord.”
Robby knew that but he couldn't help the tears that fell, couldn't help the small sob that ripped through his throat. You'd been calm at the cut with your head, damn right comedic. Now- you were quiet, whimpering and crying in pain and there wasn't anything he could do.
He was a doctor, he could help and check vitals and squeeze the bag of blood slow.
But he couldn't move from your side.
You nod before your back arched in pain and you yelled out.
“BP eighty palp!”
Robby got up, ignoring the ache in his knees as he loomed over you, trying to calm the pain. “Do something!”
“Robby!”
He looked.
You'd drained the blood dry.
“What?” you uttered, voice trembled in terror.
“Okay she needs to go up, now!” Jack called out.
“Let's get her moving!” yelled Garcia.
You groaned in pain. “What's going on?”
Robby didn't know what to do. It wasn't a conversation of telling a patient what was going on or what wasn't. It was telling you. He stuttered lamely, lost as another tear slid down his cheek. You hadn't even cried yet and he was close to blubbering.
His head bowed to you. He was mumbling, he thinks he was praying.
“Robby-” your hand waved out in front of him and he grabbed it, squeezing. “It hurts.”
“Okay, okay, we're gonna-” what was he gonna do? He pressed your hand to his lips, holding it there.
“Hey, honey,” Jack appeared at your other side and your eyes moved to see him but Robby didn't let go. “Hell of a way to get into the night shift.”
“Jack-” you winced.
Jack looked from you to Robby, the same way he looked at the family of unfortunate patients. “We're taking her up to the OR now.”
Your fingers wiggled in Robby's grasp and he looked back to you. “It's bad huh?”
“No, no,” said Robby smoothing back your hair again.
“Your losing a lot of blood, and your foley output is bright red,” said Jack. “But we're gonna sort it and you'll be fine. You trust me?”
Your breathing was shallow, hard breaths hardly coming out. Still, you tried to smile. “Do I- do I have a choice?” your voice came out through seethes of breath.
Robby closed his eyes tight, as if he could feel the own stabbing in his heart.
“Robb-Robby?”
He glanced at you, your eyes fluttering shut. The little hold you had on his hand weakening. He fumbled up, hands holding your cheeks. “Woah-woah- open your eyes! Look at me- look at me!”
You mumbled, head lulling.
“Going up!”
“Look at me, open your eyes!” he all but shouted at you as your eyes were still rolling to the back of his head, wavering between waking and whatever else was on the other side.
“Robby!”
Robby held onto the side of your bed as the team around you wheeled you away and through. There was a stutter of shock waving through the crowd, fear chocking them, shock eating at them. There was police around, all trying to get a look.
“Talk to her, Robinavitch!” said Garcia.
He didn't talk to patients, he evaluated them, stitched them up when he could.
Robby looked up at Jack, hoping for help. He looked grave, watching Robby un-sure but people came back from worse. You'd come back. “Hey, hey look at me,” he uttered and squeezed your hand. When that didn't work he pulled at your eyelids and finally you responded with a grumble.
The elevator doors slid open and you were hauled in, Robby squeezed in too.
“Wh-what?”
He got a flash of your eyes before they closed again.
Your lips were dry and chapped but Robby kissed you anyway, pressing his lips to yours soft, not pushing afraid he'd hurt you but he wanted you to know he was there.
He smiled. He'd never seen you first thing in the morning, he imagined this is what it was. Groggy eyes, words hardly there but with less pain and blood. Robby pulled back and ignored the blood drying in splatters on your neck. “Are you with me, honey?”
You blinked and groaned in pain. “I don't-I don't know.”
“You're with me, yeah you are, you're with me,” Robby mumbled. “You look very pretty, even covered in blood, you know that?” he mumbled, trying to say it so only you could hear.
There was a huff of a smile followed by pain.
“You can't flirt with me while I'm dying, Robinavitch.”
Your eyes fluttered shut.
Robby grabbed your face, smooching your cheek maybe a bit too harsh. “You're not going anywhere.”
“You've pushed four bags,” you whispered. “You're gonna push a five.”
There was a huff of laugh from Jack.
Robby sniffed. You were too good at your job sometimes, ignoring the ache in his back as he leant over you. “You shouldn't be counting.”
“What can I say I'm over-qualified,” your eyes shut again but your lips moved in mumbles.
“What is it? What are you saying?” he asked, a crack in his voice. “What? Tell me.... tell me.”
But you weren't really there anymore. You were incoherent, eyes not really there. None of you was really there. “Robby.... Rob.... please, Robby.”
“What? I'm here, I'm right here, okay? Okay, honey?” Robby felt his chest cave in. “What's taking this elevator so long?” he snapped.
“It's bad, I know,” you said, fingers drifting soft over his arm before it dropped. “I can't- I can't-”
The doors slid open, a team waited on the other side.
Garcia pushed you ahead into the team, spouting who she wanted to scrub in, telling them all who she wanted out front watching. Your condition was a perfect teaching sort.
You weren't for teaching. You were for saving!
Robby wanted to tell as much as the team wheeled you away and Jack's arm came out to stop him.
“You can't go in there man,” he said.
“Like hell I can't!”
“No, you can't!” said Jack.
Any other time Robby would have argued more but he had nothing to say. He needed to be there, he wanted to be there but as soon as they cut you open he'd break. As soon as he saw inside your body he'd tie himself to you.
He'd seen over a hundred bodies cut open in his time but yours might break him.
Robby nodded, hands going to the back of his head.
Someone in the room cried and it took him a moment to realise it was him.
“Hey-hey-” Jack embraced him and Robby couldn't reach to hug him back but he could let himself down. “I will go in, I will be there, you know I will do everything to save her. We will save her.”
To save your life, Robby let him go and stood alone. He looked down at his hand as if he could feel the ghost hold of you still there. When he looked down, all he saw was the hair on the back and the tremble of his fingers.
Robby- for the first time since he was a boy- learnt how to cry.
He tried- boy did he try- to get back into the swing of things. Robby walked into the Pitt with red, blotchy eyes and a waver in his voice. He looked at the board, picked up a sixty year old patient with migraines.
“Hello I'm Doctor Robinavitch, everyone calls me Robby. What seems to be the problem today?”
That was as far as he got before Dana walked in.
“No, no, no, no!” she said, putting the chart down and dragging him out. “I am so sorry Mrs Klepton, we'll get Doctor Shen with you in just a moment. Come with me.”
He was dragged out like a scolded child and shoved into the lounge.
“What do you think you're doing?” she'd snapped.
Robby had put himself in the corner, crowding himself in, arms over his head. What was he doing? Trying to be useful. You'd be up in the OR lord knew how long. If he sat and waited he'd go mad.
Dana leant on the counter. “What'd you think you're doing here, Robinavitch? Get outta here, go home! Better yet go wait for her.”
“I-I can't.”
“Robby.”
He could feel the tears start again. Didn't the human run out of tears eventually? They didn't teach that in med school. “I- I can't. I'm useful in-in here, I'm not- I'm not-”
“Right now there's only one person you can be useful to, so go to her.”
That's how he ended up in the OR waiting room, alone, not flicking through the magazines provided, not even watching the fish in the tank. He was just sitting.
Waiting.
At some point he'd taken the clock down to not watch the hands turn but eventually the sun rose and he was terrified like no other day.
It was going on 05:00 am when the door slowly pushed open. It wasn't with a rattle of relief or with a cheer, it was a slow push.
Robby thought his heart was broken before.
He was hunched over himself, elbows balanced on his knees as he hid his face in his hands and slowly rocked himself. “No... no... no...”
“Robby,” Jack said quietly. His steps were slow but he felt his hand on his back.
Robby flinched, shrinking into himself.
Where was the knife so he could stab himself?
“Robby- she's okay.”
There was a crack in his neck from how quick he looked up. It wasn't enough to convince him, his clinical trained mind wondering all the what would comes? Had it got into your spine? How much blood had you lost.
But Jack listed it off like he knew what Robby needed to hear first. It hadn't hit an aorta, it got an artery hence the bleeding but they'd stabilised it with more blood than they would have liked. But you were alive, though sleeping and they had no worries for you at the moment.
Robby nodded when Jack finished. He must have come right from the OR to tell him because he was still in scrubs and covered in blood. Your blood. “Can I see her?”
You didn't look peaceful. Robby had never thought how uncomfortable the hospital gowns must have been until he saw you lying in one. There was oxygen tube in your nose and an IV in your hand. There was some bruising he hadn't noticed before on your arms from the fall you took.
“What do I do now?” Robby mumbled. He was good at the saving lives part, he just wasn't sure what to do when they hung in limbo.
Jack patted his back, leading the way in the room. “For a doctor you're pretty clueless. You sit with her.”
Robby followed in, un-sure what to do with himself so he held onto either end of his stethoscope.
There was a chair already pulled up to your side as Jack busied himself on the other, checking your IV and BP- all looked good.
Robby had caught you napping at your desk once, fallen asleep while charting. He'd admired you for a moment before slowly waking you with a pen poked in your head. You'd looked so peaceful then- nothing like it now.
“Is she cold?”
“No- I don't think so.”
Robby slowly sank down in the chair and picked up your hand again. It stopped the trembling in his at once.
“I gotta get off, I'll cover the day, do something about the nights. Stay with her, call me if there's any changes,” said Jack.
“Thank you, brother,” said Robby.
There was a dull drumming in your head. Your back was aching and even moving your eyes hurt. Beyond all of that there was something else, something heavier.
Your eyes opened slowly and you found the lights ahead. They burned brighter than the sun, like every morning when you walked into PCMT. You tried to hide, to shield yourself with your hand but you couldn't move it.
Panic coursed through you. Why couldn't you move it? Why could you hardly feel your hand? Dear god-
“Hey,” a gentle voice greeted and you searched for them.
Jack stood over you, leaning at you bed.
Your mouth was parched as you tried to speak.
“You're okay,” said Jack in a whisper. “You remember what happened?”
Step by step you thought back. You were leaving, only checking on David once more before sharp pain hit you in the back and you were shoved. When you came too again faces blurred together and pain blinded you to them all.
There was Robby. Somewhere in all of that.
“I was... stabbed?”
Jack nodded, a small trembled in his chin. “Yeah you were. But you're gonna be okay, there was no injury to your spine.”
“I'll walk?”
“Twelve hours time we'll get you up.”
When you focused you could feel the ache in your arm as if someone was pulling it. There was something heavy at the end like someone was holding it, tight.
Robby was at your other side, lying on your arm and holding you down. His body was curved over, head turned away as his back moved in soft breaths.
“Thought I'd let him sleep. He's been up watching you since you came out the OR,” said Jack.
Robby. He'd stayed.
Had you asked him to? You'd wanted him to. Maybe he understood that.
“Thank you, Jack.”
Jack shook his head. There was no need to thank him, you knew that, but you were thanking him for the life you'd put in his hands and that he'd let Robby be at your side. “You want some time?”
You nodded stiff, feeling the ache in your back more and more. You knew you had months ahead of you of pain but you didn't want to dull it with drugs just yet.
Jack petted down your hair once before taking his hoodie off the back of the chair and leaving, closing the door gently.
In the silence you watched Robby a moment longer, matching your new breaths with his. The weight of him on your hand made you tingle as you slowly worked your fingertips back to life.
You tried to move your hand out from his weight but he stirred.
Groggily he turned and looked around the room, waking up more confused then you were.
“Robby?”
His eyes widened.
Robby moved up at once, looming over your bed as you tried to push yourself up. “Hey, hey, take it easy,” he fretted, eyes raking over your body like he was checking all of you were there. “Are you okay? Are you in pain?”
“Robby-” you tried to protest.
“BP is hundred over eighty.”
You tried to entertain him, just as you had with the cut on your head. If you let him go through the motions just might just end up holding his hand again. So you let him try your nerves, let him ask if you were in pain. You let him ask you to wiggle your fingers and toes. You let him lift one leg and the other as high as he could before you winced in pain.
“Can you stop being my doctor for a second and sit back down?”
Robby seemed startled but hid it quickly. He realised Jack was out the room. “He should've woke me, checked you over.”
“You were resting, he said you'd stayed.”
He looked at you, astonished you'd think he'd go anywhere else.
You watched him sink into his chair, clasping his hands together and wedging them between his knees. Your fingers ached to hold him but your body was weak even talking. “You look tired.”
He chuckled low and smiled. His face was pale, eyes red, hair a mess. His entire body was slumped. “I look tired?”
“A nice tired, a handsome tired.”
You focused on your hand, lifting it enough. You watched as Robby looked down and took it without hesitation, he held it tight, grasping it between his big hands and bringing it to his lips.
You felt him kiss your palm.
“I was stabbed?”
Robby nodded, slowly. “Two puncture wounds, missed the spinal chords, nicked an aorta, bled out. That was our biggest worry but-”
“But I'm okay now?”
Slowly, he nodded.
You groaned, shifting your head aside. You'd have rolled over to show your protest but you had a feeling you'd be putting as little pressure on your back for a while. “Is Mr Brown?”
“The police are looking for him,” said Robby, without letting you even work out just what it is you were trying to ask about.
You nodded slowly, looking down to where your hand disappeared in his. “I'll report him this time, I promise.”
Robby stared at you, eyes wide with something you couldn't name. “I just want you to focus on getting better. On coming back... coming back to me.”
You didn't think, even coming out of an op and the haze of pain, that you could ever be where he wasn't. You think, no matter how terrible it seemed, that it was meant to happen this way. The stabbing and scarring that would no doubt end up on your back might have been the best thing to ever happen to you.
“Robby,” you whispered.
He must have heard something in your voice as he slowly stood and hunched over you, a hand lying on the top of your head.
His eyes were watering with tears.
You could remember faint images of this happening before, as you were slowly lulled to sleep by drugs. His hand combing back your hair felt like it had always been doing it. Like you'd always woken to him.
“Did you kiss me?” You didn't know where the memory came from, or even if it was a memory. It could've been a dream.
To his credit Robby didn't startle or flinch. He slowly nodded, leaving room for objection. He leaned over close to you, another hand cradling your cheek. “Yeah.”
“Why?”
Robby inhaled sharply. “I wanted to. I wanted to kiss you months before I did. I wanted to kiss you last week and two minutes ago when you woke. I wanted to kiss you covered in blood and... I want to kiss you now.”
You smiled and it brought you no pain. “If my back wasn't in pain I'd be kissing you right now,” you chuckled and then the pain came.
Robby leant down to you, his eyes searching yours. Close enough you could see what was in his eyes, what he'd been hiding. Warmth. Admiration.
His large nose brushed yours as he kissed you slow with no rush of need. His hand was soft as he angled you so he could explore every line and curve if your lip.
Your own hand slowly wound up, around his head, stroking the back of his hair and resting there. He didn't mind the oxygen tube or that she couldn't reach up to meet him. In fact he kissed her like he'd planned it like this a hundred times.
When there was an alarming beep from the machines Robby pulled away quick, studdying them.
“It's just my heartrate,” you said. “Might have been beating a little faster there.”
He agreed but seemed solemn to do so.
You watched the crease between his brows appear again. “You know, if I knew I just needed to be stabbed to have you kiss me again I'd have-”
“Don't even think about finishing that sentence.”
For the sake of his nerves, you didn't.
“You know if I'd have known that it was just gonna take me getting stabbed for you to sell that motorbike, I'd have got stabbed a lot sooner,” you said teasingly as Robby pulled into his new designated parking space outside the ED.
It had been a month since the incident but you were still reaping the small benefits that came with it. Like Robby insisting you stay with him to get the best care, like him getting rid of his motorbike to get a better car that was more comfortable on your back.
Like having so much time with him.
Mornings where he dedicated time in messaging the sore spots of your back and spreading an oil that was going to help the scaring. Like the dinner times when you read him a recipe that he never followed to the t. Like the kisses you stole in the night when he'd watch you and kiss you without straining to go forward.
Robby parked the car and turned off the engine. “If I had a dollar every time you said that,” he grumbled, picking up his bag and exiting.
You were still moving slower, still kept a crutch with you to keep weight off your back. You were coming back to work with a much lighter work load and you were sure Robby would be glued to your side all day like he practically had the month you'd took to recover.
Even before you could open the door Robby was there doing it for you, your own bag in his hand.
“You think anyone's gonna want to see the cool scars I've got, they kind of look like stars,” you said as Robby stayed close by your side, walking in with you.
“You sent them all pictures,” he said, mildly irritated. You and everyone around you seemed to try to crack jokes about the thing. He felt sometimes he was the only one who saw the near death wound for what it was.
“Excuse me- most of them asked for pictures.”
“Completely inappropriate.”
A few ambulance workers saw you, greeting you with smiles you returned while Robby waited next to you, holding up a polite hand in greeting.
It dropped, grazed yours and picked it up, holding on as the two of you walked in.
Usually Robby liked to walk in through triage, get a feel of what was happening but he wasn't risking that many foreign bodies next to you even though they caught David Brown and he was being charged.
Robby had something to live for, had something to protect. Nothing was happening to it. To you.
“It's good to have you back,” said Lupe as the two of you passed her at the door.
“Do you think that was a pun?” you uttered to him, rewarded with the smallest tint of his lips as he pushed open the door.
Loud clapping greeted you with some cheap, paper, party poppers when you walked in. Thee was cheering to and a large banner was hooked up, saying 'welcome home!'.
A place that could have held such terrible memories was brightened up as you jumped from one smiling face, to another.
Next to you, Robby stepped back, blending into the admiring crowd and started to clap too with something more than fondness in his smile. Love. A word that had woven its way into your vocab since moving in with him to get help for your wounds.
A word that summed up so much of what you had.
“You did this for me?” you asked.
“It was all Robby's idea,” said Jack, leading the cheering.
You didn't have to even move. Like he knew what you wanted Robby stepped over to you and kissed you. He always kept his lips irritatingly light, encouraging you to stretch out muscles in your back to join meet him.
You grinned against his lips. “I should be stabbed more often.”
a work by @vivsribbon | 🪐 | warnings - unprotected pinv, praising, breeding k¡nk, submissive!grace, fingers in mouth, semi-public sex (?), cursing uhh thats all i think
synopsis - When Rocky innocently questions why Ryland and you aren’t a “mating pair,” an awkward conversation forces feelings and more to show themselves
smut fluff angst | side note - me and my friend have been obsessing over him so i had to... for u mwah @metricrapier
The control room was quieter than usual.
Not silent—nothing on the Hail Mary was ever truly silent with pumps humming behind the walls and Rocky clicking faintly somewhere nearby—but calm enough that Ryland could hear the soft scrape of your sock against the floor as you drifted beside him.
Rocky was in his tunnel, working on something metallic and complicated that neither of you fully understood. Every few seconds came the sharp tap tap tap of his claws against the hull.
Ryland squinted at a spreadsheet floating on his screen. “Okay. If this culture dies again, I’m officially resigning from science.”
“You can’t resign from science.”
“Watch me.”
“You’re literally in space.”
“I’ll resign harder.”
A pleased chirping sound came from Rocky’s tunnel. “Rocky agrees with me,” you said.
“Rocky thinks eating metal is a personality trait.”
“Is it not?”
Rocky suddenly emerged from the tunnel opening, carrying what looked like three wires and half a wrench. His carapace clicked thoughtfully.
“Question,” Rocky said through the translator.
Ryland pointed dramatically at you. “They’re in charge of questions today.”
“You are both in charge,” Rocky replied.
“Terrifying.” Rocky tilted his body slightly, which you’d learned meant curiosity. “Human mating question.”
The room went still. Ryland froze with one hand halfway to his tablet.
You blinked once. “Oh no.”
“Yes,” Rocky said cheerfully. “Oh no.”
Ryland coughed into his sleeve. “Buddy, that sentence has historically never ended well.”
Rocky ignored him completely.
“You two are not mating pair,” he said matter-of-factly. “But you behave like mating pair. Explain.”
Your face instantly went hot.
Ryland made a noise somewhere between a choke and a laugh. “Rocky—”
“You share food. You sit near each other always. You become distressed when one is hurt. You make many stupid jokes only for each other. Mating behavior.”
“That is not—” you started.
“It kind of is,” Ryland muttered at the same time.
You turned toward him so fast you nearly drifted into the console. “Whose side are you on?”
“I don’t know! Rocky came prepared with evidence!”
Rocky’s claws clicked against the floor in satisfaction. “Correct. I observe.”
“Please stop observing,” you said weakly.
“Cannot. Scientist.”
Ryland pressed both hands over his face. “I’m going to eject myself out the airlock.”
“You would die,” Rocky informed him.
“Thank you, Rocky.”
“You are welcome.”
There was a horrible, awkward silence. Then Rocky asked, completely serious: “So why not mating pair?”
You stared at him. Ryland stared at him. Rocky waited patiently.
“I—” Ryland started, then stopped immediately.
Your heartbeat felt embarrassingly loud. Finally you pointed toward the tunnel. “Rocky. Go work on your thing.”
“But—”
“Now.” You said in that demanding tone that Grace would never admit turned him on.
A disappointed trill echoed through the room, but Rocky eventually disappeared back into the tunnel, muttering something in Eridian that the translator refused to interpret.
The second he was gone, silence crashed over the room again. Ryland still wouldn’t look at you.
You focused very hard on a random bolt in the wall. “So. That happened.”
“Yep.”
“Cool.”
“Super cool.” Another pause. Then, quietly: “I mean… he’s not completely wrong.”
You looked over.
Ryland was staring at the floor now, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. Nervous. You realized suddenly that you’d almost never seen him nervous around you before.
“What part?” you asked carefully.
He laughed once under his breath. “You really wanna make me say it out loud?”
“Maybe I do."
That finally got him to look at you.
And the expression on his face made your stomach flip unexpectedly—soft around the edges, uncertain in a way Ryland Grace almost never was.
“I think,” he said slowly, “if we weren’t trapped together millions of miles from Earth, I probably would’ve asked you out a long time ago.”
The air suddenly felt too thin.
"So why didn't you?" You asked with a quirk of your brow.
That sure got Grace to shut up. His eyes widened, looking around to make sure he wasn't hearing things.
"Why, did you want me to?"
"Yes."
Now his face was as red as a lobster. You wanted him to ask you out?
"Oh. Well I– I just assumed you'd say no."
You let out a scoff, running a hand through your hair before standing up and walking near to him. You stopped just before his chair, his stupidly submissive eyes looking up at you.
"You're a scientist. I thought rule one was to never assume?"
Your tone and close presence sent a chill down Grace's spine. His hands hovered close to your hips, still not ballsy enough to actually touch you. You were right, just like you always were.
"Yeah.. yeah, no, you're right. Shouldn't have assumed." He sounded nervous now, like there was a lump in his throat due to proximity.
Your finger hooked under his chin to keep his eyes on you. "What're you thinking about right now?" Of course you had some sort of idea as to what his answer would be. You'd been on the Hail Mary for a month now, no sex, no touching yourself, and now you were teasing him and you can yell he was pent up.
He let out a low groan before talking, his words shaky. "You... here, on my lap. On my lips, on me... please." He was breathing hard now, so needy and pathetic it caused you to chuckle a little.
Instead of teasing more (because God were you needy too) you sat down on his lap, knees on either side of his thighs but not putting all your weight on him yet.
"Is this okay?"
"Yes, yes, more than okay," he nodded frantically.
Suddenly he crashed his lips into yours, his hands apparently having a mind of their own as they found their way to your face, cupping your cheeks to keep you from pulling back.
You kissed him with equal intensity, grinding down onto him just once to be cruel, making him whimper under you.
"Can't wait. Waited too long, please, ride me, something."
He was begging.
It was adorable, really. And you would've made him beg further if you hadn't been so wet for him already. You couldn't wait it out either.
Since words were too hard to form right now, you lifted your hips and unbuckled the jeans you had on, letting them fall to your ankles.
Ryland watched with a burning intensity, his eyes locking on the wet spot on your panties that made his throat go dry.
While there was still space between you, you quickly unfastened his pants too, tugging them down mid-thigh.
He was bulging through his boxers, the dark blue ones with planets all over them. They were so him it was endearing but Grace's face was flushed pink when he saw you noticed.
And because he couldn't take it anymore, he pushed down his underwear so they were met with the pants he wore dangling from his legs. His cock bounced from them, his tip hitting his stomach.
You, ever the impatient, looked up at him just once like asking for permission. It didn't take a verbal response. When you saw the need in his eyes your head darted to his neck, sucking and kissing while you pushed your panties to the side and guided him to your entrance.
Grace's bottom lip with bitten in so hard he thought he might break skin, trying to keep quiet due to Rocky's annoyingly impeccable hearing.
When you sunk down onto him, he couldn't hold it in anymore. A loud moan erupted from him, his head falling back onto the headrest of the chair. You bit his neck hard to stifle your noises.
His hands went to your waist, lightly moving you back and forth on his dick. You released your teeth from him and whined when his girth rubbed against your gummy walls just right.
You looked at him, jaw slack with endless huffs coming from your mouth. The sight was one Ryland wanted to keep forever and one that made his groans all the more prominent.
"Fuck, fuck, sweetheart–"
His words were cut off with your fingers in his mouth. He immediately folded, sucking on your digits lightly.
"Sound so pretty, baby, but you gotta be quiet, okay?"
He just nodded, his hips jerking up instinctively making his tip hit your cervix hard. You hiccuped a moan, instantly shutting yourself up by biting your lip at a bruising strength.
Rolling your hips down onto him made you further and further reach your climax. "I'm so close. Need you to come in me, please Dr. Grace."
And that title was all it took for him to spurt his seed into you, leaking white, sticky liquid dripping out of you. You came after, so hard you practically saw stars. You couldn't help but whimper, the sound high pitched that made Ryland bite your fingers harder, but not enough to silence the groan that erupted.
"So good.. you did so good for me, baby." He whispered to you, letting your hand fall.
Once both of you had caught your breath you removed your fingers from his mouth and looked at him with attention for the first time since having him inside you.
"Next time... we're going to the back and I'm gonna hear all those beautiful noises you make, yeah?"
"Next time?"
"What, you don't wanna do that again?"
He shook his head ferociously. "No, no I absolutely do. Need to."
"Good."
After giving him a quick peck to the cheek, you rose up from his slick cock, whining when his length slid out of you completely. Your legs were wobbly but you found your balance, kicking your panties off and wiping yourself with them because of lack of material and water for a shower.
"God, you're hot."
The words made you giggle a little, throwing the underwear at him. He caught it, shocked just a bit. Pulling his pants up now and shoving your intimates in his pocket.
Grace stood, standing behind you with his hands on your waist and kissed your neck once. "Fuck, you even smell like sex. Damn irresistible."
And of course, because God forbid you have a good moment, Rocky pushes through the door of the shuttle. Ryland immediately fumbled back, one hand scratching his neck nervously.
"Hi Rocky," you said awkwardly.
"Why Grace make noise when mate, question?"
"What?!" He turned a bright pink at the accusation, only making you laugh harder than you were.
"You laugh. You make noise too."
Well. That shut you up.
Of course Grace chuckled, to which you reached your hand behind and slapped his torso and he instantly zipped his lips.
"You two are mates now, question?"
"We haven't talked about that yet, Rocky." You sighed, running a hand along your face.
"You are."
Ryland huffed loudly, stepping a little closer to you again. "Well, if Rocky says..."
i saw someone saying on twitter about a woman who said that her boyfriend was so nervous when propose her that he forgot everything and ended up just getting on his knees saying “please”.
i hope every writer who reads this makes the best of it
summary: bob always gets in these moods where he always needs to be touching something. the team have started calling it his ‘touchy-time’, but they don’t know the extent of bob’s neediness when it comes to you. today’s touchy-time happens right before valentina's mandatory team dinner.
prompt: you don’t make it to dinner 🌶️
pairing: bob reynolds x thunderbolts!reader
word count: 3.1k
content contains: +18 content— smut. secret relationship lets go, wall sex lets go, neck kissing lets go, bob is super needy and touchy lets fucking go, manhandling(?)letsgo
authors note: day six of galentines collab!! the concept of male ovulation 🧠 he’s like a little funky boy dog that goes around humping anything and everything he sees. that’s the vibe i’m going for. can you tell. also this has been in my drafts forever and ive wanted to write for it but never got around to it. hurrah for clearing out my wips!!
erin's galentines collab masterlist
no one could remember exactly when bob stopped being mopey and started getting more touchy-feeling with you.
it hadn't been sudden, nor had there been a single moment where the team could think back to a certain time and say 'that's when it started'. it was subtle enough that he'd managed to slip under the radar until it became something that nobody could ignore.
it started with bob inching closer to you on the couch when the two of you were watching movies. then it escalated to holding your hands at random points in time even if you needed them, and in that case, his hand would fall to your thigh instead. at one point, he'd managed to convince you to let him into your bed by blaming it on the void, and stupidly enough, you'd let him.
at first, it had been a joke between the team because it was honestly a little funny to see bob clinging onto you like a puppy, but sooner down the line, the touch turned into something needier, and that's the part that the two of you hid from them.
the touch turned sexual, and even though you both knew it was wrong doing this with someone who is essentially a coworker, you could never stop— or more like bob could never stop.
maybe it was because he had taken a liking to you. you'd been nothing but kind and accomodating to him since you first met him in that bunker (apart from when you'd shoved your gun in his face). whenever he sensed he was falling apart, he gravitated towards you, and you'd always let him. you had assumed he had just wanted to stick around that kimd of energy when everybody else on the team had turned a blind eye to him.
of course there were days when bob could keep his hands to himself, but he had found that if he stayed away for long enough, his hands— restless and searching— always seemed to settle easier when they found you.
and unfortunately for you and the team, today seemed to be one of those days where he'd restrained himself from touching you.
valentina had organised a mandatory team-building dinner in order to... well, team-build. she practically demanded that everyone get dressed up to the nines and that the jet would pick them up and drop them off at some fancy restaurant halfway across the country.
you linger in your room longer then you mean to, smoothing down the wrinkles and creases in your black dress like it might change its mind about how it's sitting on your body if you dont reassure it enough.
you almost never wear this dress and only wear it for special occasions, and you counted this as one. it fit nicely almost like it was made specifically for you, it skimmed down your body just enough to make you stand a little taller as you look at your reflection. you look really good.
you slip on your heels, tuck your phone into your purse, and give yourself one final look in the mirror— more for courage than vanity— before heading out of your room and shutting the door.
the living room is quiet apart from the boring show on the television and the click of your heels as you walk across the marble floor. the entire team is there scattered across the sofas in their fancy attire like a bunch of overdressed mannequins.
jackets are unbuttoned, ties are loosened, makeup is already a little smudged, some are scrolling on their phones, others are staring at the television screen. they all just look like they're reconsidering every life choice that'd led them here.
the first thing you notice is that bob isn't there.
yelena is the first to turn her head. her eyes fall up and down you a few times before she throws an arm across the back of the sofa. "you look nice." she compliments, and it sounds genuine.
"thanks. it's a bit itchy, but it's comfortable enough for one night." you tug at the fabric that'd bunched at your hips after your short venture down the hall. "you guys look nice too. maybe we should start dressing up more often."
bucky shakes his head, eyes set on the tv. "i'd rather not."
john looks around the room at the team, brows raised as he takes in the mixed of bored expressions and sluggish bodies. "is that all of us? can we finally get off of our asses and get going?"
"eh, bob is not here yet." alexei points out.
"speaking of bob—" bucky turns his head to you, "did you manage to talk to him about limiting touchy-time like we talked about?"
"i cant believe we call it touchy-time." ava mumbles as she stares at the television screen, more to herself than anyone else.
"i tried during training yesterday," you scratch the back of your neck. "but he kept changing the subject. didn't seem like he wanted anything to do with it, so i stopped asking."
"have you ever considered telling him to stop completely? i mean seriously, imagine when he gets sentry under control and valentina clears him for missions." john gestures to nothing in general, hand waving around like it's helping the team visualise it. "kid's gonna be humping your leg like a horny chihuaha while we're getting shot at—"
yelena cuts in with a groan of disgust, "gross, walker. nobody wants to imagine that."
bucky sighs, "i hate to say it, but i agree with john."
ava turns away from the screen, suddenly tuned into the conversation. "me too. do you ever think he just comes up with excuses because he wants to get all touchy-feely with you? i know he's a little... unstable, but how many times can he use the excuse of the void to fondle you all day?"
"he doesnt—" you blink, a little shocked at ava's use of words. "he doesnt fondle me. he just needs a little attention sometimes. that's all." you try to defend yourself as well as bob, but it seems to fall upon deaf ears.
"attention turns into obsession." john adds as if he's a wise old wizard. "i read that online once."
alexei decides its his turn to add his input. "i think its very sweet! is like little puppy and mama dog. if no lines are crossed, then i think those two should be allowed to have touchy-feely time."
you cringe at alexei comparing you and bob to dogs before you huff out a sigh. "can we not talk about bob behind his back? it feels rude. where is he anyways?"
"no idea." yelena shrugs. "we're all out here because we were waiting on you and him."
john checks his watch, one certainly gifted to him by valentina. "yeah, and we're gonna be late if he doesn't haul ass within the next ten minutes."
you glance down the hall, your eyes fixed on bob's door. it remains shut just like it has been all day, and a small knot of concern ties itself in your stomach. something about him being late doesn't settle well with you. you know his routine and his moods, and you know that when he's unusually quiet like this, then it means he's fighting something.
"i'll go check on him." you say, already turning towards the corridor, "make sure he's not dead."
"and tell him to hurry his ass up!" john calls behind you.
you don't bother responding. you turn and head down the hallway, the echo of your heels on the tile bouncing off of the walls while the noise of the living room fades as you move. you come face to face with bob's door, your hand hesitating before you knock, but your knuckles hit the wood three times anyways.
"bob? are you in the—"
the door opens and you're yanked inside by a sharp tug on your wrist before you can finish your sentence, the corridor disappearing as the door shuts behind you.
the first thing you notice is that bob is in front of you and he's sandwiched you between the wall, his mouth already working against yours. the next thing you notice is that his hands are already pulling up your dress, the fabric bunching in his hands as he drags it up.
you break away for air, but bob doesn't take a second for granted. he latches onto your throat and he inhaled a sharp breath that sounds like a mix of relief and indulgence, as if kissing you in the only thing keeping his alive.
"i'm sorry." he whispers into your skin, but you both know the apology won't stick. "sorry—"
his room is quiet apart from his heavy breathing and the small pants that he pulls from you, the light dim through closed curtains and the red glow of his alarm clock. you can still hear the soft chatter of the team down the hall, and it pulls the urgency from deep within you.
you place your hands flat on his chest. he doesnt pull away, but he doesn't push any further either, caught in the miserable in-between where restraint is costing him. you can feel his heartbeat through his chest where your palms rest, pounding and restless with you in his arms.
you frown, "the team is waiting for us, bob—"
but the words barely leave your mouth before he's shaking his head, brown curls brushing against your neck and the underside of your jaw.
"i know they are. i'm sorry, baby. i tried to stay away. i really did," he murmurs against your throat, apologies spilling out of his mouth although his teeth nipping at your skin says otherwise. "but please— i need you."
bob's hands are already tugging down your panties, thumbs hooked in the bands as he drags them down your legs, and although everything in you is screaming to pull him off of you and rush him out of the door, your body moves on its own, stepping out of the fabric as soon as it drops to your feet.
"val's going to eat us alive if we don't make it to dinner." you whimper when he sucks at the base of your neck, hands crawling at the back of his dress shirt.
"then let her. i'll be quick. been holding it in all day, but i cant do it anymore." he groans as his lips travel back up until he's pressing messy kisses onto your jaw and your cheek. "jus' need to feel you on my cock. need to feel you cum on me."
that sends a pant of heat through you.
your brows knit. he really has been good all day— no hovering by your side, no excuses to linger, and no absent minded touches— but now you can feel the cost of it in the way he's undoing his belt and in the way he's so hungry for you that you think he might actually bite you, and you know that you cannot let him go to dinner like this.
"okay." you sigh with a small nod, your hands crawling up to his neck and slotting into the soft brown tuft of hair at the base of his head, "then fuck me."
the groan that rips form his throat and low, and he unbuckles his belt faster than he ever has before. he rips it from his dress pants and it clatters to the floor in a stringy mess. then come his pants, the zipper already undone as he shrugs them and his boxers to the ground.
bob's hands hook under your thighs and he hoists you up against the wall, his weeping cock pressing against you with a pathetic whimper.
he's learnt that even without the sentry, he has enough strength to lift you like you weigh nothing. he's even learnt that he can lift you with one hand. dont ask him how.
his lips are back on yours, his tongue lapping messily against your mouth before you let him in. the kiss is a little rough around the edges like he's forgotten how to be careful with you, all heat and urgency as he breaths you in. you're sure your makeup is all smudged, but you don't really care now that the blunt tip of bob's dick is pressing into you.
and when he finally pushes in,
"fuuuuuccckkkk..." he moans, a little too loud for your liking.
"bob, you have to be—" you cut yourself off with a staggered breath as bob drops you down onto him deep enough that you can feel him in your stomach. "you have to be quiet."
"i'm sorry, it's just— i missed you." his brows furrow in pleasure, his head dropping back down to your neck. "god, you're so tight."
you sigh, "it's been two days."
"too long." he murmurs into your neck. "never wanna be apart from you ever again."
bob starts moving slow, holding onto you by your thighs and rutting his hips into you like he's trying to make sure that your body remember him. his chest is pressed so tight against yours that you almost feel like you can't breathe, and your arms are wrapped around his torso clinging for more.
just as you think he might be savouring the moment, he lifts you without warning and drops you back onto his dick. the sheer force of it rips a moan from your mouth, catching you so off guard that you bite down into his shoulder, your saliva soaking the fabric.
bob pants into your ear, eyes heavy with pleasure. "needed this so bad. needed you. needed to fuck you."
bob doesnt rut into you anymore. instead, he begins lifting you up and down his cock, shuddering in your arms as he drags against your warm walls. the pace he sets is fast enough for the echo of skin-on-skin to bounce around the room, the angle and the pressure of which he has you against the wall hits all of the soft spots in you. your eyes almost roll back, body practically going limp in his arms.
one of his hands come up to cup your face, thumb running along your bottom lip and his eyes watching every quiver in your expression. his other hand continues lifting you and dropping you onto his dick, his fingers digging into your skin with every harsh bounce.
"i heard you talking to the team about our arrangement— about whatever this is—" he admits quietly, eyes set on your saliva coated mouth. "i know it's bad and i know we shouldn't do this."
"bob." you try to cut him off, arms tightening around his neck in an attempt to ground him, but he continues, panicked and a little earnest.
"so just— just tell me to stop and i'll stop—" he rushes, his brows furrowing as he speeds up, his hips bucking up into you, "say the word and i will, i swear. i'll back off and i'll behave, i—"
"faster."
the word leaves your mouth as a whisper, soft and broken and honest, and that seems to be what undoes bob.
his hand falls back to the underside of your thigh and lifts your legs a little higher until your hamstrings burn and your knees are pressing into your chest. he's not bouncing you anymore, but now he's fucking up into you, his cock tearing through you like this is all he needs.
you grab at him, hoping to hold onto something that'll ground you, but he's so strong and so steady that you don't even need to. he's holding you so tight in his arms that you're sure he'd catch you if you were to fall, and that in itself has the ball of heat in your stomach ready to snap.
but then there's a knock at his door only a feet feet from you, and even though it pulls you from your daze, bob continues dragging you his cock in and out of you as if one of your friends isn't right outside.
"hey, you guys in there?" yelena's voice spills through the quiet, "john's getting all pissy with us, so we're leaving."
you have to force a hand over bob's mouth, his moans and panting spilling into your palm, and you feel a little bad when you see the tears that brim in his waterline. your brows knit as you force your eyes to stay open, willing yourself to keep focus when bob can't.
"bob isn't feeling good, so i think—" you swallow down a moan when bob thrusts into you hard enough that your clit grinds into his lower stomach. "i think we're just gonna stay back so i can take—" you gasp, "take care of him."
and maybe bob understands your words as an excuse to fuck him all night long, because his eyes shut and he gets a little closer, hips grinding into your ass instead of fucking you. you've noticed this as a tell that he's close, and the friction is enough to send you over the edge too.
"okaayyyy..." she drawls through the door. "your funeral. we'll be back in a few hours. dont burn the tower down. or do. i dont care."
you can hear yelena's footsteps recording down the hall, and as soon as you move your hand from his mouth, bob starts pistoning into you with inhumane speed, his head dropping onto your shin as he presses into you and finally fills you up.
the sound of his hopeless rutting turns filthy with the combination of your slick and his cum, and he leans in to press another messy kiss to your mouth. your chests move together, and the room falls silent except for the soft sounds of your breathing— his uneven and yours still catching— paired with the quiet thud of his heart.
and the first thing that comes out of his mouth isn't a reassurance or a apology, but a question.
"does that mean you don't want to stop?" he asks, his voice low with uncertainty and what sounds like hope, almost like he's bracing for the answer even though he knows what it is.
your smile as best you can, already tired. your fingers run through his hair, tugging at the soft knots you'd accidentally formed before you speak.
"of course not." you say quietly, "i know the team complains about it sometimes, but that's not something they get to complain about. i dont think its a problem that needs fixing."
the hope in his expression warms your heart. he exhaled like he's been holding his breath all day before he leans into your touch like he's finally allowed to. but then, slowly but surely, you feel his dick harden inside you again.
"are you hard again?" you ask with false annoyance lacing your words, but you could never actually be annoyed with him.
he plays it off by giving you a small peck on the lips, the top of his nose brushing yours as he leans his forehead against yours. "maybe."
Warnings⋆˚࿔: violence, murder, SMUT (fingering, implied threesome), general suggestive content), I'm labeling this at dubcon but not really, fem!reader wears makeup, swearing, but otherwise apperance is not specified, no use of Y/N, medical jargon (def not accurate). do NOT read if this made you uncomfy, MDNI, lmk if i missed any other tags
w/c⋆˚࿔: 5k
a/n: hiii here's part one, I'm looking of for some inspo for a part two so feel free to share ur thoughts, NOT proof read, likes n reblogs r appreciated, comment to be added to the taglist
“All students and young adults are advised to obey the curfew set in place to avoid falling victim to this brutal crime.”
The news reporter drones on as you continue to study in the diner, your iced coffee has melted, and the snack you ordered sits heavy in your stomach. You have been studying nonestop for your first boards exam as you near the end of your second year of med school when the top student in your relatively small cohort was brutally murdered in their apartment the week before.
Kendra Wallace was going to be a doctor someday, she had all the time in the world to study for her boards, all the money in the world for tutors, and all the influence that her last name had to get matched into her first choice for residency, nobody doubted her ability to succeed. That’s what made her story national news, not just being brutally murdered, but being brutally murdered while a white rich medical student. You never really interacted with her, but you still felt sympathy for the poor girl and her grieving family, especially because her absence meant that her spot at the top of the class was now occupied by someone else, pushing you into second rather than your humble third. The guilt you had because of it was heavy in your stomach.
You sighed to yourself and continued with an active recall of your cardiovascular pathology flash cards.
After a few minutes of working you hear a book drop on your table for dinner. You look up to see Jack and Robby, two of your classmates. You met them both during your M1 year after being assigned as partners in your cadaver lab. You had been friendly with them ever since, mostly because one of them held your hair and the other rubbed your back after you threw up once the first dissection day was over. After that, you felt bonded with them. Always trading notes, debriefing after exams, and occasional movie nights. They made themselves home at your table, calling the waitress over and ordering their receptive usuals. You guys studied together here often.
“Hey babydoll, how long have you been here?” Jack asks while taking a fry off of your plate.
You rolled your eyes and pushed the plate towards them, knowing you were too nauseous to eat anything with the guilt and stress from the USMLE step one and Kendra’s death combined.
“After about four hours, I’m starting to feel a little sick from everything that’s going on though. How are you guys so normal?” You responded
“Eh, I was just gonna cram the week before the exam like I usually do. It's served me well so far.” Robby lazily replied with a mouth full of your fries.
“I’m talking about the murder not the fucking boards.” You snapped at him.
“Oh that.”
“I heard that they cut off her fingers and fed them to her.” Jack said with a wicked smirk.
“Gross” you learned over the table and shoved him back. “Don’t about her like that, she was our classmate, you freak”
Jack and Robby both burst into laughter.
“We’re just messing with you sweetheart. I thought you would be happier that we’re all moving up in the ranks with her gone.” Robby said.
“She’s still dead though. I feel guilty about it, like I didn’t earn her spot.” You said with your mouth pressing into a line. Jack slid into your side of the booth and rubbed your back, pulling you into his side.
“You have a right to her spot. You worked hard and if anyone deserves it, it’s you.” You tried to smile at that but you only mustered a slight raise of the apples of your cheeks.
“Let’s just get back to work.” You said with a groan, dragging your hand down your face, slightly smudging your mascara. Robby leans over to wipe it off. You continued your flashcards, as they worked on their respective lab reports and assignments.
⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡
“Hello” Daniel Anderson said exasperatedly while tapping his foot.
“Hiya Daniel, what’s your favorite scary movie?” The rough baritone voice responded.
“Who the hell is this?” Daniel said.
“What’s your favorite scary movie? I asked you a question unless you’re too pussy to answer.”
“What the fuck, dude. I don’t even know who you are. I’m hanging up.”
“JUST ANSWER THE FUCKING QUESTION” the voice billowed and Daniel jumped out of his skin at the sudden change in tone.
“Okay, Jesus. I guess maybe Se7en I don’t know, the one with Brad Pitt. Happy now?”
“Very. Is that your ex’s favorite too?”
“What?”
“You know, that sweet girl you fumbled so badly last month. It was laughable how you tried to get her back with voice notes of you crying like a little bitch.”
“Listen, dude, you have no idea what you’re talking about. Fuck this.” Daniel hung up the phone, kicking himself for even picking up from an unknown number anyway. It was probably just you and your friends having a sleepover and he refused to be your entertainment. He unlocked his apartment door and put his phone down.
He had a slight chill and he noticed the window by his fireescape was open. He didn’t remember opening it before he left, but he just assumed that he forgot due to the stress of breaking up with you and his exams. He closed and locked it before turning on the TV and scrolling on tinder to find a hook up. He knew he should have deleted it after you caught him with it while you were together, but he enjoyed the ego boost he got from it too much.
His phone rang again, from another unknown number, he figured he should just pick up and tell whichever one of your friends to fuck off.
“Hiya Daniel. You hurt my feelings when you hung up on me like that.”
“Oh my God. Fuck off. I know it’s you, I said I’m sorry, move on.”
“It’s not who you think, Daniel, sweetie. Though I should have known you were fuckin’ stupid when you thought you were alone. In this big apartment. Nice pajamas by the way.”
At that moment the line went dead. Silence filled the apartment, Daniel’s blood went cold.
A large crash came from the front closet, a masked figure clothed in black robes sprung out holding a large hunting knife. The figure stumbled around its leg seemingly stuck in a shoebox. It was almost comical watching the figure shake its leg free. Daniel would have laughed if he wasn’t frozen in fear.
He tried to back away when he backed into another figure behind him. Its arms immediately come to pull Daniel into a headlock with another large hunting knife at his neck. Daniel couldn’t stop the warm trickle of liquid down in between his legs, making a massive stain on his hello kitty pajamas that matched with yours.
The figure in front of him freed himself from the show box and gave a hearty laugh. The burner phone he was holding was discarded on the floor. The figure's voice was familiar, but in his epinephrine induced haze, Daniel couldn’t place it. He knew the figure holding him was several inches taller than the other one. The shorter figure looked at him and made a gesture to the one holding him in place.
“So should we kill him now orrrr?”
“What just happened? You can practice your Y-shaped incisions.” The taller one sighed
“Well I got to do it last time so I’m just tryna make it even, bro.”
“Yeah but I'm better at surgical incisions, yours are janky as hell.”
“Are you sure man?”
“Of course, bro.” At this point, Daniel was shaking and squirming against the taller one’s hold.
“Let’s knock it out and maybe we can practice a cardiac ablation cause I definitely am gonna fail that section of the boards.” The taller one swiftly hit Daniel at his chin with the butt of the hunting knife, causing a mastoid ecchymosis.
“You’re the best, man.” was the last thing Daniel heard.
⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡
You get a call from your best friend at 9:00am, two mornings later. She called saying that she was coming over and for you to stay on the phone with her. You assumed she failed a practical for her nursing program and she needed support. You were also half asleep from a long night of studying. You had turned your phone into a custom flip phone style where the only apps on there were the call and pictures for the past two days, to maximise studying.
When she arrived ten minutes later, she brought you breakfast and coffee from the boba place you both frequented. She sat you down on the couch with a serious look on her face.
“I have something to tell you, and I think it’d be good to hear it from me.”
Now you were really starting to panic, your head got hot, and your heart jumped into your ears.
“What’s going on?” You responded.
“Daniel was killed. They think it was the people who killed Kendra, the girl from your class.”
She held your hand and you processed the news. Sure you and Daniel didn’t end on great terms, but you knew that you were just looking for a reason to leave, you didn’t wish any harm to him.
You didn’t register the tears coming down your face until she pulled you into her arms and held you. You both stayed like that for who knows how long. She put one Hello Kitty and Friends to have some background noise while she stroked your hair until you eventually fell asleep, cried out and exhausted.
Your friend woke you to eat and drink some water to replenish the amount of calories you burned both crying and studying when a knock at your door came. The detectives on the case had come to interview you as a formality when the family said they had heard you and Daniel ended on less than ideal terms. You had a rock solid alibi, studying your usual diner, when the detective asked you a question that made you pause.
“And you were with Jack Abbot and Michel Robinavitch? When we interviewed them along with your other classmates, they said they were with you.”
You didn’t remember for sure, you had studied there with them hundreds of times, so it was possible they were there and you were too focused to remember.
So you agreed, not wanting to accidentally involve them in a murder case by making a simple mistake. Many of the times you studied together your memory of who were with blurred together.
⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡
You spent the next two weeks focusing on your studies, wanting to score the best you possibly could for the board exams if anyone asked. In reality it was because you wanted to avoid all the grief and pain that’s been accumulating throughout the past weeks after Daniel and Kendra’s deaths. You were very empathetic and felt things very deeply, it was one of the reasons you wanted to be a doctor, to help others. But it was also a reason your profession of choice may wear on you over time.
You still had anxiety and grief manifesting into your body. There was another idea that kept creeping into the back of your mind; that you were next. Kendra had been at the top, then Daniel, and now you. Everything scared you. You jump at sudden noises, panic at sudden touches that catch you off guard, and in general avoid the general public unless you go to class or work.
BUMP
A book slammed on the picnic table you were studying at. A loud giggle erupted behind the book when you looked up. Jack sported a shit-eating grin.
“Wow babydoll, you are stressed.” he chuckled.
“Where’s your boyfriend?” You snapped.
“Oh you know Robby, always doing something. Think he’s at his Grandma’s making cookies or something old people like him do.” You chuckled at that. Robby was two years older than you and Jack, having taken a gap year in between high school and college, then another one between college and med school.
“Haven’t seen you in a while. You've been hiding? Afraid you’re next on the list?”
Your eyes widened slightly and Jack almost felt bad at the implication. Another part of him enjoyed the way you squirmed in your seat and looked around anxiously.
“What are you yapping about, Jack? I’m trying to study.” You said exasperatedly.
“Because you’re in the top spot now. Honestly you should be thanking whoever did it because now you’ll have the pick of the litter for residency.”
You felt sick at the implication. Not just because you didn’t necessarily earn the spot, but because it might cost you your life.
“...Jack,” You said in a small voice after thinking for a minute. “I don’t want to joke about that. It scares me.”
Suddenly all of the pain and fears that you’ve been pushing down for the past few weeks came bubbling up into the surface. Your eyes watered and a lump swelled up in your throat. Jack noticed the sudden distress and moved to sit on your side of the table. He pulled you into his chest as he stroked your hair.
“I’m sorry…”-hic-”...I don’t know why I’m crying.” You tried to wiggle out of his grasp, mainly to save your pride from being vulnerable to him.
“Hey, I’m sorry for upsetting you, Babydoll.” Jack said as he held you tighter and dried your tears with his sleeve.
“Nothin’s gonna happen to ya. You need to relax a little, okay?”
“But what if-” He stopped you with a hush.
“Me and Robby got you, you know that.” His other hand rubbed your back as your sobs subsided. “Can’t have anything happen to our favorite valedictorian. Yeah?”
“I’m scared.” you mumbled.
“How about if you have anything that scares you or you feel unsafe, you call me or Robby? We live on the floor above you so we’ll be right there.” He said it in a gentle voice that you haven’t heard before. Akin to coaxing a deer in the woods.
“Okay?” He prompted a response.
“Alright” You said.
“Let’s get some food for you. You get all cranky when you’re hungry.” Jack scrunched up his face which made you giggle. You wiped your nose and turned away from him.
“Fine. But you’re paying.” Jack started packing your textbooks in your bag and putting your laptop into its protective sleeve.
“Nah, we’ll put it on Robby’s card. He’ll sugar daddy us.” Jack replied cheekily.
You gave a laugh and something fuzzy bloomed in Jack’s chest. He almost felt bad for what they did to Daniel and Kendra because of the distress it caused you, if it weren’t for the fact that you let him keep his arm around your shoulder as you walked to your favorite diner. He could get used to this.
⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡
The phone rang with a shrill, waking you up with a start. You were on your couch dozing while watching TikTok and scrolling instagram, getting in your daily doom scroll. It was an unknown number, but you always enjoyed answering for funsies. The worst that could happen was they called you about your car's extended warranty despite the fact that you definitely did not own a car or have a driver's license.
“Hello.” You answered professionally (what if it was a future employer?).
“Hello Miss” The voice said your name, it unnerved you slightly. The baritone settles deep into your gut.
“Who is this?”
“So, you gotta boyfriend?” You laughed, thinking it was just some middle schoolers at a sleepover.
“Why…You wanna ask me on a date?”
“Well, you’re a pretty girl.”
“Oh yeah? How would you know?” You giggled, twirling your hair, ironically lying on your stomach on the couch, and laying your feet.
“Because I’m looking right at you, Babydoll.” Your blood ran cold. You hung up the phone and were immediately greeted by another call from the same UNKNOWN. You declined it, and it continued to call back. You tried to ignore it but the phone kept ringing. Thanks to your apple ecosystem, the shrill ring! Wouldn’t stop echoing throughout your apartment.
You picked up the phone once more and were met with a deep,
“YOU HANG UP ON ME AGAIN, YOU DIE LIKE YOUR CLASSMATES!” You let out a sob at the implication. You didn’t know how to respond.
“Listen man, I DO have a boyfriend! TWO of them! And they’ll fucking beat your ass if you dont stop calling!” You were really just saying nonsense at this point, but you were too scared out of your mind to rationally think.
“Oh I’m sooooo scared.” The phone line went dead after. You continued crying, almost slobbering. You called your best friend. She didn’t pick up the phone, so she couldn’t come over. You remembered she had another practical to study for anyway.
After weighing your options, you called Jack, who didn’t answer either. After leaving him a voice note because your hands were too shaky to type, you called Robby who answered on the first ring.
“Hey, sweetheart, you okay?” he said. You let out a sob.
“Robby, can you come over?” You said through tears, voice cracking. “If you aren’t busy!” you quickly added.
“Of course, sweetheart. I’m on my way down.”
Five minutes later, there was a knock at your door. You looked through the peephole and saw Robby’s lanky figure sporting a shy smile and red pajama pants. You immediately collapsed into him as he wrapped his arms around you. You continued to cry as he walked you back to the couch, sitting you down almost on his lap. You were too caught up in your fear to notice.
“Shhhhh, I’m here, sweetheart.” he cooed at you, stroking your hair and running his large palm down your back.
“Robby”-hic’-” I was so sc-scared!” You barely managed to get out. “He said he was looking at me! And he said I would die just like them!” Robby nodded his head against your hair as he continued to comfort you. You calmed down a little bit as you followed his steady breaths. He wiped your tears with his sleeves.
“Hey, you know me and Jackie got you.” He said assuringly. “Tell me you know that.” When you didn’t respond, he grabbed your chin gently, pulling your face out of the crook of his neck.
“Go on, say ‘I know Jackie and Robby will take care of me.’” He said the last bit in a higher-pitch voice. You giggled at that.
“I know Jackie and Robby will take care of me.” Your voice was still a little shaky, but the tears left exhaustion in its place. Your eyes were heavy, but you were too scared to go to bed and leave the couch.
“Where is Jack? I tried calling him.” You asked, deciding to change the subject. Hoping to get your mind off of it.
“He picked up a night shift. He likes the darkness or something mysterious.” Robby wiggled his eyebrows. You smiled in response and exhaled through your nose.
“There she is.”
It wasn’t uncommon for Jack to leave Robby overnight while he worked as a night security guard at a local hospital for extra cash. You had no idea how he did it, functioning off of three hours of sleep and a celsius during your shared morning lectures before napping the rest of the day.
You wanted to sleep so badly, getting a headache from your tears, but you were so scared. You thought that if you went to sleep, Robby would leave and you would be alone in your apartment once again. Robby noticed your dilemma. He shifted slightly to move your legs off his lap so he could face you.
“Why don’t you go to bed and I’ll sleep here and stay. You look so tired, sweetheart.” You didn’t really have the energy to argue and Robby was being so kind and understanding, you couldn’t help but feel safe with him. You nodded at him.
“I’ll get you some blankets and a pillow.” You said.
Together you made the couch in your cramped apartment into a bed, adding sheets and several pillows. Then you led Robby into your room, it was a tradition that anytime someone slept over, you let them pick a stuffed animal to sleep with. He chuckled softly at you.
“I don’t really sleep with stuffed animals so I’m not really sure what I should pick. Maybe you should pick for me” Robby said, trying to humor you.
“Okay.” You picked up your Percy Penguin jellycat and handed it to him. It smelled like you, so he wasn’t going to complain. You showed him where your extra toothbrushes were, and excused yourself to finish your night routine. Showering off the sweat and stress of the day and doing your skincare. Robby swore he could smell your lotion from the living room.
Robby couldn’t lie if you asked him if he was enjoying this. Shamefully growing half hard at your tears in the doorway, he felt so close to you as you cried. The fear on your face had scrunched up your features, he wondered if you would look similar under him, crying out in pleasure instead of terror (maybe both). Stroking your hair and rubbing your back. You smelled so good, too. He enjoyed the feeling of your fat tears wetting his neck and the weight of your legs over his lap, it took everything in him not to pull you on top of him and make you grind and writhe on his bulge while you shook and screamed about the call. He pushed his face into the fucking penguin, it smelled just like you. He had to remind himself that you were only a thin wall away, trying to sleep off the scare (he) someone had given you. He drifted off into sleep.
You had settled into your soft pajamas, a thin tank top and a pair of boyshorts. You always run hot at night. But, no matter what, you couldn’t fall asleep. You tossed and turned, but to no avail, your mind wouldn’t slow down. You tried scrolling, when an ache between your legs at the thought of Roby being so protective of you, holding you tightly and genuinely listening attentively. You were terrified to look at the windows, in fear of someone watching you. You tried to reach into your boyshorts to relieve the ache, but after a few strokes on your clit, you had the unmistakable feeling you were being watched. Shame burnt your cheeks as you hastily wiped your fingers on the covers crept out of the safety of the covers towards Robby, towards comfort.
“Robby, are you asleep?” You asked meekly.
Robby rose up from his position lying down. He beckoned you over and slung his arm around your shoulders.
“I can’t sleep.” You mumbled. You tried to ignore how good he looked with messy hair, his pajama pants with his shirt discarded on the arm chair. His voice was thick with sleep.
“What’s wrong, baby? C’mere.” He held you tightly, voice quiet, he said. “Can’t turn that brain off, huh?” You shook your head. He kissed your bare shoulder, right next to the strap of your tank.
“Got scared..” You whispered.
“Let me take care of you, sweetheart. I’ll make it allll better.” He turned your head as you leaned in to kiss him. He ran one hand around your waist and the other through your hair. You pulled away slightly,
“What about Jack?” You whispered.
“Don’t you worry about Jackie, sweet girl, he won’t mind at all.” You simply nodded, brain fuzzy from the gentle kiss. He kissed you again, a little harder this time. His tongue is dipping into your mouth. You reached up to tangle your hands into his messy hair.
“Robby?”
“Yeah?”
“Take me to bed.” At that he pulled away to look at you, with a face that asked ‘are you sure?’ you nodded. He moved his hands to your waist, tucking his hands under your bottom, lifting you up to carry you back to the safety of your pink sheets. You felt safer with Robby with you. The idea of someone watching became less creepy and more erotic.
He laid you down on the bed setting you back against the pillows and gently pulled your boy shorts to the side. Two of his thick fingers running up your slit. You let a small gasp out at the sensation. You pawed at his pants. His other hand came to grab yours.
“Baby, you had a rough night. I’m not gonna take advantage of you.” You whined in response. “But I need you!” Robby chuckled at that.
“I’m gonna give you my fingers, and you’re gonna go to sleep after.” He mumbled against your hairline while his fingers ghosted over your clit. You whined once again.
“I need you Robby, please.” You were desperate. At that he smiled and stuck a finger into your cunt. You groaned into his shoulder. He could feel how tight you were, likely from the stress you’ve been dealing with. You’ve been pent up because of it. He began massaging your clit in tandem with his finger moving in and out of your sweet cunt. He added a second finger and you moaned, yanking on his hair for him to move down to kiss you.
“Robby,” you exhaled.
“I’m right here, baby.” he kissed the corner of your mouth and moved to kiss your neck.
He added a third finger, still stroking your clit with his thumb, skillful hands making you moan. His fingers were precise and as methodical as a surgeon's, you vaguely think about the time you felt hot after watching him practice an intubation, his hands flexing and moving with precision. He mouthed at your neck. You let out a quiet moan.
“Jack,” he chuckled darkly at that.
“You thinking ‘bout jack when i’m knuckle deep inside you?” Your face flushed. You opened your mouth to apologize for your slip. Face red and looking like you wanted him to just suffocate you with a pillow right there.
“S’okay baby. I’m thinking about him too.” He paired that sentence with a curl of his fingers, the sensation becoming too much. You whined once more.
“You thinking ‘bout his thick fingers, sweetheart?”
“Thinking ‘bout you, Robby!” You whimpered.
“Tell the truth, sweetheart.”
“Just miss ‘im. Still love you.” you moaned, forehead scrunched in pleasure as he curled his fingers deliciously once again. You clenched around him.
“You gonna cum for me, baby?” He continued playing with your clit and curling his fingers against your g-spot. You could only nod your head, eyes closed.
“You gonna cum for me while you're thinking about Jack? Huh? Go on then, do it.” at that the coil in your tummy snapped and you whimpered. Your slick covering his palm. He made eye contact with you as he brought them into his mouth to clean them off. You moaned at the sight. He used his free hand to slide your boyshorts back into place. He gave your sweet cunt a gentle pat over the thin fabric.
“S’sensative,” you squealed.
Robby moved to hand you the water at your bedside table.
“Take a few sips f’me, okay? I’m gonna get a towel. I’ll be right back.” Your eyes shot open.
“No! Don’t leave me alone with him!” You grabbed his arm and looked at him with pleading eyes. He just nodded and didn’t question it, just moved so you could lay your head on his chest. Your eyes fluttered shut. You would have noticed that if your brain wasn’t still so fuzzy from the mindnumbing orgasm he just gave you. No doubt better than any Daniel had given you throughout your short relationship.
“Are you sleepy now, baby?” You just nodded, unable to form an answer.
“Yeah you are, just needed to get your panties sticky, huh?” Your cheeks flushed. Robby seemed to enjoy making you squirm from his vulgar words. He kissed your forehead.
“G’night Robby.” you managed to mumble before drifting off while counting his heartbeats.
⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡
The next morning, you woke up to the smell of burnt eggs in your small kitchenette. You got out of bed and noticed your boyshorts and cotton panties had been replaced with clean ones. You padded your socked feet out of your room to see Jack sitting at your counter top with a disappointed look on his face as Robby held the burnt eggs in the pan towards him.
“Morning, Babydoll, guess I missed all the fun, huh?” Your cheeks flushed as Jack moved his arm around your waist as you walked toward him, standing next to where he sat on the high top chairs. Robby smirked and cheekily winked at you.
“Told you he wouldn’t mind, sweetheart.” You were confused but you couldn’t help the warm ache that settled back into your cunt.
“You’re okay with it?” Jack just grinned, you loved his toothy smile, you couldn’t help but reciprocate.
“‘Course babydoll, what kind of friend would I be if I made you choose? That is if you want me too of course.” You flushed once again. Looking down at your Brandy Melvile heart socks. You nodded shyly. Jack didn’t let you off that easily.
“Nah uh, you gotta use your words, babydoll.”
“I- I want you both.” You finally said after a few seconds. Jack smiled and pulled you down towards him in his seat with the hand on your waist. You met his lips and smiled into the kiss. He was gentler than you expected. You had heard all of his past sexual experiences and conquests to the intimacy of the kiss was a welcome surprise.
After you pulled away, Robby appeared right behind you, you put your hands on his chest and leaned in to give him the same kiss as Jack. After you pulled away to salvage the mess that was Robby’s attempt of making breakfast, you watched as Jack yanked Robby by his shirt down to give him a filthy kiss in comparison to yours. You flushed and turned away toward the sink. Robby noticed.
“S’okay sweetheart, we want you to watch.” He said in a gravely voice.
if u use my work to train ai a puppy dies. tags⋆˚࿔: @tojisasscrumbs, @qpiiee,@chikisreads, @loki-miss-a, @4ria790, @girljusttrying28, @theory-saturn, @em1ly57, @persephone-reblogs, @the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf, @supersonicoxo, @boldlyherdream, @17th-sector, @spectersgf, @peaches-roses-sins, @navs-bhat, @tigol-bitties15, @actuallyhisangel, @writtenbyhollywood, @mademoiselle1917, @deathbyvexs, @in-the-comet, @yiiiikesmish, @lexi2000, @skagelynn, @topsecretsweethearttt, @tellmealovestory, @babysoft-domination, @fangirl-dot-com, @thisisjustmyface, @writing2sirvive, @madicropp, @msmetallicareeves, @sameoldbaby, @itzpixiebabe, @im-ok-mj, @moonlitmaureder, @peachiestevie, @bookgirllstuff, @yournewstepmom8765, @durazzznosconcrema, @whatupbuttercup2019,
it's become a running joke in the daily planet that clark kent has a girlfriend.
i mean, are we even talking about the same guy? clark kent, the one who habitually slouches in his chair, making himself look shorter than the six feet three inches brute he is.
clark kent who drops objects, trips over his own feet or stumbles into furniture. the clark kent who has poorly-fitting clothes which don't do any justice to the figure underneath and with thick-rimmed glasses that mask his facial expressions and eye colour that looks a little too similar to superman's if anyone ever thought twice about it.
he bought it up when lois was talking about her current boyfriend and she asked if anyone else had any partners. "yeah, me and my girlfriend have been dating for a few years now." he said with undiluted pride.
clark will always recall the way the whole room went quiet. jimmy had blinked like he had something in his eye as he squinted. even lois, who wasn't even looking at clark swung her entire head towards him. perry, who had secretly been eaves-dropping the entire time, nearly dropped the coffee he was making.
"girlfriend." jimmy repeated, fucking gawking.
clark turned a shade scarlet. "yes, my girlfriend."
"what's her name?" lois asked.
"y/n."
"pretty name," jimmy said after some silence.
"yeah, she's an extraordinarily pretty girl."
there was some silence again before perry moved over and slapped clark so sharply against his back that the poor man almost flinched. "crude sense of humour, boy, but i appreciate the effort."
clark hadn't even managed to scrounge up a wrinkled eyebrow and a question forming around his lips before the room dispersed. mainly, he presumed, to talk about the confident "joke" he had just made.
that night, when he comes home to you, the shy, farmer boy facade wiped off completely, he slides next to you in the bedsheets as you nestle against his bicep.
"how was work today?" you ask.
"good." after some silence where you just run your hand over his face, he adds, "they don't believe me."
"about?"
"us. that i have you."
you laugh, resting your cheek against his skin as you look up at him. "really?" he nods, brushing his fingers against your cheek. but you don't think much about it.
clark, on the other hand? well, he tries not to, but it's pretty hard when jimmy slides by him the next day and prods him a little too hard in the ribs and makes a joke about saying you have a woman just because you want them.
nor does lois, who talks to jimmy again about it and talks a little bit too loud about her partner.
"i'm not lying," clark says a little aggressively, the next week, at lunch, through gritted teeth as another jab is once again made. "i have a girlfriend."
"sure." perry says without missing a beat, stirring his coffee. "and you're superman."
well.
after about a few months of this banter, clark asks you to walk him to the daily planet that morning with his said reasons, and you're more than happy to obey.
when lois spots clark standing next to you, she thinks for a second that he's helping a very pretty lost woman even despite their proximity.
until he bends down and kisses you.
lois's jaw drops open as she swivels her head to perry, who seems to be seeing the same thing.
"am i? am i?" perry blinks, coffee long abandoned.
clark tries to act nonchalant about it while he introduces you to them, hand around your waist. and when jimmy appears, seeing you extend your hand to your lois while clark's nose is close to your temple which he can't even pass as friendship, well he almost faints.
oh, just wait until they found about who clark really was.
This is an ongoing Jack Abbot x reader / Jack Abbot x you fanfiction. So new chapters will be added as we go.
Link zu Master Post (1)
If you ever have ideas, thoughts or something you'd love to see, feel free to drop me a message or an ask. I can't promise anything, but I'll definitely see what I can do.
Content warnings: some angst, some fluff, unplanned pregnancy and relationship trouble - because we like to suffer a little before things get better
Summary: When you went grocery shopping you didn't expect to come home with the number of a very handsome ED doctor
--- --- ---
Part 78: So, up you go, Terminator
You just wanted to go for breakfast with a friend - then Lizzie had other plans, sending you straight to the Pitt.
--- --- ---
Part 79: I missed the start of it, didn't I
Things get unexpectedly emotional while Jack is on night shift.
--- --- ---
Part 80: I want her to stay little
Tummy time gets unexpectedly emotional
--- --- ---
Part 81: That's not a small thing
A quiet night after Lizzie falls asleeps turns into a much bigger conversation than either of you planned for.
--- --- ---
Part 82: God you're so... handsome and... manly
A very tipsy suggestion, excellent boyfriend behavior - and regrets by sunrise.
--- --- ---
Part 83: I can't believe I'm even considering leaving her
Parenthood chaos, terrible cooking and an offer you absolutely didn't see coming
--- --- ---
Part 84: Enjoy your adult time and please, shag a little
Goodbyes are hard, airports are stressful and - Jack just being impossibly sweet
--- --- ---
Part 85: If you want an excuse to buy a dress - use my card
This chapter includes panic-shopping, an emotional support avocado, a deeply misogynistic doctor and Jack discovering he probably has a competence kink.
--- --- ---
Part 86: You're gonna crush this, Dr. Abbot
This chapter included whale watching, Doctor Nipple™, Jack being aggressively in love and - oh yeah, Vancouver.
--- --- ---
Part 87: You're so whipped, buddy
This chapter includes… well, a ring. And Robby. Unfortunately for Jack, a lot of Robby.
--- --- ---
Part 88: I just kept you from getting arrested for public indecency
This chapter includes barbecue, feelings and a surprisingly mature conversation. (Yay for growth.)
--- --- ---
Bonus Chapter: Jack's Google Search History (Friday, Vancouver)
Just some things Jack would look up on Google on that Friday in Vancouver.
--- --- ---
Part 89: You're the reason why women need therapy
You’re finally on your way home and somewhere between overpriced airport coffee and business class amenities Robby discovers that playful conference flirting has actual real-life consequences.
--- --- ---
Part 90: You can't lick dogs, sweetheart
You finally get to see your daughter again. Mara desperately needs some alone time. And Robby is behaving… deeply suspiciously.
--- --- ---
Interlude X: So what, we're just casually texting at 1 a.m. now?
Of course Robby texts Mara while he’s in Vancouver and she’s on babysitter duty. Unfortunately, he learns that some information changes a man forever.
--- --- ---
Interlude XI: I ruined the best day of your life
During their weekly brunch Jack discovers that his proposal attempt wasn’t quite the well-kept secret he thought it was.
This is an ongoing Jack Abbot x reader / Jack Abbot x you fanfiction. So new chapters will be added as we go.
I can't add any more links to this post (apparently there's a link limit and I had no idea). So this is part 1 of my series master list - you'll find part 2 at the bottom.
If you ever have ideas, thoughts or something you'd love to see, feel free to drop me a message or an ask. I can't promise anything, but I'll definitely see what I can do.
Content warnings: some angst, some fluff, unplanned pregnancy and relationship trouble - because we like to suffer a little before things get better
Summary: When you went grocery shopping you didn't expect to come home with the number of a very handsome ED doctor
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
Part 1: You stole my cart
When you went grocery shopping you didn't expect to come home with the number of a very handsome ED doctor
--- --- ---
Part 2: Wanna grab coffee?
You finally kiss him. Later you google his name... and understands he's carrying far more than you'd expected.
--- --- ---
Part 3: "Wanna come over?"
What starts as a flirty dinner invitation becomes a night of honesty and careful firsts.
--- --- ---
Part 4: I knew you were trouble
Your first morning together. One cheeky comment from you. And suddenly - another first.
--- --- ---
Part 5: Am I your girlfriend?
All you wanted was clarity. Instead it became an inside-joke - and the start of your favourite little game.
--- --- ---
Part 6: And you are...?
You just came to pick your boyfriend up for breakfast after his shift. Instead you accidentally became the main attraction of the entire emergency department.
--- --- ---
Part 7: I can't compete with ghosts
A shower, a bedside drawer and a discovery you never expected - and suddenly you're in your first real fight.
--- --- ---
Part 8: I'm like Mary Poppins - just more handsome and with more drugs
Two days of fever, no voice and ignored messages. (Un)fortunately for you, Jack Abbot notices.
--- --- ---
Part 9: I've got a face for television, baby
A cozy lake house getaway. No bodies to bury. Just some fluff.
--- --- ---
Part 10: I pretend I'm not completely confused by this
You were always the one preaching honesty and open communication. And now you're the one keeping a secret.
--- --- ---
Part 11: I told you to slow down with the drinks
When Jack thinks you're sick because you drank too much, the real reason turns out to be far more sobering - for both of you.
--- --- ---
Part 12: Don't you dare apologize, kiddo
The night isn't over yet and neither is the conversation
--- --- ---
Part 13: I'll be right here and clean up the mess
Some nights are harder than others. Good thing you're not facing them alone anymore.
--- --- ---
Part 14: Reminds me of my time in Afghanistan, just a bit nicer
You can take the doctor ouf of the hospital but you can't take the hospital out of him.
--- --- ---
Interlude I
The next three chapters will be a little different in style. I wanted to show a bit of Jack’s side of the story, and there’s probably no better way to do that than through his therapy sessions.
Tell me about it (The Jack Sessions - Part I)
Tell me about it (The Jack Sessions - Part II)
Tell me about it (The Jack Sessions - Part III)
--- --- ---
Part 15: What's next? Bungee jumping?
What happens when you're finally released from the hospital? Apparently: snow, Christmas plans, Jack being overprotective… and a whole lot of fluff.
--- --- ---
Part 16: Grief-induced rebound-shag? Did he really say that?
Christmas Party at Robbys place. That's it. That's the plot. Enjoy!
--- --- ---
Part 17: You can't say that anymore
Apparently the thought of fatherhood changes a few things about Jack. Unfortunately, one of those realizations happens in the bedroom.
--- --- ---
Part 18: I'm not Santa but I brought gifts anyway
Christmas decorations appear where Jack definitely didn’t leave them, gifts are exchanged, and pregnancy hormones make New Year's Eve a little different than planned.
--- --- ---
Part 19: You shouldn't be worrying about money
You never liked talking about money. Unfortunately sometimes life forces the conversation. Luckily Jack doesn't mind taking care of things.
--- --- ---
Part 20: The eyes, Jack. The eyes.
You are telling a funny story. And Jack... listens.
--- --- ---
Part 21: Didn't know your dad was here helping you move
Moving day, creepy neighbour and a jealous Jack. Happy ending guaranteed.
--- --- ---
Part 22: I'm a hopeless romantic trapped in the body of a slightly sarcastic boomer
Jack was never the most romantic guy. And then Valentine's Day happened. The morning brings a surprise neither of you ever wanted.
A/N: This chapter contains some angst, including bleeding during pregnancy, mentions of blood and a miscarriage scare
--- --- ---
Part 23: I've been thinking about something...
Jack has been thinking about you again. It's lucky he's a brilliant physician because communication clearly isn't his strongest skill.
--- --- ---
Part 24: Hard to predict what I'll do in the haze after night shift
Jack likes to be prepared. Unfortunately for you that now includes preparing for the baby like it's a medical emergency.
--- --- ---
Part 25: I'm not your punching bag
Pregnancy hormones, old wounds and the difficult art of actually talking to each other.
--- --- ---
Part 26: Not my fault you can't keep it in your scrubs
Sometimes all a man needs is brunch with his best friend.
--- --- ---
Part 27: That's not enough time
Sometimes honest conversations take time… and it seems like the time has finally come.
--- --- ---
Part 28: Congratulations on the degree, Dr. Abbot
Waiting is the worst part - especially when nerves take over. And especially when your boyfriend is a highly trained physician who’s used to being in control… until he’s not.
--- --- ---
Part 29: I didn't know she was your girl
A quick trip to your old apartment turns into a lesson in boundaries - Jack style.
--- --- ---
Part 30: You guys act like he committed a crime
You had one simple plan: in, out, no drama. Well. The plan did not survive.
--- --- ---
Part 31: You never have to apologize for calling me or being scared
You're home alone, very pregnant and suddenly your body starts doing something it definitely did not do before...
--- --- ---
Part 32: It's about the fact that I don't want you to die
When Robby asks you to pick up your boyfriend you expect him to be drunk. Not… whatever this is.
--- --- ---
Bonus chapter: Did you actually think this through?
Jack gets hurt on a SWAT call and calls the one person he trusts most - unfortunately, this person has opinions.
--- --- ---
Part 33: You had a problem. I fixed it. No big deal.
Jacks an emergency medicine specialist. If you have a problem he will find a way to handle it. Apparently he’s also an expert in any kind of emergencies.
--- --- ---
Part 34: Sorry for being so fucking late
It starts with “This is probably nothing” and ends with “Oh god, this is happening.” And the only question is: where is Jack?
--- --- ---
Interlude II: And she called you?!
Let's answer the very important question before moving on: Where the hell was Jack? (A very short interlude)
--- --- ---
Part 35: You did so fucking brilliantly, kiddo
He made it. And now there’s no turning back.
--- --- ---
Part 36: She deserves to become her own person
The first quiet moment alone with your daughter and your boyfriend. You are happy - but the guilt hasn’t quite let go yet.
--- --- ---
Part 37: I think we made a mistake
Robby is the first visitor. He did not plan on getting emotional about it.
--- --- ---
Part 38: You two do realize you're not a couple, right?
Jack introduces his newborn daughter to the ED. Featuring proud dad energy, Robby being the worlds most intense godfather and a team that is absolutely losing it over baby Lizzie.
--- --- ---
Part 39: I don't know what to do. I don't know anything
The first days with a newboarn aren't easy... but you're not doing it alone.
--- --- ---
Part 40: I'm glad he finally stuck with something
Jack is excited for his sisters visit. You try to be too. But something about her just doesn't feel quite... right.
--- --- ---
Part 41: It's not against you, darling. It's just... personal
Some comments linger. Some truths explode. And not everything said can be taken back.
--- --- ---
Part 42: I get it. Family isn't easy
Bad timing, family drama and a man who is absolutely done being polite.
--- --- ---
Part 43: I don't want you thinking about my sister the first time we have sex again
You try to make an effort. He makes it very clear you don’t have to.
--- --- ---
Part 44: You had it coming
Family is complicated. Especially when the truth finally shows up.
--- --- ---
Bonus Chapter: You don't get to decide what kind of woman I should be
Some conversations aren’t about winning. They’re about being heard.
--- --- ---
Part 45: I didn't think it was all battle royal out there
Daycare hunting hits like a competetive sport you didn't know you'd already lost
--- --- ---
Bonus chapter: Wow. Not even hypothetical me gets any freedom?
Jack and Robby try to figure out childcare. It's not their ... most productive conversation.
--- --- ---
Part 46: You wanna tell me something?
What should've been a quiet brunch turns into a fight about something that means very different things to both of them - and suddenly thirty years of friendship feel shaky.
--- --- ---
Part 47: But now listen carefully - Daddy's first important life lesson for you
First baby group, first mom friends - and Jack who’s somehow more nervous about all of it than you are
--- --- ---
Part 48: That face needs to populate a whole bloodline
What starts with a new member in the baby group turns into jealousy - and ends in an insufferable ego boost.
--- --- ---
Part 49: I know exactly who to call
Lizzie needs her first shots. Jack thinks he can handle it. Spoiler: he cannot.
--- --- ---
Part 50: I think I'm more comfortable falling apart in my own apartment
A sleepless night, a screaming baby and the overwhelming fear of failing.
--- --- ---
Part 51: It's just a rough patch. Okay?
You are one breakdown away from walking out. Jack has seen worse - and he's not letting you fall apart.
--- --- ---
Part 52: If you think I'm helicoptering - he's next level
You hit your limit last night. Today you pick yourself back up- with help, of course.
--- --- ---
Part 53: She's totally judging you
A quiet afternoon, a gentle conversation... and Lizzie having opinions
--- --- ---
Part 54: I don't need an audience
An intimate moment gets unexpectedly interrupted.
--- --- ---
Part 55: Good call, labeling your boss the department slut
Lizzie is already a few months old but that doesn't stop the Pitt crew from throwing a party.
--- --- ---
Part 56: I think that's a bad idea, girl
When the nights get too overwhelming, you find yourself reaching out for help. But some things are easier to hide than to explain.
--- --- ---
Part 57: I thought things were going well
Too many things left unsaid, one moment too far - and suddenly the damage is real. (Aka Jack fucks up tremendously.)
--- --- ---
Interlude II:
Tell me about it (The Jack Sessions - Part IV)
Jack's in therapy. It gets uncomfortable fast.
--- --- ---
Part 58: Please tell me she insulted you
Brunch again. Jack has a conversation with Robby that's uncomfortable - for at least one of them.
--- --- ---
Part 59: Must be a world record with only one-and-a-half legs
Sometimes tough conversations really are just a walk in the park. (With Robby of all people.)
--- --- ---
Interlude III:
Tell me about it (The Jack Sessions - Part V)
Therapy again. That's the plot.
--- --- ---
Part 60: We're okay. So let's be... okay
A small breakdown, a quiet reset - and the work begins.
--- --- ---
Interlude IV:
Let's talk about it (The Couple Sessions - Part I)
Jack takes his therapist's advice… and you end up in couples therapy.
--- --- ---
Part 61: And sorry I'm not a woman you could hit on
When you and Jack plan your first baby-free night out, you find a babysitter. It's not Robby - and he takes it personally.
--- --- ---
Part 62: Maybe they think we're having an affair
No baby. No chaos. Just them, wine, bad joked - and a piece of Jacks past that no one was supposed to know.
--- --- ---
Part 63: That was the funniest thing you ever said
You were just going to do some laundry. Instead you find something Jack’s been hiding - cue a misunderstanding, a minor crisis and Jack trying (very badly) to be responsible.
--- --- ---
Part 64: Don't do that, girl. Some of us had a rough shift
Lizzies first Thanksgiving: an extra guest, a questionable amount of food, a brief deep dive into systemic issues and a resident performing turkey surgery. Karaoke may or may not be involved.
--- --- ---
Bonus chapter: robbby forced me. 0/10 expeirence. miss you.
Karaoke.
--- --- ---
Part 65: I feel like we missed a memo
Plan: sexy breakfast for boyfriend. Reality: boyfriend brings coworkers.
--- --- ---
Part 66: So, we are negotiating with terrorists now?
Jack Abbot, experienced medical professional, outsmarted and emotionally manipulated by a baby with strong opinions and excellent grip strength.
--- --- ---
Part 67: I think I could use your help too
Jack runs into his therapist in public and is forced to watch Robby hit on her in real time.
--- --- ---
Part 68: I'm working nights over Christmas, by the way
Jack reveals he's working over Christmas turning a simple holiday plan into a quiet but painful argument.
--- --- ---
Interlude V:
Tell Me About It (The Jack Sessions - Part VI)
Jack is in serious need of therapy today
--- --- ---
Part 69: I just need a break
Jack tells you the real reason he chose to work Christmas. It goes about as well as you'd expect.
--- --- ---
Part 70: That's not a win. That's a warning
Jack has a therapist. And then he has Robby. Reality checks included. Coffee optional.
--- --- ---
Bonus chapter: A knee to the balls would probably fix that dick-swinging behavior
What happens after you walk out on Jack - and before you go back to face him? Well… the answer’s simple: A much-needed girl talk. (And wine.)
--- --- ---
Part 71: That is emotional bullshit with fake snow
Christmas arrives. You expect the worst - and get something better anyway
--- --- ---
Part 72: I'm a big girl, you know?
Jack is late. And this time you don’t wait.
--- --- ---
Part 73: Not now, Lizzie. Daddy needs his hands free to sort that guy out
In the weird limbo after Christmas, you decide to throw a New Year’s Eve party - complete with too many guests, a little harmless flirting and the ongoing challenge of keeping Robby away from Mara.
--- --- ---
Part 74: She's doing coke with some guy in the bathroom
“It's just a few days.” Turns out a few days is more than enough for Jack to realize what he actually wants - and what he might be losing.
--- --- ---
Interlude VI:
Tell me about it (The Jack Sessions - Part V)
It's day five of your absence and Jack has another therapy session - one that’s very much needed and emotionally charged.
--- --- ---
Bonus chapter: Tell me again - why didn't you bring Jack?
You were looking forward to some alone time with your mom - until she called you out.
--- --- ---
Part 75: You're really not making this easy for me, huh?
You come home. Nothing is fully fixed - but it's a start.
--- --- ---
Part 76: Can I ask you something?
Coffee, communication and the quiet realization that you're actually going to make this work.
--- --- ---
Interlude VII:
What the hell are you working on?
Jack at the gym. A very short interlude.
--- --- ---
Part 77: But boy, I guess he’s a disaster on the inside
A much mneeded girls night and an unexpected visitor. Tumbler included.
--- --- ---
Interlude VIII:
:)
Some texts between Robby and you.
--- --- ---
Interlude IX:
Inter-Interlude: Your best friend is completely unhinged
his wife ── michael robinavitch
michael 'robby' robinavitch x wife!reader.
summary: robby doesnt advertise his marriage. so when his wife shows up at ED to discuss their son, safe to say the residents were shocked. now they wonder how the two of you met. this throws him back to when he was a ms3.
content warnings: reader and robby w/ 2 year age gap. thought to be 22 and robby 24 when met, around when he'd be a MS3. fluff. med school robby. lightly flirty young robby. lil mention of mature content so pls mdni 18+. reader is clinical psychologist/completeting masters to be one. lowkey implied fem reader shorter than robby. im short im sorry. he adores his wife like hard. two kids.
authors notes: lowkey med school au and robby who isn't as emotuonally consipated in the show. lowkey wanna do a few bits here and there about their life but not sure lol. inspired by this meme.
word count: 4079
Everyone was aware of the chain that hung around Robby’s neck. It peeked from under his scrubs sometimes. Though, no one knew what might be on the chain. There might be nothing or there could be something. Either way, it was always tucked under his shirt.
Nobody questioned it, never really thought to. He’s a private person. Residents don’t ask about his personal life. But they get curious when he steps out to the ambulance bay sometimes, phone to ear.
Santos thinks that maybe he’s faking to take a break. Whitaker thinks he might be talking to a relative, parent or sibling. Javadi thinks … Well, she isn’t quite sure what to think. But she doesn’t think its what Santos or Whitaker’s thinking.
So when a gorgeous woman strolled into the department, beelining towards the charge nurse with a smile, they were confused to say the least. You seemed to be friendly and familiar with Dana, greeting each other like old friends.
The med student and two residents share subtle looks, watching the interaction.
“Is my husband around?” You asked Dana, glancing around to see if he was nearby. It was never predictable where he might be. It’s not uncommon for him to not answer his phone when he works and you don’t blame him. It’s understandable. But it’s rare for you to show up at the department, that usually means it’s important.
The three watching noticed your eyes wandering, quickly busying themselves. Santos and Javadi looked at the same computer, as if they were reading results together. While Whitaker fumbled with the chart he’d picked up. The two women look at him in disbelief and annoyance. Smooth.
“Trauma one. He’s in a mood.” Dana pre warned you, giving you a knowing look. You weren’t surprised by the fact, very aware how moody Robby can be when he’s stressed.
“Not surprising.” You huffed out a dry laugh. “When isn’t he?”
“True that.” The charge nurse hiffs, knowing you'd understand more than anyone. But you’re able to diffuse him unlike anyone else.
“Alright if I hang around?” You asked, knowing the answer but much preferring to be sure instead of assuming.
“Of course.” Dana assured you, well aware you don’t like to presume but instead hear directly. Everyday is different in the ED. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, just Levi.” You explained, not details but enough for her to understand that something had happened. Your son could get into his own mess these days, he’s 22 and at college, figuring out his life. Didn’t mean he didn’t avoid doing dumb shit.
Before Dana could respond, her mouth hanging open before shutting as a painstakingly familiar voice rang out.
“What’re you doing here?” You heard your husband’s gruff voice, head turning as he wandered up beside you. He pressed a kiss to your head before his eyes returned to your face. Concern was etched across his features, worried that something was wrong. You didn’t show up here without a reason.
Javadi tried to not look invested but she was, Robby was married? Santos and Whitaker thinking the same thing. And this woman is his wife? No way. That can’t be right.
“Your son decided that getting drunk and running around campus was a good idea.” You informed him dryly. This is the second time you've talked about this. Not that you were angry but more annoyed. You had to leave work, because Robby couldn’t, to go and get him from the police station by his campus. “Naked.”
“Why is he always my son when he does something stupid?” Robby inquired in disbelief before shaking his head immediately. It was too early for this, barely 8:30am. “Actually, don’t answer that.”
He knew that if either of you had passed the doing something dumb gene, it was him. He had never done something quite like that but he was the more reckless between the two of you. He didn’t need to have his workplace hear about some of the dumb things he’s done in his 20s.
Levi isn't a bad kid. Just tends to do dumb things.
Javadi, Whitaker and Santos all shared glances in utter shock. This man has a son? A kid? No way. They don't believe they’d heard this correctly.
“Anyways. He’s alright. But he called Jack who called me.”
“Fuck.” Your husband signed, hanging his head low before looking back at you. “You going to get him?”
He gave you a look that said you gonna go or… not to rush you out but instead to figure out why you were hanging around with your shared son behind local station bars.
“Yeah.” You nodded, pausing before you explained absentmindedly. “Letting him sweat a bit.”
“You’re evil.” He commented dryly.
“It’s why you married me.” You grinned.
He huffed a soft yet dry laugh. He won’t even deny it. Your nature was one of the many reasons he’d fallen inlove with you in the first place. He knows how incredible of a mother you are. He’s cherished raising children with you. He’d never seen you so soft and loving. He sometimes still found it hard to believe you had married and had kids with him.
But he was aware that you weren’t going to let this stint slide.
“That’s why you’re here?” He quizzed, almost a little amused, though pissed that his son had done something so stupid. This would be something you two would discuss with him later.
“Partially. But thought I'd tell you before Jack blabs at shiftchange.” You answered, not going to have spoken to him later about this. It was too important. And you knew Jack would’ve let him know this evening. Better if it comes from you.
Jack has been a staple in your kids' lives since he’d met Robby years ago. When Robby had started working at PTMC as an attending, you’d been pregnant with your second child. When Jack had joined a few years later, your kids were 8 and 6 at the time. He’d immediately grown attached, loving them like they were his own. They adored him, not having a day without him since (minus when he’d been in the army and deployed).
As much as he loves them, he made it clear he wouldn’t keep things from you and Robby. Especially when it’s important. He loved them. But he loves you both too. All of you are like his family. He wasn’t going to lie.
“Good thinking.” He nodded, appreciative you’d told him instead of letting him be blindsited later.
“I’ll head out.” You said, wanting to get this whole thing sorted and just get back home. Not like you’d go back to the office. Thankfully your appointments were all via zoom today, it helped. “Hopefully won’t take too long but i’ll let you know.”
“Alright, thanks.” Robby replied, pressing a kiss to your forehead. It was something he always did when you’d separate for the day. “See you after work.”
“I love you.” You said softly, leaning up to press a quick kiss to his lips.
“I love you, honey.”
You waved goodbye to him and Dana, turning back around and heading back to your car.
“You’re married?” Santos blurted in disbelief, unable to keep it in. Whitaker nudged her with his elbow in panic, she should not have said that.
He looks over at her, pulling the chain out from under his undershirt. The chain dangled with a gold band hanging from it. His wedding ring. “26 years.”
He doesn’t hide he’s married. He just doesn’t find himself needing to share that information unwarranted. He loves his wife and kids but he prefers to keep his family outside of the workplace. So if he’s not prompted, he doesn't talk about them.
“How… when … what?” Santos stammered, in disbelief he’s been married. To you. For 26 years.
“You didn’t know?” Langdon quizzed the three as he wandered to the desk, amused at their shocked expressions.
“Don’t act like you didn’t react the same way when you found out.” Dana mused, shooting Langdon a knowing look.
He can’t even deny it. When he discovered his attending’s long-lasting marriage, he was shocked. The man didn’t seem emotionally capable. But must've been wrong. He’s grown to know that over the last few years when he’d seen you two interact.
Robby is a man inlove.
“How’d you meet?” Javadi mustered up the courage to ask, curious to hear how you’d met. Especially since you’d been married for so long.
Robby huffed a laugh at the memory, recalling the evening you’d met. It was forever seared into his memory.
1995.
Robby was out with a couple of his med school classmates for a rare night out between rotations. Being a MS3 was intense, going from classroom to real direct-contact work with patients.
The four of them were mostly sharing how their recent rotation had been. They’d all been put into different specialties. Paediatrics, orthopaedics, cardiology and gastroenterology.
He was mid laugh when his eyes glanced over the room, eyes locking on you. It felt like his breath had been pulled from his lungs.
You were out with friends for a monthly catch up. Since you’d both graduated and begun your career’s, you rarely get to spend time together. The two of you made it a point to organise a once a month where you’re both free to catch up in person. Talking on the phone can only do so much for a friendship sometimes.
The two of you were chatting, discussing recent events in your lives. She was halfway through telling you about an incident at her new job.
“God, can you believe it?” She said in disbelieving scoff. “I mean, who in their right mind thinks that it’s okay to show up drunk and deny the whole thing, it's just dumb to try and gaslight your boss.”
“That’s so fucked. Please tell me he was fired. Or at least suspended.” You said in disgust, already hating whoever this guy was.
“I wish.” Your friend shook her head in annoyance. She went to take a sip of her drink, to realise it was empty. “But I will say that I need another drink.”
“I’ll get some.” You said as you stood up with a chuckle, grabbing your wallet. Though you gave her a playfully pointed look. “Don’t venture anywhere.”
“No promises.” she teased, though not really planning to go anywhere. She was the type to just wander away without prompt. But honestly, so are you. She’s just worse than you, especially when intoxicated.
You chuckled and rolled your eyes at the tease, but accepted it. It's normal for the two of you, the teasing. But you do hope she won’t venture far if she decides to.
You made your way to the bar, sliding up between a tall man and a woman, there being a gap. They weren’t interacting so you took it as a safe spot to choose. It didn’t take long for the bartender to make it to you, barely 30 seconds.
“What can I get for ya?” He asked, leaning forward slightly to make sure he could hear you. It wasn’t too loud but to be safe.
“Vodka lemonade and a vodka coke please.” You asked kindly, always making sure to be nice to staff. He nodded and got to making the drinks.
Robby glanced down at you when he heard the honeyed voice. Oh shit. It’s you. He made an effort not to stare at you from a distance when he’d noticed you earlier. He’s not shy but he respects you’d been with a friend and he’d been with his. He barely noticed the bartender he’s spoken to before, placing the beers he’d asked for in front of him.
“Thanks.” He said to the guy but he made no effort to move. He glanced down at you again, at the same time your eyes had flickered up to him. You gave him a smile before looking back ahead of you, eyes seemingly glancing around behind the bar.
Robby’s attention went back to the bartender as he dug out a few bills and handed them over. He gestured with his head towards you besides him. “Her’s too.”
The bartender nodded, not really having much of a thought as he put the money through, conversing with the other bartender for what you’d asked for to figure out the total cost.
Your head had snapped up towards him, eyebrows slightly furrowed. You’ve had guys offer to buy you drinks, your friend too. Though never had been quite as forward as this.
“That’s awfully nice of you.” You commented dryly, looking up at him. You were a little suspicious. But you can't help but think of how gorgeous he is. It’s not actually fair. “What’s the catch?”
“No catch.” He said honestly, offering you a grin that made your heart skip a beat. Fuck this guy.
“But it got you talking to me.” He added a beat later, that breathtaking grin widening a smidge.
“Ah, so that was your plan, huh?”
“No, kinda just happened in the moment.” He said with a shrug, grin not faltering. It wasn't a total lie. He had been thinking about ways he could start a conversation with you. He normally can do without ease. But you’d made him throw away the idea of using shitty pickup lines.
“In the moment.” You chuckled, a grin of your own forming. Somehow you could tell it wasn’t a complete lie, but he wasn’t telling the whole truth. For not, you wouldn’t question it. As gorgeous as he is, you didn’t plan on hanging around long. You had your friend to get back to.
“That hard to believe?” He teased, having noted you seemed to be somewhat amused.
“Nope, but you can’t tell me you don’t already have a list of pick-up lines ready to go.” You joked, but half-meaning it. He was unfairly attractive and you’re sure he knew it. No doubt he could easily get a girl’s attention.
The bartender placed your drinks in front of you. Thanking him, you turned back to the man you’d been interacting with.
“You got me.” He chuckled, not going to deny it. “But they don’t seem like something you’d be interested in”
“Now that's a line.” You laughed, grin turning into a genuine smile.
That smile? That nearly stopped his heart.
“Maybe it is.” He said with a light laugh, not denying but not having intended on it being that way. But really, anything to make sure you kept smiling like that. He leant his head slightly forward towards you, speaking in a conspiratorial murmur. “Did it work?”
“I’m not at liberty to answer that.” You chuckled, unwilling to admit that maybe it was. It might just be his pretty face. But you weren’t immune.
“Besides, I have my friend to get back to.” You added, gesturing over to your friend. When your eyes landed on her, she seemed to be occupied with a guy. The two close together as they seemed in deep conversation. Good for her.
“Ah, that's one of mine.” he chuckled, eyes having followed where you’d directed and seeing it was one of his friends with your friend. He hadn’t quite anticipated his friend chatting with yours. But it certainly seemed to work in his favour here so he won’t complain.
“Yeah?” You quizzed but weren’t completely convinced he hadn’t coordinated that.
“Not my doing. Promise." He chuckled, raising his hands in faux-defence, sensing you thought it may have been. He meant it, genuinely not having a single thing to do with the situation. But he thought of it as good luck.
Your eyes drifted back to him, eyebrows raised. You looked at him for a few beats before grabbing your friend's drink and one of his beers. “Don’t move.”
He didn’t say anything as you left him, and your own drink. Not a smart move but it hadn’t even occurred to you in the moment. You made your way back to the table your friend was at, placing the drinks down in front of her and her guest. You subtly winked at her before you turned back and headed towards the drink and man you’d left.
As you slid back besides him, he felt elated. He hadn’t felt this excited to just talk to a woman in well … ever.
“Gonna tell me your name or am i gonna have to guess?”
“Michael. But you can call me Robby.”
“I don’t see how that correlates.” You mused, raising an eyebrow at him. You don't exactly see how those names worked together. Robby? You think Robert.
“Robinavitch.” he explained with a chuckle, eyes dazzling.
“Ah, gotcha.” You nodded with another light chuckle. Last name. You told him your name in return.
He repeated your name, letting it roll off of his tongue. He liked it. It was your name after all.
The two of you converesed. You discussed your lives, work, study, friends, hobbies. You discovered he was a third year med student, just completing a rotation in cardiology. He mentioned he liked the idea of emergency, wanting to help people at the hardest point of their lives. You respected it, understood it even. You were hanging onto every word he spoke, enjoying the words rolling off his lips and interested in what he was saying. That hasn’t happened in a long time.
He discovered you had graduated with a bachelor of psychology last year, now practising as such as you worked on completing your masters of clinical psychology. You explained how you want to conduct cognitive clinical assessments for patients who think they might have ADHD, autism and anything else that might support patients understand what is going on inside their brains. You didn’t go into details but you had admitted you’d had your own struggles with mental health. That being a huge part of wanting to support others with theirs. You wanted to work in a few areas of psychology, he had gathered.
You two spoke for hours. Literally hours. About everything and nothing at the same time. You joked, had serious topics at hand and discussed absolutely anything either of you could think of.
You checked the time on the wall with a glance, realising it was nearing 12am. God, you’d been talking to him since about 9, knowing you’d been here since at least 8 when you and your friend had arrived. Neither of you even touched your drinks, both just sitting there useless.
“Not to cut this short…” You said with a light huff as you got up from the seat you’d been on. Eventually the two of you had drifted to an empty table, finding it more comfortable to be seated as you chatted. But he would’ve happily stood there in discomfort if he got to hear your voice. Not that he’d admit that. “...but I should go, it's nearly 12.”
He looked at the clock as you spoke, eyes widening in surprise. It had been 3 hours? That’s how long he’d been talking to you. It felt like it had been 30 minutes. His eyes drifted back to you, not going to argue. He should probably find out if his friends are still here or not. You’d both noticed yours and his friend leaving earlier, so you didn’t need to worry about her being alone.
“Yeah, it was great talking to you.” He said with a soft smile. He was disappointed you were leaving but he understood. And he wasn’t going to make assumptions. Not with you. Other women he may have made some sort of line, getting them to go home with him or vice versa to never see them again the next day. But he didn’t want to do that with you.
“You too.” You replied with a smile of your own. “Bye, Michael.”
“Bye.” He smiled, his lips tugging wider at the use of his first name. Not his nickname. But his name. He watched as you waved and made your exit, eyes trailing you as you walking out the front door. He let out a small sigh, disappointed you were gone. He realised a moment later that he hadn’t even asked for your number. The thought slipped. Likely to avoid the anxiety. He;d never been anxious to ask a girl for her number before.
Meanwhile, the cold air was a welcomed slap to the face from the heat of inside the bar. It was soothing. But you couldn’t help the disappointment you felt. You had really begun to like him. You’d spoken for hours. Not like you’d spilled your entire life story. But still, you thought something was there. Something you hadn’t felt before. Not with your exes.
You became annoyed. Had he not felt that? Or did he? Either way, he didn’t ask for any form of contact details for you.
With a huff, you turned back inside and marched towards him.
Robby was shocked when he saw your figure storming towards him. He had just stood up to go in search for his friends.
“Okay. We have something. There’s this … this… I don't know … spark. It's there.” You ranted, eyes wide as you looked up at him. You wished you could blame it on the alcohol because this was not something you did. But you couldn’t help but blurt this at him. You can be embarrassed later. “We’ve been talking for hours. Literal hours. And you don’t ask for my number? Seriously? What the fuck?!”
His eyes were wide in shock as you spoke before softening. He hadn't exactly anticipated you running back to tell him off. It was hot. A soft grin tugged at his lips at each word you said.
“What?” You asked him in annoyance, arms now crossed over your chest.
“Is it too late to ask for your number?” He questioned, a hint of tease mixed in the hope in his voice. He had wanted to ask but had been caught off guard by you leaving. He was nervous at the prospect. What if you’d said no? That’d have just about broken his heart.
“You’re asking now?” You asked dryly. “Because I yelled at you?”
“First, you didn't yell. You firmly stated your annoyance.” He corrected genuinely but firmly “second, i wanted to but i got nervous.”
“Nervous?” you quizzed, not quite believing that. He hadn’t been nervous the entire time you’d spoken to him. Not openly anyways.
“Yeah. Nervous.” He admitted without shame. “Beautiful girl I've been talking to all night rejects me? That's nerve-wrecking.”
“Enough with the lines.” You responded dryly. He hadn’t really given you lines but that didn’t automatically exclude him from going to use them.
“Not a line. I'm serious.” Robby said, sincerity seeping through his voice. His eyes didn’t leave yours. He wanted you to know he wasn’t trying to be smooth. Just honest.
You stared at him for a few moments, debating if you could trust it. He sounded painfully sincere. You don’t think you can fake this kind of honestly.
“Still want my number?”
Present.
“I love her.” Javadi rushed out immediately, then flushing with embarrassment as she realised she said that outloud. Her hand covered her mouth in shock at her own words.
Robby just chuckled, which surprised her and the two residents.
“She’s incredible.” He commented fondly. His mind reeled with thoughts of you. Both from recent years and the early times of your relationship.
“Careful, you’re sounding human.” Dana joked, though she had grown fond of the dynamic between you and the attending. He was practically a different person with you. Your kids too.
“Don’t let my daughter hear that, she’ll use it against me.” He joked back, having broken out of his thoughts and preferring the humour based dynamic in the workplace. He didn’t need to be vulnerable here. Not about his family.
Before anyone could respond, he headed off. Intending to see a patient, check in to see how his residents are doing. But he’d instead slowed his moments and pulled out his phone, pulling up your text chain.
Husband <3: if he claims he was dared, you’re going to let me eat you out
Wife: if he says that he’s made a mistake and won’t do it again, you’ll eat me out
Husband <3: deal
“I’m sorry … DAUGHTER?!”
He heard the disbelief of his resident, ignoring the question and instead pocketing his phone continuing on his day. He’s the chief attending here. At home? He’s just a man who’s obsessed with his wife.
