re Shawn Hatosy's absolute power move of doing the Quinn collab
can I just say it's actually so wholesome for him to frame it as "stepping into the space with intention" and taking ownership of his moment as a total sex symbol and approaching it with creativity and idk
it just feels very healthy and sex positive and like just another expression of his love for acting and character building and I'm really here for it
y'all i have to have a serious conversation about yunho being the ultimate daddy dom and i need to talk about it now because i just rewatched the perilla leaf debate video and had an epiphany. so if you want to go down a rabbit hole of bdsm dynamics and me overanalyzing yunho (again) then walk with me......
okay listen.... i know we all love jealous and mad yunho, and that's what got pulled out of this video endlessly by everyone, including me, but i keep focusing one particular exchange in the video before he gets jealous. go watch it, but the dialogue and generally what happens is:
*yunho reading the question, which is worse, 1. atiny letting another male idol pick [the perilla leaf] for them, or 2. another male idol picking it for atiny*
🐶yunho: *inhales, shakes his head* no way, none of it is okay.
✨ atiny: oh? not even both?
🐶yunho: *looks up at her* no way. no way. *literally gets pouty*
✨atiny: then what should i do?
🐶yunho: *with literal no hesitation* i'm right here, so i'll do it for you.
✨atiny: (with what i can only assume is teasing) you're going to do it?
🐶yunho: *pouting more* you have me??
✨atiny: when you're not by my side?
🐶yunho: *brieftly thinks* absolutely no. do it yourself.
you can see him start to get a little annoyed at the idea of the atiny not just doing it herself when he's not with her. and then when she asks about another man doing it for her, that's when he switches from cutely playing with her, pouting, being softer, to firmly like yeah no way. now... obviously yunho is working at a fansign event, he knows atiny is fond of him being jealous so he's certainly playing into this a bit, but i still think yunho is a pretty genuine off the cuff idol and i think a lot of this would ring true for him with his partner.
now in terms of dominance, there's a million kinds, and i'm not a big fan of labeling an actual dominant person one archetype of dominance (or submission) and boxing them in because in real life, plenty of bdsm elements overlap, people have varied interests and preferences. someone who's a daddy dom can also be a sadist can also be a brat tamer etc. etc., but for the purposes of this post i want to focus on daddy dominance and the elements of yunho that i think perfectly align with this archetype (even though i think he has potential for so many others as well!)
if you're completely unfamiliar with what daddy dominance actually means, let me provide some details, disclaimers, AND assure you that i have some direct personal irl experience here i'm not just saying stuff to say stuff. while some consider 'daddy' to be just an honorific the same as 'sir' or 'master', and it surely can be, i'm talking specifically about the "daddy dom" archetype that would run deeper than just the honorific.
as a disclaimer, there's some debate about if daddy dominance is always inextricably linked to dd/lg (daddy/little girl) play, and there's a ton of gray area about dd/lg itself as far as age regression. for the purposes of this conversation, i want to emphasize that while i do think daddy dominance has a huge overlap with dd/lg, what i'm talking about here has nothing to do with age play or age regression. there's nothing wrong with that imo, you know i'm deeply kink positive, but i wanted to make that distinction before starting because a lot of people have preconceived notions about the word daddy, dd/lg, and age play. if you have questions i'll happily get into it.
now! here are some key elements to daddy doms as I see it and have experienced it:
reliability and caregiving: i think this makes sense, but daddy doms often feel a deep responsibility to their sub and their subs day to day needs and wants. think lots of acts of service, a guiding hand, and making sure that their sub is healthy and happy. this could look like making sure their sub is eating meals, drinking enough water, handling their stress well... or tiny things like door holding, shoe lace tying, maybe even paying for things, etc.
protection and safe-guarding: while i don't think this needs to be over the top or necessarily toxic unless that's a desired part of the dynamic, i do think daddy doms tend to take on a somewhat protective role. especially in 24/7 dynamics, i think there's an emphasis on the dominant carrying responsibility for their submissive's well-being, and that also translates to wanting to ensure their physical and mental safety, perhaps a little bit more directly or on the nose than other types of dominance. i think in talking with doms who identify as daddys, i've heard an overwhelming consensus around wanting to be seen as a safe harbor for their sub, wanting to be a pillar of stability, and wanting to feel themselves like a protector.
rules and obedience: keep in mind, i think a daddy dom can easily be either a high control dom who does not want to deal with bratting, or a brat-tamer. i personally think yunho is more of the former, which I can talk about separately, BUT i digress. a key element to daddy dominance, and honestly most d/s, is the dominant setting rules and expectations for their submissive and then maintaining structure for their submissive to be obedient (this also means correction where necessary for rule infractions). however, i think with daddy doms, i've noticed many of the rules tend to surround the well-being of their submissive, almost codifying those acts of service into goals and anchors for their sub. for example, a daddy dom might fill up your water bottle, but it's a rule for you to drink at least 80 oz a day and that obedience is up to you as the submissive, etc.
the dd/lg of it all.....: this one can be a little divisive, but i do think a core element of daddy dominance is the softness and the gentleness that comes as the other side of the coin to the strict rule enforcer. the difference between being a soft dom and a daddy dom (if you want to make the distinction) is almost self-explanatory, but i think there's an inherent element of babying your submissive, and even when there's no age play or age regression involved, treating your sub as something precious. think cuddles, plushies, extra cute-ness.
NOW the one thing i want to megaphone announce before i relate all of this back to yunho, is that if a dominant considers themself to be a daddy and has alllll of the above elements and more, it does NOT mean they perceive their submissive to be helpless/less than/weak. if a dom says this, they suck and do not fuck them. but in the same way that receiving care and being guided feels like love/connection/safety to a sub, providing those things for a daddy dominant fulfills them as well.
okay!!! now onto our boy.
in the perilla leaf debate, the two lines of dialogue i highlighted in red are what i want to use as a jumping off point. even with room for imperfect translation, i think the core of his meaning comes through.
his initial thought is: but i'm here, i'll do it for you.
yunho's first impulse is to provide, and to do something simple for her. it's not a question or an offer, it just is. he's present and therefore, it's obvious, it's his job to provide that for her. i think this being yunho's natural reply is very telling. we don't get to see yunho interacting with women all that often, but think about how he is with mingi or other members. yunho is often the one cutting up their meat, guiding members in the right direction, watching everyone, but also, taking care of staff too from stories we've heard. he's been described too as a natural leader, and i think all of these things, combined with his stellar emotional intelligence makes for an excellent dom, but particularly an excellent daddy dom.
BUT the thing that made my mind spin, was when she emphasized it would be when yunho wasn't physically with her, and his answer is pretty simple: do it yourself.
he doesn't perceive her as helpless, but he provides his care and love through acts of service. however, when he's not there? she's capable. she doesn't NEED to be babied, but he wants to do that for her. and this also to me screams a desire in him for setting rules and maintaining his submissive's obedience. once again, he didn't ask her opinion or explain what he'd prefer, he was unequivocal. do it yourself. yes, the possessive part is there, but to me there's also an implied rule and the expectation of her obedience when not in his presence.
now obviously i'm reading into a cute little exchange like crazy, but let's take those daddy dom elements i mentioned and specifically apply them to yunho.
reliability and caregiving: like i mentioned, this is one of the big personality traits we know about yunho. if you watch him specifically with mingi it's incredibly obvious, but even with wooyoung too. we've heard stories about him buying coffee for staff on early calls, getting that one journalist handwarmers when she was cold (with san ofc), encouraging people to rest, taking on more work to help his members, and the list goes on and on.
protection and safe-guarding: this one is tied with the above, particularly with how he treats mingi. however, i think you can see a common thread in his lives and fansigns with how he talks to atiny. when they are upset, lean on him. when they need advice, he can give it. he's the safe place, the happy place, somewhere that his fans can rest and recover. his cover song and original song emphasize that so much too, he talks a lot about taking care of oneself and leaning on yunho when times are hard. he also often says he'll protect atiny too, and while this is said cutely, it does come right to his mind. so you can imagine how he'd be with a partner, let alone a formal d/s dynamic.
rules and obedience: i mentioned this with the perilla leaf, but i think in general yunho is strict about rules in games and in some content when he's been direct or provided instructions to members and he isn't listened to, you can see that it irks him. he's the one who usually corrals everyone back to being on task (alongside hongjoong) and it's just one of those little personality traits to me that screams potential.
the dd/lg....: now this is one i can't point to a particular thing and say "see!! he likes being called daddy!!" because that would be a wild overstep. however, i do think he's often referred to as daddy or dad coded by the fandom, and the little parts of his personality when he's being cutesy towards mingi (calling him pricess i mean hello are you with me people), he's not afraid to be babygirl with plushies or girl group dances etc. but he never really loses his aura as a masculine guy, the way he pouts constantly....... like some people perceive it to be subby of him, but i think we're seeing how comfortable he is with tenderness and gentleness and that doesn't inherently mean a lack of dominance or by extension, masculinity as some people imply.
am i a little biased because yunho has been my ult for years and my preferred form of dominance is daddy dom energy? ....maybe. but i also genuinely think this is a huge reason i've always been drawn to him and his personality.
anyways. i hope those of you who enjoy kink and headcanons enjoyed this!! always love to hear thoughts and discuss more. this man makes me romantic, feral, and ache for a hug so feel free to yell about him to me.
To me, one of the most intriguing undercurrents to Whitaker's arc this season has been about his feelings of alienation, emasculation, and inability to connect with the other men in the department. Javadi calls him an astrology-girlie. The betting boys club mock him and visibly look down on him. He very awkwardly compliments Robby on his motorcycle . Langdon teases him about the med student badge and then gets in his face about the librium faux-pas, physically intimidating him. Ogilve doesn't take him seriously until the very end, Park the Shark calls him an idiot, Joy loudly outs him as having been unhoused in front of the entire department.
And it is both very telling and very interesting that his final straw is Langdon openly mocking his masculinity, the back-handed compliment of stating Whitaker doesn't seem like a gym guy, starting to make what was obviously going to be a crude and inappropriately derisive joke about his sex life. And I don't think Langdon is intending to be as mean spirited or triggering as Whitaker is perceiving it--he has had moments of trying to be a genuinely good teacher to him, being helpful and kind. But still, he has been condescending and patronizing all day, forcing a familiarity and power dynamic to their non-existent relationship that Whitaker is very clearly not okay or comfortable with at all. And exhausted from this shift, stressed about his badge and the shitty old lady and Amy and money, Whitaker has completely lost his ability to swallow it all down. And so for the first time that day, maybe ever, he asserts a firm boundary and stands up for himself.
And crucially this is the first time, too, we see Langdon take in a boundary, hear it, receive it, and respect it. He apologizes, genuinely, and doesn't deflect or defend or respond with hostility. And when Whitaker feels bad, second-guesses himself and start to backtrack, Langdon says--hey, no. You were right. It's okay. It's a huge moment of growth for them both, and the fact that they really hardly know each other is exactly what is critical to allowing so much development.
Reblog to let your followers know that despite your current obsession your previous obsessions still exist and are simply lying dormant until they awaken and strike again
summary: a failed marriage, a traumatic brain injury, an old emergency contact, and a love that doesn’t give up.
warnings: okay, medical inaccuracies up the wazoo, I tried my best with research but at the end of the day I am simply just not a doctor :(, car accident, failed marriage, TBI, multiple panic attacks, memory loss, ONE USE OF (Y/N) BECAUSE I COULD NOT FIND A WAY AROUND IT PLS FORGIVE ME!
main masterlist | support dividers by @cafekitsune
Jack received the phone call at 3:48 AM.
It was his one night off, and his sleep schedule was so messed up that he didn’t sleep through the night even on off days. He was awake, staring at his buzzing phone, wondering why he was getting a phone call from Dana, of all people, at 3:48 in the morning.
“Dana, you okay?’
Dana stood on the other end of the line, free hand on her hip and wondering how the hell she was supposed to tell Jack the information that she had.
The silence hung heavy, something was wrong.
“Dana?”
Dana exhaled a breath, shaky and long. Your name tumbled past her lips and Jack nearly dropped his phone as he shot up off of his couch, fumbling for his prosthetic while Dana explained that you were there, in his ED, and he was still listed as your emergency contact.
“How bad is it?” He asked after getting changed and out the door, faster than he ever had while he fumbled with his housekey, shaky hands struggling to jam it into the keyhole.
“Just get here as fast as you can.”
“Page Robby.”
“Already did.”
Jack’s thoughts raced a thousand miles an hour as he drove the short distance to PTMC, after your divorce, he’d chosen a place close to the hospital so he could easily get out the door and to the hospital if he was needed. But he hated it, hated the small house he rented, not bought, just in case you’d ever change your mind one day and decide you love him still, decide you want him to come back and share your home again.
The house was small and cramped and rundown, but it did the job for a divorcee who didn’t do much but work and sleep. He thought the reason it was so void of warmth is because you weren’t there to fill it.
The day you handed him the divorce papers was the worst of his life, beating the day he lost his foot by miles. He worked too much, was no longer emotionally or even physically present. He was starting to feel like a roommate to you, not your husband. And he had let you go, you had given him a choice, and he let you go. He didn’t promise things would be different or that he’d change because he knew he couldn’t.
Or that he wouldn’t.
But as time drew on he realized more and more everyday how much he’d do anything to get you back, and was crushed by the weight that it was entirely too late. But now, as he sped through the streets of Pittsburgh to get to you, he realized he’d do anything for you to just be alive.
“I promise I’ll never ask you for anything again.” He whispered as his hands gripped onto the steering wheel, pleading and making deals with God, unsure if he could even hear him.
He didn’t know what he was walking into, but if Dana wouldn’t even give him details over the phone, he knew it had to be bad. So bad that Dana couldn’t even speak it.
His heart thundered in his chest, blood roaring through his ears when he made his way into the Pitt, having slipped in through the ambulance bay so he didn’t have to deal with the groanings of the very impatient patients that sat in chairs. The doors slid open and Jack was immediately met with two hands on his chest, stopping him from walking in any further.
“Jack, I need you to listen to me. Really listen.”
“Where is she?” His eyes were dark, darker than Dana had ever seen them, she was sure. There were too many people in between him and the only woman he ever loved and he needed her to move. But her feet were planted like cement to the floor, she’s seen worse.
“She’s already up in the OR with Walsh, Robby got her stabilized- Jack!”
As soon as he heard the word OR, his feet were moving, past both Dana and Robby who were trying like hell to keep him downstairs, but he tore his arms away from their grips and continued on his path.
Robby had to push him up against the wall, forearm barred over his chest to get him to stop. He felt bad and he was sure Jack would have a headache after but he didn’t have any other choice.
“You cannot go up there.”
Jack’s nostrils flared, moving his shoulder to make an effort to get out of Robby’s hold but Robby only pushed him further into the wall.
“She’s alone.”
His voice was cut raw as he spoke, each word painful.
Robby shook his head, “Walsh has her. She’s not alone.”
“She’s my wife.”
Robby hung his head, thinking over his next words carefully before realizing there was no gentle way to deliver the words he needed to deliver.
“Not anymore, Jack. Right now, you’re just her emergency contact.”
Jack’s breath sputtered, heart cracking in his chest because he knew Robby was right. He wasn’t even sure how he was still your emergency contact. He was sure you had friends, family, maybe even a new boyfriend to fill that space, but Dana had confirmed multiple times that he was the only one listed. Jack didn’t even know where to begin in finding someone else to call for you. Your dad died when you were in high school and your mom passed away during your marriage, leaving you with no other family except a few distant aunts and uncles and a handful of cousins. He didn’t know any of your friends anymore, didn’t even know if any of them were still around. He asked Dana to keep looking.
“What happened?”
Jack asked after Robby escorted him into a family room, finally give in that there was nothing he could do for you now, and he had to let the surgeons do their jobs.
Robby ran a hand over his face. He knew when Dana called him in that he would not only have to work to stabilize you and save your life, but he’d have to face Jack, and tell him what happened to you, tell him what he had to do to save your life.
He watched Jack’s face fall more and more as he explained you were in a car accident, hit head on and spun off of the highway and into a ditch. Explained how it took firefighters and EMT’s hours to figure out how to get you out of your car without killing you on the spot.
He told him how he didn’t recognize you when he entered the trauma room.
Robby had held his tongue for a moment before telling him that, but ended up realizing it was better for him to know what he was going to walk into when you were out of surgery rather than be blindsided.
He explained that they did, and are doing, everything they possibly can to save your life.
Jack would relive the day you gave him divorce papers over and over if it meant you never had to be here.
What Robby didn’t tell him, was that the guy who hit you was DOA, that he had seen pictures of your car and nearly vomited at the sight, and that your last conscious moments were spent terrified, asking for Jack.
It’s not what he needed right now, what he needed was to cling onto hope that you were going to wake up.
Hours drawled on, two friends crammed into a family room, sitting in chairs and couches that were two small for their large frames, unsure what time it was as they started to question reality by doing nothing except staring at the walls that stretched out in front of them.
Every so often, Jack would forget why he was there, forget why he was sat at an awkward angle staring at a picture of a pond that was supposed to be calming, then he’d remember and it would all hit him like a pound of bricks.
Robby fell asleep with his head tilted back and mouth open.
Jack envied him. Every time his eyelids started to weigh heavily, pulled down by lack of sleep and upset, his body would jolt him awake, like it knew this was not the time for him to get to happily doze off.
He was waiting for you.
“Jack.”
His body jolted, head snapping up as he was caught in a moment of dozing off.
Emery Walsh was in front of him, expression unreadable, she looked drained, deflated to the bone. Her shoulders sagged and the normal whites of her eyes were beat red, hair wild and coming out of what once was a neat bun in the back of her head.
“Please tell me you saved her.”
Emery crouched in front of Jack, eyes the softest he’s ever seen them and he prepared himself for the worst as she looked at him.
She brought a hand up to grip his wrist.
“You can go see her, Jack.”
Jack felt relief tear through his body, a noise shot from his throat that he’s certain he’s never made before as he nodded, his free hand coming up to squeeze Emery’s in a wordless ‘thank you’. A woman who, in the past, has been nothing but a pain in his ass, is now the woman that saved your life. As he looked at her he saw someone completely knew, a person, who just fought tooth and nail to keep another person breathing. He’d never forget it.
Robby stirred at the commotion, immediately asking if you were okay before he could even peel his eyes open, his eyelids lined with thick sleep.
Jack just nodded in response, unable to form words.
The elevator from the ED to the ICU felt like hours, as Emery explained the extent of your injuries, Jack felt sick to his stomach.
“I’m going to explain this to you as if you know nothing, okay? Just listen.” She’d said the second Jack and Robby stepped into the elevator. “She has a DAI, diffuse axonal injury. While it’s not primarily an internal bleed, her brain nerve fibers were torn due to the acceleration of the car accident, causing small, microscopic hemorrhages.”
Jack felt he was going to be sick, he knew what all of this meant, he knew what DAI was, had seen it too many times. Too many times to know that people don’t just bounce back from this. You were never going to be the same.
His hands clenched in his pockets.
He followed Emery down the halls of the ICU, the only sounds being the echoing of their footsteps and the too slow beeping of monitors coming from the rooms that they passed.
Emery stopped in front of a door, which he was assuming was yours, but paused before turning to him, her hand hovering over the handle.
“Jack you should know-“
“I know.”
“I know, you know. But I’m required to tell you the risks of what she faces when she wakes up.”
Jack swallowed, thick, his own saliva feeling foreign in his mouth. She took his silence as a sign to continue.
“She might not wake up for a long time, that’s not a bad sign, okay? And when she does, Jack, she-“ She took in a sharp inhale, she’s delivered these words hundreds of times but never to someone she knew. Someone she’d even say she respected. “She may not remember you.”
Jack didn’t move, his hands still firmly shoved into his pockets, eyes fixed on the handle of the door.
Robby choked behind him.
“Due to the severity of the TBI, we hope that it’ll only be temporary. But she-“ Her head turned towards the door to your room. “She’s really gonna need you. This is not a time for you to disappear into your despair.” She turned back towards Jack, eyes sharp and serious. “Do you understand?”
“Let me see her, please.” His voice rasped and broke around the edges and he didn’t care. Each second he stood there, with a door barring him from seeing you, felt like agony. His skin burned with every minute that passed that he wasn’t holding your hand or brushing your hair out of your face.
Robby’s firm hand squeezed Jack’s shoulder after he nodded, and he’d never been so thankful for his best friend as he was in that moment. He’d be too scared to walk into that room without him.
He realized when Emery opened the door he should’ve taken a few moments to prepare himself for exactly what he was about to see, he underestimated it tremendously.
You laid on the bed, practically lifeless, with a tube sticking out of your throat and white gauze wrapped around your head, eyes so swollen he probably wouldn’t be able to see your pretty irises even if you were awake. Your leg was in a cast, ending just above the knee, elevated with a strap that hung from the ceiling. Your arms were covered in bruises and stitches and he could barely tell that you were even there under all of that mess.
He stumbled into the room, breath catching in his throat as he brought a hand up to his chest, clutching at the material of his tee shirt as if they would do anything to hold his heart together as he felt it was being torn to pieces while he looked at you.
“Oh, god. Honey…”
His hands hovered over you, not knowing where he could touch you without causing further damage, and he settled for just resting his hands on the stiff mattress with his pinky finger pressed up against yours.
Emery backed out of the room without a word, gently shutting the door behind her. Robby stood by the door, arms interlocked over his chest as he watched his friend fall apart.
Not even he could walk him off of this ledge.
“She’s gonna fight like hell.” He said after a few moments of silence, watching Jack watch you.
Jack didn’t respond.
“And we are gonna fight like hell.”
Jack continued to stare at you, soundless tears slipped past his lashes. “I should’ve fought harder before.”
“Jack-“
“No.”
His voice was ragged, so broken as he still wouldn’t turn to face his friend, eyes glued to you.
“Maybe she wouldn’t be here if-“
“Don’t do that to yourself.”
“If I had fought harder for her before-“
He was panicking, chest rapidly rising and falling as he choked on his words.
“Nothing would have changed.”
Robby’s voice was stern, cutting through the anxiety that was radiating off of Jack.
“You hear me?” He stepped closer to him, so close that his voice rang in Jack’s ears. “Nothing would have changed. Fate has a habit of playing like that.”
Jack gripped the sheets, knuckles turning white.
“You’re here now. You can change it.”
“We’re divorced.”
That one thing, that one detail of this whole mess hung in the air, ugly and thick and Robby wanted to kick something.
“She needs you. Divorce or not. I’m here for whatever you need.”
And with that, Robby was out the door, and Jack was left with just you, your face being a cruel, physical manifestation of the heartbreaking reminder of what he’d done to your marriage. What he’d done to you.
-
It had been weeks, weeks of turning you over so you wouldn’t get bed sores, which took a whole team considering the countless other injuries that littered your body, Jack was just thankful you weren’t awake for it and prayed you couldn’t feel the pain through your sleep, the only thing that relaxed him was the steady rate of your monitor. Weeks of Dana coming in to administer your sponge baths while Jack waited outside the door like a guard dog, understanding that it wasn’t his place anymore. Weeks of reading you your favorite book, Little Women, aloud, and trying to ignore the ache in his chest when he got to the chapters of Beth’s sickness and eventual death.
“That’s not gonna be you, baby.” He’d said as he read to you.
It was weeks of waiting, not sleeping, and holding your hand once he’d worked up the courage to do so, after a little bit of encouragement from nurses and various doctors in the ICU. He was sure he looked like hell, curls awkward from sleeping in weird positions, heavy bags under his eyes, his irises watery and glazed over from his lack of sleep and tears. Every muscle and bone in his body ached from the discomfort of the hospital but nobody could convince him to leave because it was a thousand times worse for you and he refused to leave you alone here.
It was beginning to feel like routine, massaging your stiff muscles and sponge baths and turning you over and brushing your hair as gently as possible after Emery was able to take the gauze off of your head. Jack was beginning to think that maybe this was just life now, maybe this was all you were going to get and he was unconsciously okay with the idea of this being his new normal, if it meant you were safe from pain, comfortable, maybe somewhere nice in your sleep, he’d take care of you like this forever.
But a heartbreaking, sputtering breath brought him back to reality.
“Oh my god.” He pushed up from the chair he was in, the legs sliding across the ground with a sickening screech, and dropped the book he was in the middle of reading, the pages crumpling beneath him as they hit the floor, accidentally stepping on it as he scrambled to hit the call nurse button, not being authorized to remove your intubation himself.
“They’re coming, sweetheart.” He tried to comfort you as tears ran down the sides of your face, resting a gentle hand on the top of your head. “I know, baby. I know. Try to relax.”
His heart severed in half as he watched you struggle, at the painful choking sounds that came from your throat as the nurses pulled the tube out of you, the coughs that rang from deep in your chest, dry heaves that left spurts of saliva down the front of your gown as you cried.
“Breathe.” He soothed, finally smoothing his hand over your hair, his other hand grasped in yours.
“Wa-“ Your voice rasped and you couldn’t even finish your word before you were coughing again. He looked to the nurses and they nodded, busying themselves with pouring water into a small paper cup for you, sticking a straw into it and handing it to Jack.
“Small sips.” He instructed and you wrapped your lips around the straw, taking in probably too big of a sip and you closed your eyes with relief, whining when Jack pulled the cup away from you.
“I know, I’m sorry. More soon, okay?”
You continued to breathe deeply, cautiously, as if you were relearning how to breathe. The swelling in your face had gone down significantly, the bruises were either faded yellow or gone completely, your arms were returned to their original color and the cast on your leg had already been changed in the weeks you were still sleeping. You looked like you again.
Jack knew, he knew the whole time you’d been sleeping, having had weeks to prepare for you not to recognize him, and it still hit him like a tank when your eyes turned to him, confused and utterly helpless. You asked the question and Jack felt like the wind got knocked out of him. That dreaded question he’d put off thinking about for weeks.
“Who are you?”
Your voice was raspy and raw, as if you were talking through razor blades that were lodged in your throat, Jack winced at the noise and the pain that was evident on your face as you spoke.
Emery was in the room now, not exactly the doctor assigned to your care but she’d be damned if all she did was save your life and then disappear from your case.
Her eyes flitted to Jack, this had been a possibility, her and Jack had discussed it and still, it didn’t make this moment any easier.
Jack looked at Emery, almost for permission, not wanting to do anything that would stress you out or have to elongate your recovery.
She nodded.
Jack inhaled as he turned back to you, his hands awkward at his sides. He wore a soft smile to not scare you but it didn’t reach his eyes.
You noticed that it didn’t reach his eyes.
“We uh,” He coughed, “We were married.”
You didn’t say anything, just stared at him as he loomed over you. Familiarity flooded your veins but the lack of familiarity in your eyes spooked Jack as he watched you, waiting, hoping for something, anything.
“Tired.” Your voice was raspy, hardly above a whisper as you talked through the swelling in your throat, your eyelids started to flutter, Jack could tell you were fighting to keep them open.
“That’s okay.” Emery assured you, adjusting your pillows and pulling your blanket up around your shoulders. “Rest a bit, alright?”
She hadn’t even finished speaking before you were asleep again.
“She’s gonna hate me.” Jack spoke.
“Maybe.” Emery said, “Maybe not. Why don’t you give her the chance to decide?”
-
When you woke up again, peeling your eyelids apart like they had been glued shut while you were sleeping, the room was empty, quiet aside from the slow beeping of your heart monitor.
You groaned as the light seeped in through your squinted lids. Whose idea was it to make these lights so damn bright in here? And where even is here anyway?
“Hey, hun. Let’s turn these lights off, hm?”
A voice rang throughout the room, and suddenly the lights were dimmed and you relaxed, as much as you could with the throbbing in your head.
A woman with nearly white blonde hair entered your eyesight, a small smile playing on her lips as she looked down on you. She was dressed in grey scrubs and a pair of glasses were perched on the end of her nose. She wore a badge and you strained your eyes to read what it said.
Dana Evans, charge nurse.
“Aren’t you a vision in hospital wear?” She joked and you wanted to laugh, but everything just felt so scary and unfamiliar that as soon as you went to laugh you ended up choking on a sob instead.
“Oh, honey.”
You kept crying, fat tears rolling down your cheeks as your body wracked with sobs, tears were slowly turning into panic as your heartrate rose rapidly, the monitor being much faster than it was before. Your chest was burning, something thorned and sharp and unforgiving was lodged in your chest and you gripped at the sheets underneath you, wanting to curse and scream but feeling like a prisoner in your own body as you writhed and struggled.
“You’re safe.”
A new voice cut through the air and that same rush of familiarity sank into you, seeping through your skin and bones and settling deep into you.
A large hand laced through yours, and despite your confusion, you gripped back, harder. The hand was warm, calloused and rough but impossibly soft in yours, it was what you needed.
Jack had been sitting out in the hall while you slept, guilt started to creep in to his chest when you didn’t recognize him, unsure if you even would want him there if you knew who he was, if you remembered why your marriage failed and what he had done, or more so lack thereof, to get you to the broken place you are now, a place where he was afraid to even hold your hand.
Emery’s words rang in his head, a constant, aching reminder.
“She’s gonna need you.”
“This is not a time for you to disappear into your despair.”
He hated how accurately she read him, like a damn picture book on display for everyone to see and understand. Because as he sat here, eyes fixed on the lifeless walls of the ICU, all he wanted was to disappear, for Dana to find your real emergency contact, not the outdated one, and let you be taken care of in the way you deserved. And he was contemplating it, really truly thinking about walking away when a hand touched his shoulder.
“She needs you.”
Those three words snapped him back into place, back to the present.
You needed him.
He cannot disappear.
And now he was there, his hand clasped in yours, desperate for you to calm down, to stop crying and looking so scared because it was ruining him. The woman who was usually so confident, so sure of herself, now horizontal in a hospital bed, every limb and finger shaking because you didn’t know where you were and everything was confusing and you were so scared.
A noise broke through Jack’s voice as he watched you struggle, a mix between a whine and a choked sob, his body was trying to erupt with emotion at your pain but he had to hold it together, he couldn’t break. Not here, not in front of you.
“I promise. I promise you’re safe.”
Pet names were desperate on his tongue but he didn’t want to confuse you any further than you already were, so he pushed through with everything in them to keep them at bay. His free hand fretted over you, never really landing because he was just so unsure of his place in all of this. In where you wanted him.
“Keep talkin’ to her.” Dana encouraged, tilting her head towards the heart monitor and Jack was astonished to see that it was helping, your heart rate was going further and further down with each word he spoke.
“Just breathe, okay? Match mine.” He instructed, breathing in and out loudly so you could follow his steady motions. “Breathe when I breathe.”
You struggled for a minute, each breath being caught by the panic in your chest, but Jack was incredibly patient.
“It’s okay. Keep trying. Doing so good.”
His words were steady, his tone even despite the shake that threatened to break through his throat.
Eventually your breaths were matching his completely, eyes wide and teary as you looked up at Jack, completely enthralled by his presence despite still not understanding why he felt so comfortable to you.
“Good, that’s good. Good job.”
Your hand didn’t leave his.
“Did you ever find her emergency contact?”
Jack spoke low, mouth turned away from you in an effort to only have Dana hear him.
Your eyes widened, “I don’t have an emergency contact?”
Jack cursed at himself for not speaking low enough, your hand gripped his harder and he scrambled to find words, find an explanation. To figure out a way to tell you that he’s your only emergency contact, but there’s a high chance that you may not want him there.
“No, no. You do. I’m your emergency contact, but-“
“I don’t know you.”
Dana had already pulled out her phone and called for Emery, now that you were awake again, there was unfortunately a lot of questions to ask.
“Do you-“ Jack choked on his words, hating how he even had to ask this question. “Do you know who you are?”
You blinked, staring at him like he had just asked you the stupidest question in the world, but eventually the expression in your eyes began to fade, eyes widened and your grip on Jack’s hand tightened even harder because the answer was no, you had no idea who you were, or why you were here, or why this man kept holding your hand and looking at you like you were going to break in half.
Jack could tell just by your reaction, the mist forming in your eyes, what the answer to his question was.
“Hey, that’s okay. It’s normal after-“
“After what?!”
Emery opened the door then, giving you a tight lipped smile as she entered the room, stale with grief and antiseptic.
“Glad to see you’re awake again.”
Your eyes followed her as she crossed the room, each footstep methodical and properly placed, after doing this countless times it felt like a routine for her, but she had to remember now, in this room, this wasn’t routine, this was Jack Abbot’s ex-wife, the only woman he ever loved and things were different. She wasn’t on this case because of routine, she was on this case because Jack trusted her and her skills and because you could not be another routine rotation.
“I’m Dr. Emery Walsh, can you tell me your name?”
You just stared at her, face unchanging, stoic, even.
“Can you tell me why you’re here?”
You shook your head.
Emery nodded, giving you a small smile. “You were in a head on collision. Hit your head pretty good and got stuck under your car for a while,”
Something sharp twisted in Jack’s stomach.
Emery moved about the room as she asked you questions, checked your heart monitor, rest your IV, logged onto the computer and was now typing your responses into your chart. She explained your broken bones, what happened with your head and how they fixed it, and lastly that these scary moments of being unsure where you were, were totally normal all things considering.
“Post traumatic amnesia.”
She’d explained.
“Dr. Abbot, would you step outside with me?” Emery turned to Jack after bombarding you with probably too much information, and motioned for the door. Your grip on him tightened and his chest ached, he promised he’d be back, and that Dana would stay with you, he wasn’t leaving you alone. Jack followed Emery into the hallway.
“Post traumatic amnesia is temporary, Jack.”
Jack knew she had more to say, “But…”
“But sometimes it takes years.”
Jack swore, crossing his arms and turning away from the surgeon, biting at the inside of his mouth to try and control any sort of emotion that was threatening to expose him on his facial features.
“Why does she cling to me like she does?”
Emery sighed, “Even though her brain doesn’t recognize you, her body does. She probably notices little things in you that she doesn’t in anybody else she’s met so far. You were also there when she woke up, a comforting presence. She’s latched on.”
Jack wonders if you’d have latched onto him if you remembered anything.
Every bit of information that stuck in his brain from school, training, years in the field betrayed him, fled from his mind as if evacuating because of the sheer panic that was now living there, for the first time in his life, Jack Abbot didn’t know what to do.
“What do I do?”
Emery was more than sympathetic, more than she usually would be with Jack, because he was going through hell, and this was completely normal for doctors and surgeons. All of their muscle memory and protocol seemed to fly out the window as soon as it was someone they cared about, it’s why it was against the rules for them to work on their own family members and loved ones.
“Talk to her. Tell her things about herself, about you, about what you’ve done together.”
Jack sucked in a breath.
“And the divorce?”
Emery studied him for a moment, the way his fingers were shaking but he had them held so tightly between his arms that it was barely there, how his lip was wobbling but he was trying to hide it. The deep bags pressing into the skin below his eyes from his lack of sleep. He was wrecked.
“Tell her all of it, Jack.”
-
“Where did we get married?”
Jack smirked, “Courthouse down the road. You wore a white dress you found at goodwill and a cheap bouquet from the convenience store two doors down.”
You nodded as you soaked in the information, what kind of person you were, what kind of person Jack was, the kind of couple you were together. To you, it seemed as though you were the type of couple who just wanted to be together, and didn’t care about much else. The kind of couple that could get married at a courthouse and honeymoon at a motel on the edge of town because you were just so wrapped up in each other that none of the planning or grand gestures seemed worth it to you.
You looked at him now, nestled into a crappy hospital chair that was too small for his large frame and you wondered where it all went wrong, but you weren’t sure you wanted to know. You didn’t want to taint the picture perfect image you had of the two of you in your head, didn’t want to know what could have possibly happened between you and the handsome doctor that refused to leave your bedside as you recovered.
“You seem like you were a good husband.”
He wiped your face after you ate, he stood outside of the bathroom door while the nurse on shift helped you shower or use the toilet, he massaged your feet and read you books and reminded you everyday that you were beautiful despite the thin layer of grime that never seemed to go away even after you washed yourself multiple times. He’d brush your hair and rub creams and moisturizers into your skin and even brush your teeth for you when it all just got too overwhelming and tiring.
He didn’t respond, his eyes were fixed on the pink sheets that brought a little bit of life into your hospital room. Jack had gone to your house and brought back blankets and pillows, comfortable and familiar things for you to have here, even some childhood family photos you had framed and pictures of friends. Friends who hadn’t come by yet. The oblivion you had broke his heart, and he was eagerly awaiting yet mostly dreading the day when your memory came back and everything hit you, unforgiving and heavy.
You'd refused to look at the pictures.
“Emery said you can go home soon.” He avoided your comment, voice rougher than it was before. You noticed how familiar he felt to you, how you noticed sudden drops in his voice and small tremors in his hands or mouth. Despite your memory being completely shot to hell, he felt real to you. You knew him. You took comfort in it.
Home.
As sad as it was, this hospital was your home now. You don’t have any memories outside of the four walls of your hospital room and the hallway from walking up and down it with your physical therapist. Jack had pushed to get you outside multiple times but you kept refusing. You couldn’t admit that you were scared, feeling like a child for being afraid of going outside, but you were unsure of what waited for you outside, unsure if the trees or fresh air would trigger a memory and to be honest, you’d become nervous of regaining your memories.
You had already triggered a memory, just walking down the hallway of the hospital, something small. A quick flash of light and Jack next to you in scrubs, hands shoved in his pockets. It took your breath away.
Your nurse asked if you were okay and you nodded. You still haven’t told anyone about it. You knew they would take it as a good sign and would just push you more to look at pictures or go outside and you weren’t ready for it yet. You knew you had a life outside of this place and it scared you, because it was a life without the man you’d grown so fond of, and what if it was just a life of heartbreak and emptiness waiting for you. You really only asked small questions here and there, usually when you were tired and Jack would massage your arms with scented lotion, the kind that you liked when you were married, he said. You found that you still liked it now too.
You hummed at his statement, of going home, not giving a definitive answer because you weren’t sure what to say. As much as you didn’t like the smell of the hospital and the death and devastation that surrounded you, somehow you couldn’t shake the feeling that that’s all that waited for you outside of here too. At least here, it was contained. Controlled.
Jack watched as your heavy eyelids fluttered while he rubbed the sore muscles in your arms and he couldn’t help but wonder if you were just as afraid of your memories as he was.
“Go to sleep.”
-
You went home on a Tuesday.
The rest of the world went on, people got in their cars to drive to work, clocked in at their jobs, babies cried and people got married and kids in school took their tests and went on field trips and you were going home.
Emery agreed to release you only on the condition that Jack stay with you, which was his biggest relief yet worst nightmare. The two of you sharing your home together again would surely bring back memories, maybe even bring back memories of the last night you had together, the grief and the devastation and the words he didn’t mean. He couldn’t watch your heart break all over again.
But nonetheless, his fear of you remembering was conquered by his want to get you out of that hospital room and back to your real life.
He had all of your things packed into his car, the last thing being you, and your blanket, waiting for him in a wheelchair with a nurse in the lobby of the ICU wing of the hospital.
You were in a pair of your favorite sweatpants, or at least Jack said that they were, and his too big black sweatshirt that smelled just like him. He had bought you a nice pair of ugg slippers while he was out one day and your feet were slipped into those, clutching the blanket from your own home as if it was the last of your belongings.
Jack’s car pulled up, a shiny black truck, and an uninvited memory flashed behind your eyes.
A car dealership, a sunny day, Jack’s smile and his hand in yours.
Jack recognized it as soon as he walked through the automatic doors, the recognition in your eyes that had never been there before. You couldn’t pretend in front of Jack, couldn’t fake that your memories weren’t coming back. He’d spent years memorizing your features, every look and every small change in your irises, he knew it all.
He crouched in front of your wheelchair, cautious but eager as his hands hovered over you. “What’d you remember?”
“Your uh, your truck.”
Jack turned to look at his car, amazed at how something so simple like his basic black truck could trigger something for you, slowly bring you back to him.
“Yeah, honey? What about it?”
Honey.
“Jack…” Tears filled your eyes as you looked at him, that word dripping past his lips triggering so much emotion in you that you didn’t know was in there.
“Hey…” His voice softened at the tears spilling past your waterline, hand coming up to cradle the side of your face, his thumb catching the stray tears that were falling. “Sweetheart.”
Honey. Sweetheart.
You gasped, choking on more tears.
The nurse holding your wheelchair looked at Jack, raising her eyebrows in a question, asking him wordlessly if this was a good or bad sign. Jack gave her a slight nod that went unnoticed to you, telling her this was good, you were remembering. And it scared him to no end.
“You wanna go home?”
You nodded, movements frantic as you practically fell into Jack while he stood up, arms reaching for him. You didn’t have exact recognition of your memories but there was something there, this wasn’t just the man that you were told was your husband at one point, that you were growing to like. This was your husband. You could feel it blooming in your chest as the words lingered in your ears.
Honey. Sweetheart.
“Let’s get you home.”
Your home, you found, was warm. Low, warm lights filled each room, complete with pretty pictures adorning the walls and books tucked into every corner, draped with soft looking blankets and pretty colored rugs and cushions. You smiled when you saw it, the inviting glow of it chipping away at the fear that had built a wall around your heart.
“This is mine?” You asked, hands running over the dark brown wood of your bed frame as Jack got you situated in your room.
“Yeah, all yours.”
You didn’t miss the way Jack winced when he said it, and you realized this had been his home at one point too. This was your shared house. He’d let you have it.
“Are you going to stay here?”
Jack nodded, “Doctors orders.”
You watched as he unpacked your bag for you, putting everything back in it’s exact right spot, you must’ve not moved things around much after he left.
“And if it weren’t?”
Jack froze, muscles tightening as he clutched on of your tee shirts in his hands. The smell, the layout, everything being the exact same save for the pictures of the two of you on the walls was suffocating him. It hadn’t felt like this when he came back here alone to pick up your things for you.
“I wouldn’t leave you alone. Not for a second.” He said after he continued to move, busying his hands with putting your things away.
For some reason, his answer frustrated you. Because now, being in your house again, you remembered that your marriage failed, that the two of you were separated now and you didn’t know why, all of your past tangled feelings of not wanting to know, of wanting to stay in your oblivious bubble popped. The bubble was gone, you were back in real life, starting your life again.
“But you did leave me. Alone.”
Your voice shook, “I live here alone, don’t I?”
Jack didn’t respond.
“No friends came to visit me, or family. The only people I met in the hospital were doctors and nurses. So tell me again Jack, about how you wouldn’t leave me alone?”
Jack winced at the edge in your voice. He thought maybe it would be best to let your memories come back to you, but now, as you stared at him, anger and impatience laced in your voice as you exhaled through your nose, starting at him, demanding answers. He couldn’t keep it from you any longer.
“You asked for it.” He hated the way it came out, almost accusing, as if him leaving you was your fault, as if he couldn’t have fought harder for you. “You wanted the divorce. I’m sorry.”
The words hit you like a ton of bricks. “Why?”
Jack shook his head, avoiding eye contact with you as he placed his hands on his hips.
“What did you do?”
Jack’s chest caught as he took in a breath, gearing up to say the words he hated himself for. The words he beat himself up about over and over again, the reason he couldn’t sleep at night, the reason his wedding band taunted him on his nightstand, laughing in his face over the biggest mistake he ever made in his life.
“I didn’t choose you.”
You raised an eyebrow.
“You told me, medicine or you. And I didn’t choose you.”
Your jaw dropped and a broken sound escaped your throat, exactly the reaction you gave that night you gave him the choice. Jack wished he didn’t have to relive it but knew he deserved it.
“I want you out.”
“Please-“
“Out of my house!”
Your words cut deep, like a knife to his chest. Your house.
“I uh- I can’t leave you alone.”
You were fuming, chest heaving, angry at the audacity of the man in front of you, how he’s spent these past few months fooling you. Coddling you, making you believe there was a chance, that between the two of you hung something sweet, something good. Something worth saving. Everything felt broken around you.
“Out of my room then.”
Jack looked like he was going to say something but decided against it, the nodded, and ducked out of the room, purposefully trying to make himself smaller in your presence.
“You tricked me!” You yelled once he was out of the room, slamming the door shut and Jack flinched at the booming noise that echoed off of the walls of the house.
As he walked out of your room and down the stairs toward where he knew the guest bedroom was, he tried to ignore the tightness in his chest, the dryness that coated his mouth and the twitch in his muscles. He shut the door behind him and finally let a dry sob escape his lips, covering his mouth with his hand so you wouldn’t hear him.
Your words taunted him, pointed a finger in his face and laughed at him because the last thing he was trying to do was trick you. He loved you, was completely devoted to you in every way and as hard as he tried he knew he couldn’t take his words back from that night. The night where he chose medicine over you, words that he didn’t mean because he was mad, but now it was too late because he had said them and it was over and you shoved divorce papers in his face and there was nothing he could do to make it better. He thought maybe this was his chance, nursing you back to health and reading to you and telling you about your favorite colors and animals and food that you hated, reteaching you how to braid your own hair and crochet. You had to go through the grief process of learning your parents were gone a second time and he held you through it, wiped your tears and stoked your hair and whispered to you that everything was going to be okay, that he was there. He just wanted you to feel loved and safe because this was all so scary, but the other side of him knew, deep down, that he didn’t want you to hate him all over again, the selfish part of him thought maybe he had more time. That maybe you’d remember him as your husband first and ex husband later. He thought he had more time than just a car ride.
Hours went on, loud silence hung in the air of the house as the hours crept later and later. He decided that despite the argument, he was still here as your caregiver, and it had been too long of silence from you, and he should check on you. He was about to make his way upstairs when he heard a loud crash, and suddenly his cautious footsteps were purposeful and quick as he raced up the stairs to find you.
Another crash and a scream rang from his old office, now your storage room, and the sound shot straight through his heart, his foot and prosthetic couldn’t carry him fast enough as he swung open the door and quickly fell to his knees in front of you, body crumpled to the floor, surrounded by scrapbooks and photographs splayed out on the floor around you.
He took your arms in his hands turning them over and assessing you for any injuries, just hoping and praying nothing was self-inflicted because he knew that could happen all too often with cases of amnesia. People becoming frustrated and suffocated by unfamiliarity and just needing to be in control of something.
“What hurts?”
You were crying, loud and ugly tears and Jack peeled the hair from your face, sticky with snot and tears and pushed it back.
You shook your head.
“Get off of me.”
Jack paused a moment, this wasn’t a spill or a surgery complication or an injury, you were having an episode.
This was rage.
“No.”
Him leaving you alone to drown in your despair would help nothing.
You looked at him then, eyes widened from the audacity for him to say no to you. You pushed him but he didn’t move, his body sturdy against your grip while his arms still held yours.
“You left me!”
Jack’s face faltered as you yelled and screamed at him, still trying to push him away.
“I’m here now.”
His voice was even, not climbing even the slightest bit despite thr frustration he felt.
“That means nothing!”
You were getting weaker, dissolving into your own tears. “You should’ve come back for me sooner!”
“I should’ve.”
Eventually you had tired yourself out, your body slumped closer to the floor, away from Jack, arms still in his hold, head practically hanging.
“Why don’t I take you to bed?”
“M’tired.” Your words slurred.
“I know.”
Jack leaned forward to gather you in his arms, ignoring the sting from his prosthetic that he had been wearing for too long as he lifted you up, trying to hide the groan that escaped past his lips, not that you’d notice with how tired you were.
His heart broke as you held onto him tighter when he put you into bed, all he wanted was to be able to climb in next to you and hold your body against his, to pull you on top of him and revel in the comfortability of your body weight on his. But he unraveled your arms from around his neck and pulled the blankets up to your shoulders.
Once again, leaving you alone.
Jack wasn't asleep for long when his eyes shot open, sensing something had shifted in the house, sensing your discomfort even from all the way downstairs. He waited for a moment, eyes raking through the darkness of the room, a sharp cry set him into motion, securing on his prosthetic in record time and launching himself up the stairs and into your room.
Your limbs were tangled in the sheets, and Jack didn't have to get close to know that sweat drenched your forehead and soaked into your hair as sharp cries tore through your chest.
"Wake up, baby."
He smoothed your hair back, wiping the sweat from your skin.
"Baby." He shook you lightly and your body jolted forward, chest heaving and eyes blown wide as you tried to adjust to the dark.
"The car." You rasped out. You had a nightmare of the accident, one of the few things Jack dreaded you remembering.
His heart broke at the thought of how terrifying it all must have been, getting hit so hard then being stuck in your car, injured and bloody, not knowing if anyone was coming for you. If he was coming for you.
"You're safe."
"The car, it-" You were blubbering, messy tears fell down your face and onto your tee shirt and Jack's heart broke clean in half.
"It's over. It's all over. You're safe now."
"Don't leave." Your grip on him strengthened.
"Not leaving. I'm right here."
You fell asleep with him sitting at the edge of your bed, stroking your hair, and when you woke up again, he was gone.
-
Days passed with the two of you just coexisting, more memories came back to you as days went on, small things here and there, you didn’t share them with Jack but that didn’t mean he didn’t notice. How your eyes lingered on pictures of your friends or how your eyes bore into certain objects that belonged to your parents. You had already told him, the second you were recovered, you wanted him out, so he kept to himself. Kept himself busy by cleaning and finding various projects around your house, fixing whatever needed to be fixed.
“My name is (Y/n).”
Jack nearly jumped at the sound of your voice after going so many days without hearing it. You had been sitting outside, stretched out on a blanket in the yard, letting the sun hit your closed eyelids, and Jack was inside, tidying and reorganizing the kitchen.
He blinked at you, taking in your appearance, your jeans were rolled up to your ankles and a blue striped sweater hung off of one shoulder, sleeves bunched up to your elbows. You looked so cute that he wanted to scoop you up and kiss you all over right then, but he stayed in his spot.
Jack’s brow furrowed at the emotion hanging in your face because you knew your name, you were told your name when you woke up,
“Yeah.” He nodded, voice unsure as he looked at you, worried that maybe you were backsliding in your recovery.
You shook your head, screwing your eyes shut and letting a few tears fall down your cheeks.
“No. I know.”
Jack still looked confused, so you took a step forward.
“I remember. I know.”
Jack’s face washed with relief, eyebrows softening and eyes widening as it clicked into place. The confidence in your shoulders despite the tears and the assurance you carried in your posture. You weren’t being told your name, learning the sound and the letters of it, you knew your name. It was yours. It came back to you.
“Oh my god.” Jack breathed out a laugh and you ran to him, launching into his arms and he didn’t hesitate to catch you, securing his arms around your frame and squeezing tight because this was huge.
“You’re Jack.”
Tears were soaking his shirt and the top of your head, both of you a mess as you held onto each other, the tightness of your grips spoke a thousand words for each of you.
“Yeah, I am.” You were both laughing through sobs, probably the most joyful noise that’s filled your house since he left.
Jack pulled away, framing your face in his hands, beaming.
“This calls for celebration.”
It had been days of you ignoring him, giving him nothing but the cold shoulder and icy stares and yet, here he was, grinning ear to ear after happily cleaning your kitchen and celebrating your small wins, looking at you with nothing but adoration and love in his eyes that it made you feel weak in the knees. You remembered he’s Jack and that he bought a shiny black truck and that he’s a doctor who works in the ED of the hospital and nothing else, but as you look at him now, admiring the beautiful smile that adorned his face and the tiny crinkles at the corners of his eyes, your stomach erupted into something unfamiliar, a certain excitement as heat crept into your cheeks.
You had a crush. On your ex-husband.
“I only remember my name, Jack.” You murmured, burying your face back into his shoulder, suddenly feeling embarrassed for being so excited over such a small thing and for your previous outbursts and silent treatment towards him.
He was here, proving his devotion to you as each day passed and as you watched him clean the kitchen and reorganize your photos and deep clean your rugs that maybe love was possible again.
“Hey, that’s a big deal.” Jack rubbed circles into your back. “Will you look at me?”
You pulled your head up off of his shoulder and reluctantly looked at him.
A smile pulled at his lips, and the sparkle in his eye was completely captivating as you practically watched his thoughts dance behind his eyes.
“Will you go on a date with me?”
-
You looked at yourself in the mirror, knowing that the girl in the reflection was you, but not fully recognizing you.
You’d slipped into a black maxi dress and the pair of shoes you liked the most from your closet, something casual but pretty. You did your hair and spent too much time on your makeup, having to call Jack in to help you because your movements were still shaky and uncoordinated, you were happy you hadn’t put your outfit on yet, so Jack could get the full effect later.
You looked pretty, and you were satisfied with what the mirror showed you, but it felt so foreign, staring at your reflection and not being totally sure if it was you looking back at yourself.
A knock sounded from your bedroom door and your heart thumped in your chest.
You answered the door and nearly got the wind knocked out of you from Jack in his dress shirt, nervous hands clutching a bouquet of flowers, various different colors spilled out of the plastic wrap and you wondered when he even found the time to sneak out and get them. Your hands instinctively shot up to clutch your cheeks.
“Hi.” Jack said, holding the flowers out for you.
“Hi.” Your voice was a whisper.
You took the flowers, bringing them to your nose so you could get a whiff and you closed your eyes, taking in the scent.
Flowers. A ring. A party. Multiple parties. Jack.
“These are my favorites.”
“You remember?”
You nodded as you continued to stare at them, “Just now.”
“Wanna put them in water before we leave?”
“Yes.”
Jack guided you down the stairs, watching you closely as you moved the flowers from their wrapping and into a fresh vase. His heart squeezed as you took a moment to just look at them.
“You ready, sweet girl?”
You nodded and Jack held out his arm for you, escorting you out of the kitchen and through the front door. You found it all a bit silly, but incredibly sweet and endearing and you threw your head back in laughter when Jack opened the door for you and made a big deal of gesturing you into the car, bowing as you passed him as if he was your personal chauffer.
He played your favorite song for you in the car, a memory that had come to you recently, something he noticed from the subtle turn of your head and sparkle of your eyes when he played it in the kitchen.
“I Will” by the Beatles.
“Love you forever and forever,” Jack sang in the car with the windows rolled down, voice cracking and pitchy but he’d sing like that forever with no shame if it kept you giggling and looking at him the way you were now. “Love you with all my heart.”
“Love you whenever we’re together, love you when we’re apart.”
He looked at you out of the corner of his eyes, hoping you knew it wasn’t just words he was singing, but declarations to you. Words he meant.
With the look on your face, something told him he did.
He pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant, the place where you had your first date. He hoped that in taking you here it might trigger some more memories for you.
He did all of the stereotypical date things, held open your door, pulled out your chair, held your hand across the table, and told you how beautiful you looked, over and over.
“Did I tell you you look beautiful tonight?”
You smiled, “Only like 100 times.”
“Good. Gonna say it 100 more times.”
Once you got home, stomachs aching from too much bread and laughter, you asked Jack if he’d watch a movie with you.
He was breathless, and hoped this whole day hadn’t just been a mood swing, the ones Emery had warned him about. He prayed and begged for this to be real, for this, falling in love, again, to be your new normal in your healing process.
“Yeah, sweetheart. That’d be nice.”
You squeezed his hand and disappeared into your room, mumbling something about getting comfortable and Jack stood frozen for a second before scrambling to do the same.
You beat him to the living room, curled up on the couch with you favorite blanket draped over you, picking at your nails as you stared ahead at the blank TV screen in front of you.
“Hey.”
Your head turned, eyes brightening as he entered the room.
“Hi.”
“What movie do you wanna watch?”
“Whatever was my favorite.”
Jack smiled, “Now there’s two answers for that one. You want the fake answer you’d give to other people when they’d ask or the real answer?”
You gave him a look, a smile tugging at your lips, “Real answer.”
Jack plopped down on the couch next to you, remote in hand.
“Good choice. Madagascar it is.”
“What was my fake answer?”
“Little Miss Sunshine. That would’ve been a good choice too.”
“Can we watch that one next time?”
“Anything you want.”
You were basically draped over Jack when the movie ended, his arm holding you up and in place with your cheek smushed against his chest, eyes drooping as the end credits rolled.
You turned your head to look up at him only to find he was already looking at you.
“Jack?”
“Hmm?”
“Will you kiss me?”
You could feel Jack’s heartrate pick up in his chest. He just looked at you for a moment, his eyes flickered to your lips and in that moment you knew it was a done deal.
“I-“
He was going to protest, unsure if that was something you were ready for. He wanted to push you to heal but he didn’t want to push so hard that he broke boundaries, and he feared this was teetering the line.
“Please.”
It was desperate, real and raw as you practically begged, eyes filling with tears at the sheer emotion of just needing him closer.
His hand came to cradle the side of your face and he nodded, he’d agree to do anything if it meant you wouldn’t cry.
“Shh, okay. Okay, baby.”
Baby.
He pulled your body up so you were more situated in his lap, facing him instead of straining your neck away from the TV.
He brought his lips to yours delicately, not daring to tease, and you choked back a sob at the feeling of his lips on yours.
Jack, your Jack.
You wrapped your arms around his neck as the kiss deepened, his other hand coming up to clasp the back of your neck, lips working against yours like it was the most natural thing in the world, the two of you desperate to pull each other impossibly closer.
His wife.
He pulled back, leaving one last chaste kiss to your lips before pulling away from you, breathless and lips swollen as he continued to hold you.
“You took me where we had our first date.”
“Yeah.” His voice shook. “Yeah, I did.”
-
The next few weeks were exactly like that. Almost like a honeymoon phase. Stolen kisses in the aisles of the grocery store, playing Beatles records while you made breakfast together, and watching all of your favorite movies to end your nights. You were starting to fall head over heels for him and as much as it scared you it excited you even more.
Jack had taken sabbatical so he could stay with you longer, and everyday you were more and more in awe of him and less and less upset about learning why it all ended, the two of you working through the negative feelings that came up as you drew closer, growing in deeper understanding of one another.
And the day the actual memory came back to you, you wished none of your memory even came back at all.
Jack had left for the store that morning, insisting you stay home because of the small headache you’d been complaining about, he said the fluorescents would only make it worse. Once you finally wandered out of your room after he left, you saw something perfectly placed on the kitchen island, propped up next to the most recent flowers Jack had given you.
The backside of a photograph with messy handwriting scrawled across it, written in blue ink. Jack had come across it while he was reorganizing some of your things and the photo and the note he'd scrawled on the back made him smile, he thought maybe you'd want to see it too. He had no idea the ugly ties you had with that specific photograph.
It read, “Since the first time I saw you, I have belonged to you completely.”
You turned the photo around and a gasp got caught in your throat.
The picture was of you and Jack, your arms thrown around his shoulders, a big smile stretched across your face as you looked at the camera, Jack’s arms wrapped around your waist as he looked at you. You were both standing on the street, you were wearing a long white dress and Jack was in a black button down and jeans.
White dress.
This was your wedding day.
Your stomach was in knots as you stared, memories starting to push through the dam in your brain and you slammed the picture on the countertop, twisting your eyes shut and trying to will the memories to go away.
Crying, glass piercing into your knees, the picture lying on the floor surrounded by ruin.
Jack yelling, you screaming, throwing things, empty threats cutting through the air.
“I’m not doing this with you anymore.”
“So what is it? Me or the ER.”
Silence.
“And if I choose the ER?”
“Then you’ve ruined our marriage.”
Jack disappearing out the door, his mind made up.
Your hand clutched your chest as your breaths came out uneven and rapid, crying and clawing at the material of your shirt.
“Oh my god.”
Jack dropped the bags at the front door, running to get to you and trying to push the panic down when he realizes you’re already deep in it.
Your hands clutched the kitchen island, muscles shaking from the force you were using and tears were relentless, marring the skin of your cheeks and rolling down your neck. Jack tried to pull you away but you weren’t budging, he could easily move you if he wanted to but he didn’t want to startle you or make things worse.
“Sweetheart.”
His hand gripped your wrist, the other coming to rest on the back of your head.
“I’m here. Breathe. Breathe for me.”
You continued to cry, but at the sound of the desperation in his voice, you crumbled, top half bending over the kitchen island, your forehead resting on your arms.
Jack felt helpless as he watched you fall apart, none of his normal tactics seemed to be working and he was seriously wondering if he should take you to PTMC.
“Baby, please.”
You were choking so much on your own breath and sobs that Jack was seriously worried, so much so that he ditched the gentle approach, pulling your body off of the counter top and grasping your wrists in his hands, guiding you backwards until your back hit the counter and his body caged you in.
“You’re not breathing. Breathe.” His voice was stern, face hard and serious even though you still refused to open your eyes.
“I remember-“
You opened your eyes then, starting to be in pain from screwing them shut so tightly. “I remember you leaving.”
He thought telling you was bad, you remembering it crushed him to pieces.
“Oh, sweetheart.” He pulled you against him then. “Sweetheart.”
He cradled you to his chest, letting you cry but reminding you to breathe as you did.
“I don’t want to remember that!”
“Me neither.” Jack confessed, wanting to press a kiss to your hairline but not wanting to overstep, knowing this was incredibly fragile for you.
“I want it to be just us again. Just us with happy memories.”
Jack ached because that’s all he wanted too. But he knew better than anyone that with falling in love came all of the ugly stuff. Part of love was loving despite hurt.
“I wish that’s how it worked.”
Jack wasn’t sure how much time passed, him holding you like that. It could’ve been minutes or hours, but it was long enough for you to stop crying and for him to start humming as he swayed you back and forth. Long enough for your voice to be hoarse when you finally did speak again.
“Jack?”
“Hmm?’
You surprised yourself with the words you spoke next, despite the suffocating pain of your newest memory, the words that tumbled from your lips were all you felt.
“I love you.”
-
You had a checkup with Emery at PTMC, and you were beaming from ear to ear with her satisfaction with your progress. From the past year of your recovery and Jack living with you, sleeping in your bed again, being your partner again, Emery estimated you had nearly 80% of your memories back, and they were still coming steadily. She even predicted that you’d have 100% of your memories back if you stayed on the course you were on now.
Life felt easy again, you thought you loved Jack without your memories, but with each one that came back you found that you somehow loved him more, even with the bad ones, not even knowing you even had the capacity to love another human being that much.
Jack decided that was cause for celebration, and invited his friends, now your friends, over for a barbecue at your house, together.
Your friends had tried reaching out, too little too late. Spilling excuses about husbands and kids and work. You’d assured them they were forgiven, but they just weren’t welcome in your life anymore, not that you were ever really that close anyway. Despite the ugliness and the pain and the devastation, you had fallen in love again. You had a family again.
You were in the backyard, making sure all of your roses were facing the sun, when you nearly fell over Jack as you walked backwards to make sure they were all looking their best before you expected company.
You turned to find him on one knee and the breath nearly knocked out of you as your hand shot up to cover your mouth that hung open, your hand gripped into the skin of his shoulder as he looked up at you on one knee, a small black box in his hands, and a delicate diamond ring placed in the center of it.
“Hi, baby.”
Your eyes moved from the ring to his, and you noticed how nervous he was. The corners of his mouth twitched and his eyebrows furrowed, just the slightest bit, eyes misted over with tears.
“Hi.” You whispered, but it was barely audible over your hand that was clasped over your mouth.
“Over the past year, I’ve had the pleasure of doing something not everyone gets to do.” Jack cleared his throat, “Falling in love with the love of my life, for a second time. I almost lost you and I-" His breath sputtered as tears swelled at his waterline, "I was given a second chance with you and i don't want to waste it."
Something in your heart splintered as he referred to the last year as something sweet, a privilege, instead of something you both wished deep down had never happened. You’d never thought about it that way, and suddenly you were overcome with thankfulness for it too. A second chance.
You dropped to your knees in front of him, one hand wrapped around his wrist and the other held onto the side of his face. You looked at him with so much love in your eyes Jack thought he might break, he thought he’d never get to see that again.
“I love you.” You spoke, breathless.
“I’m so in love with you.”
He turned his face and pressed his shaky lips to the palm of your hand, letting them linger there for a moment as he leaned into your touch, eyes fluttering closed before bringing his gaze back to you. A single tear ran down his face and smeared itself into your hand.
“Will you marry me?” He paused, a small smile playing at his lips, “Again?”
You just threw your arms round his neck, nearly knocking him over into the grass he hugged you back.
You pulled away, hands finding his cheeks and lips peppering kisses all over his face.
“Yes, yes, yes. 1000x forever, yes.”
Jack laughed through his tears and took the ring out of the box, pulling your left hand away from his face so he could slip it onto your ring finger, the diamond caught the sun and shone so brilliantly you thought you’d never take your eyes off of it.
“I think there may be a white dress for you to change into on our bed upstairs...” Jack said, feigning oblivion. “Might wanna put it on before the engagement party.”
-
After a night of just pure sweetness, all the girls fawning over your ring, bone crushing hugs from Robby and Dana once you worked up the courage with a little push from Jack to tell them both that you remembered them, too much food and stolen glances between you and Jack across your yard, he carried you upstairs to bed with whispered promises of cleaning up tomorrow.
“My bride.” He cooed as he set you down on the bed, his thumb running over the diamond on your finger.
“I love you.” You hummed. “Gonna lose my memory again just so I can fall in love with you even harder, again.”
“You are so terrible.” Jack reprimanded but he stifled a laugh before he pressed a kiss to your cheekbone.
“That’s just how much I love you.” You shrugged, humor laced through your tone and Jack loved it because it was real and you were here and he would go through it a thousand more times with you if it meant getting to where you were now.
"What a blessing in disguise that you were still my emergency contact." You said.
"Yeah, how'd that happen?"
"Never changed it."
Jack looked puzzled.
You swallowed, thick with emotion, "I knew you'd always come."
Jack buried his face into your shoulder, pressing kisses into your skin there and all the way down your arm, torn apart with fondness at your words.
“I'm never gonna stop falling in love with you." He confessed in a whisper against the soft skin on the inside of your arm.
“Fall in love again and again forever?" You asked, voice incredibly soft as you admired the man who was hopelessly lost in you.
I need people to realize that while Noah Wyle is credited as writing episode 14, he did not sit alone in a room and write an idealized episode for himself to be the star of like so many of you seem to think he did.
One thing you have to understand about writing for a TV series is very rarely, if ever, will you have the whole writing staff credited at the end of an episode. In this case since Wyle took point on the episode he’s listed as the writer, but he isn’t the only one who worked on this episode. In the episode credits itself they list a staff writer and editor, but it’s also common practice for producers to also be in on the writing process as well.
So taking all the accomplishments and giving them to one man because you would have written the show differently than the writers is a disservice to all the diverse people and talent they have in that room. This show is a collaborative effort from the writers, the script may have originally been written by Wyle, but he is not in an echo chamber. He would take the script to the rest of the staff and they would edit and change what was needed so that it is coherent and fits with the rest of the series.
Another thing I need people to realize is that The Pitt is not an ensemble show. Yes, they have won awards for their ensemble cast, but Robby has always been the main character. In season one they may have shown more of the other characters, but that was because they were establishing them to the audience, and now that we know them more we can focus on the thing driving the plot, which is Robby getting ready for his “sabbatical”. So when you complain that this season is nothing but Robby’s story while sidelining the rest of the characters, I need you to know that the writers did that on purpose.
This season there is no giant MCI that is going to be the big bad for the whole ED to rally around and fight back against as a final climax. Robby being actively suicidal and the way he interacts with his staff and students as he is trying to say goodbye is the driving force behind this season.
I’ve seen so many people complain how this feels anticlimactic compared to last season, and that is also the point. If the Pitt was to try and one-up itself every season like so many of you seem to want, we would be in the apocalypse by season 4. The Pitt has always tried to show the unglamorous reality that healthcare workers have to go through, and that is the point of this season.
They are showing you the burnout of a man who devoted himself to helping others but along the way lost himself, which is a frighteningly real reality that many emergency medicine staff go through. Is Robby a bad person? No. He is a flawed human being who is going through one of the darkest times in his life, so of course he’s not going to really care to be nice to others when he can’t even be nice to himself. Does he have internal biases? Yes, and hopefully after he gets the help he needs to want to keep living, he will be able to work on himself and come out a better man.
Michael “Dr. Robby” Robinavitch x f!reader | 6k words | explicit
Summary: You feel like Robby’s distancing himself from you. A slip of the tongue to the wrong person when you visit the pitt feels like it could be the final nail in the coffin of your undefined relationship.
Tags/Warnings: female reader (female anatomy), semi-follow up to Home Again but you can read this as a standalone, semi-established relationship, feelings/angst/fluff, insecurity, miscommunication but like with a fun outcome?, swearing, therapy (mentioned), emergency department horrors (mentioned), blood (mentioned), rats (mentioned), other pitt characters, smut (fingering f receiving, unprotected piv, public sex, dirty talk, creampie, spanking) – let me know if I missed anything!
Notes: Two fics in as many weeks? Unheard of. Genuinely feel like I was possessed when I wrote this, so if it isn’t good or sexy or fun, blame the Demon. I think the song is pretty obvious from the title, but it's mentioned more in the story. Hope you enjoy! Huge thank you to @javier-pena for proofreading, general enthusiasm, and for saying there's a line in this that should get an Academy Award for Hottest Line in a Fic.
– – – – –
Pittsburgh looks sad tonight. It isn’t particularly cold, but it rained all day and there are at least six different dark shades in the sky, like it’s saying, Hey, give me a good enough reason and I’ll have it pouring in no time.
From the row of red taillights to the left of the sidewalk you’re on, you gather most people are making their way home right now. It’s approaching seven, it makes sense for the time. You find yourself discreetly looking into people’s cars, keeping yourself entertained with all the different characters, imagining what kind of life they have and what plans they made for the night. It’s like the weather knows about yours, because more dark clouds roll in, and you cease your people watching in favour of picking up your pace and getting you to your destination faster.
You round the corner, the daunting height of that destination appearing in your eyeline. It’s almost like a lighthouse, with nearly every little window having that yellow-white shine to it. A helicopter flies overhead, the sound of the blades whirring making you look up, following it as it approaches the building's roof, and you’re reminded that for some people, the day is only just beginning.
You approach Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center feeling like there’s lead in your shoes for a different reason, and you actually kind of feel like an asshole about it.
This particular feeling should be reserved for people that are genuinely going through something. You know that inside that building, there are patients who are on the brink of death, holding hands with the people they love for the final time. There are patients receiving life altering, devastating diagnosis. Family members gently being guided into quiet rooms, where doctors explain how they did everything they could, but to no avail. It shouldn’t be felt by someone who is borrowing grief from the future over something as trivial as a two month relationship.
Things between you and Robby are different lately - or, well, they feel different anyway.
Admittedly, it’s all circumstantial, in the eye of the beholder, but that’s what’s fucking you up about it the most. First it was the little changes in the inflection in his voice whenever he says your name; last week it was him not wanting to meet up at his place, only yours; two days ago it was him drilling you into the mattress while looking at you like you hung the fucking stars, then leaving afterwards under the bullshit guise of an appointment be had with his fellow attending about rats in the emergency department.
You know Robby’s… complicated. He has his things going on, but who doesn’t? Plus, he’s actually working on it; you never see him on Wednesdays because that’s his therapy day and he’s focussed–dedicated. And you’re proud of him, but every time it's on the tip of your tongue to voice that, it hits you that you don’t know if you have any right to say it, if the role of supportive… whatever you are, is what he wants from you. No matter how patient you want to be, and you have been very patient, very willing to go at this at whichever pace he liked, it’s kind of like he’s freewheeling. Which is unlike him. Which only fucks you up more.
Safe to say, it’s messing with your head more than you care to admit.
It’s just that you slipped into a sense of familiarity so fast that you never really had a conversation about where this is all going. You know he isn’t seeing other people, he made that clear a few weeks in, when you asked and he laughed, because where would he find the time for that, and yeah, that was a good point. He knows you’re not seeing anyone else thanks to a very in the heat of the moment exchange, with him, on the verge of coming, asking you, because he needed to know. When you said no, he pulled out, ripped off his condom, and finished on your stomach with a rough, “Good.”
(When you mentioned that he should do that inside next time, he made a sound, slid back in, and came a second time, like the admission had given him some sort of feral, possessive second wind.)
So all things considered, mixed signals.
Maybe you shouldn’t be here, picking him up like you agreed you would a week ago, when you made plans to go to the movies together. Maybe you should have also made up a stupid excuse, let him figure his shit out, and wait for him to call you once he did. But you’re an adult, who realizes manipulation tactics are futile, and childish. Eventually, for better or for worse, you’re going to have to tell him how you feel about him.
Unfortunately for you, you’ve been known to make choices that aren’t the best for your heart.
You enter PTMC with as much confidence as you can muster up, then make a beeline for the elevator. You wait after calling it, and while you do, you study the plaque above the button you just pressed, eyes lingering at the very bottom of it.
Basement. Emergency department.
The pitt.
The high-pitched ding! comes faster than you thought it would, and you step aside as the elevator doors slide open to let a handful of people step off. You give the people still inside a polite, “Evening,” and a nod as you get on, then press the button for the basement.
Naturally, and for no other reason than to fuck with you personally, the elevator slides up first.
You close your eyes, braving the sensation of the semi-gentle start-stop as you pass each floor going up - then again going down. By the time you reach the basement, it’s just you and a doctor - female, red hair, frizzy bangs, looking tired as all hell. She rushes past you, file in hand, and you make your way down the hall after her.
The waiting room is packed, and you’re taken aback by the sheer volume of the voices echoing off the walls, making you feel a bit disoriented as you try to find a way to get where you need to be. Several registration nurses are seated behind reinforced glass and your chest tightens over the fact that that is protection health care providers need. You approach a window that one of the patients just walked away from, clear your throat, and say,
“Um, excuse me–”
“Please, fill this out,” the woman says, pushing a clipboard through the slot at the bottom of the window, “and bring it back to me when you’re ready.”
Gently, you push the clipboard back. “I don’t need medical treatment,” debatable after the overthinking from earlier–
“Then what can I do for ya, hon?” she asks, briefly looking over her shoulder when another staff member sails through the doors behind her. He’s wearing the same charcoal coloured scrubs Robby always wears, and is struggling to pull off a very bloodied pair of gloves.
“I’m looking for, um… Doctor Robinavitch?”
“Why?” The doctor pipes up from behind the nurse. He finally pulls the gloves off his hands, tosses them into a clinical waste bin and looks at you expectantly as he brushes his fingers through his silvery curls.
Before you elaborate, you raise an eyebrow at the confrontational tone. “I’m here to pick him up.”
The man looks at you, narrows his eyes, then juts his chin out. “And how do you know Doctor Robinavitch?”
“Robby,” you find yourself saying like you’re proving some sort of point about how well you know him, “is…” You pause, try to think of how to convey that he is the guy you decided to shoot your shot with in a record shop and who you’ve been sleeping with for the better part of two months in a way that’s acceptable for the workplace. But there’s steady beeping, the wailing of a baby behind you, a distant scream coming out of the emergency department, the two sets of expectant eyes on you from people who clearly have something better to do than wait for you to- Are you sweating? It feels like you’re sweating. “He’s my boyfriend.”
The doctor’s eyebrows shoot up so far it would’ve made you laugh if the weight of your words hadn’t just hit you like a fucking truck. For the past week, you had been questioning everything about your relationship and you cracked under the slightest bit of pressure and labeled Robby your boyfriend like you’re two teenagers.
And at his workplace.
“Is he now?” the doctor asks, a lopsided grin appearing on his face afterwards.
“Abbot,” the nurse says sharply.
The warning makes your stomach twist. This is just great. As if your panicked slip of the tongue alone wasn’t bad enough, it had to be in front of frequently mentioned fellow attending slash close friend Jack Abbot.
“You know what,” you begin, swallowing thickly and jutting your thumb over your shoulder. “I’ll just wait outside–”
“Hey, hey, hey, no,” Abbot says, his voice gone gentle, raising his hands and looking more like he’s calming an escaped horse than an embarrassed human being. “He’s just finishing up with some patients, I’ll go get him for ya.” And as quickly as he arrived, he disappears again.
“Just take a seat, doll,” the nurse says. You think she’s aiming for pity, but the words are dripping with delight at this turn of events at what’s no doubt the very end of her shift. “I’m sure he’ll be out in a minute.”
You thank her and turn around, looking for an empty chair, but are once again confronted with the sheer amount of people waiting to be seen - it’s fine, you’ll just settle for a hole in the ground to disappear into. Before you have time to rethink every course of action you had taken to get you to this point, starting with frequenting a record shop, Robby sails through the flap doors with Abbot in tow.
One looks cautious. The other looks endlessly amused.
Robby’s eyes find you in the crowd in a flash, and he reaches you so quickly it seems like he’s floating, taking you by the arm and dragging you along with him.
“Hi,” you manage while you stumble to keep up.
“Let’s leave?” He says it like a question, but his voice leaves no room for discussion. Moving his hand to the small of your back, he leads you down a different path than you came, out a security door that he opens with a swipe of his badge, into a stairwell marked ‘A’, and quickly up the first flight of stairs.
The moment you’re alone with him, you can practically feel the words making their way up your throat, and before you can stop it, you begin explaining yourself, “You’re upset, I get it. I’m sorry I said… that in front of Abbot. Shouldn’t have done it, definitely will not happen again.”
Robby’s hand flexes and your words seem to stop him dead in his tracks, feet coming to a halt in the middle of the landing between the staircases. He says nothing, and aside from the way his frown deepens, he stays very still.
“Listen,” you begin, trying and failing to keep your voice steady and void of sadness, “if you’re really that upset about it, maybe we should–”
“I’m not upset,” he says, turning to face you while he shoves his hands in the pockets of his hoodie.
You scoff, frustrated. Not upset? Sure. In a sweeping manner, you gesture at him from his feet to his crown, and back again, “Then what’s this?”
“I just worked a 12 hour shift in the emergency department, I think I’m allowed to look a little upset,” he scoffs back. “But this…,” he tries to gesture at himself the way you just did, but mostly just gets his face, which, to his credit, does worry you the most, “...is not because I’m upset with you.”
It makes your shoulders slump, but the short-lived sense of relief quickly makes room for guilt. Christ, he’s right. Today alone he’s probably seen things no other human being would see in a lifetime–should see in a lifetime. You should cut him some slack. Another apology is on the tip of your tongue, but Robby speaks first,
“Saw Abbot’s shit-eating grin and wanted to get you out of there before he started asking you a million annoying que–” His voice dies down, and you can practically see the penny drop. He puts his hands on his hips, narrows his eyes at you, and swipes his tongue over his bottom lip before demanding, “Tell me.”
Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck.
Didn’t Abbot tell him? Is Robby messing with you?
You could really use that hole to disappear into right about now…
You shuffle your feet. “Tell you what?”
“Tell me…” Robby takes a step closer so you’re standing toe-to-toe and looks at you expectantly, “…what you told Abbot.”
“I just said I was here to pick you up,” you try to save face, but you can recognize it’s a pathetic attempt; you literally can’t even look at him while you say it.
Robby’s arms cross, his shoulders drawing up as he bows his head and shakes it with an amused huff. “Liar.”
You gasp, “Fuck you, I did say that.”
“Fine,” he’s laughing now, “what else did you say?”
You know you have no choice but to be honest; if you don’t tell him, Abbot will. The mirth on his face helps, maybe he’ll take it as a joke and your crisis of relationship will be averted for the time being.
“He asked how I knew you. And I… I might have said, ‘He’s… my boyfriend’.” You make your voice go up at the end, purposefully formulating it as a semi-question, like even you don’t remember exactly what you said, then throw in a chuckle for good measure, all in an attempt to take more weight off the revelation.
The silence that follows is deafening; even the emergency department waiting room past the door at the foot of the stairs seems to have gone quiet. A myriad of expressions pass Robby’s face, before it settles on something completely new to you–something completely unreadable. But this time, it’s impossible to look away, not when he swallows thickly, not when his defensive pose falls and his hands ball to fists, clenching and unclenching at his side. Your mind is already formulating its third planned apology of the day, but Robby foils it again.
“You said that?” His voice is so fucking deep it’s more of a rumble, a slight tremble on the word said.
“Yes.”
“In those words?” he presses. “To Abbot?”
You nod with a sigh, realizing you might as well put all your cards on the table, “And the nur–”
“Am I?”
Dropping your hands by your side, you sigh. “I don’t know, Robby. You tell me.” Your voice sounds so small, “Are you?”
There’s a sound of heavy fabric hitting the floor - his backpack, you realize - and then he surges forward, a hand anchoring itself at your waist while the other slips behind your head to cushion the way he crashes the both of you into the wall. He kisses you like he never has, with utter desperation, and bite, his teeth closing around your bottom lip before letting his tongue map you out like it’s the first time he gets to do it. Stunned, you clutch onto his arms, try to follow along with him, but he doesn’t give you a chance to catch up.
“Yeah, I am,” the words come out more like a growl, “I’m your fucking boyfriend.” The ball of anxiety that’s been making a home in your gut explodes, melting into arousal so fast you’d think you did hit your head. It takes you another moment to move with him, moaning at the scrape of his beard against your chin and the flick of his tongue behind your teeth.
Once your brain finds its connection to your body, all you want is more. So you take, with newfound vigor, a swipe of your tongue along his and a palm cupping the side of his neck, applying pressure in a way that makes him grunt. He pushes you back harder, plastering himself to your front. When he tries to wiggle his hand between your bodies and into your pants, it brings you back to reality for a split second.
“Robby, fuck, wait–”
“No one’s gonna see,” he slurs. He sounds wrecked already, and you haven’t even done anything but kiss. You would be kind of proud of it if your brain wasn’t melting out of your ears with lust. Spreading your legs to give him more room, you– Wait, shit, focus.
Second split second.
Closing your hand around his wrist, you start again, “Robby–”
“No one fucking comes here, need a badge and they all take the elevator, I swear.” He kisses your neck, scrapes his teeth along that spot that makes you sigh. He’s playing so incredibly dirty– “Just… let me finger my girlfriend.”
It’s like you go boneless at the word, the hand he’s been wringing into your jeans slipping under your underwear with ease now that you’ve stopped fighting it. The shriek you let out when his fingers roll roughly over your clit echoes through the empty stairwell before you muffle it by clamping a hand over your mouth. It’s a lot, the emotional whiplash so severe that tears spring into your eyes when a finger dips into your entrance to test the waters.
Robby pulls away, hand and mouth, then brings one to the other. You might actually whine at the loss, and the way he sucks two fingers into his mouth, the thick digits coming back shiny and slick when he pulls them out, all without ever breaking eye contact. Then he’s back to frantic, dry hand pulling at your fly and zipper, and you help him with hurried, awkward moves, all but ripping your pants open to give him more room.
“Do you have any fucking idea how hard it is to hold back around you? When you... say stuff like that to people when I’m not around like it’s fucking… easy?” Robby pushes his middle finger into you as far as it’ll go, grunting like he’s enjoying it more than you are. His head tips down, watching how his hand is stuffed beneath the tight, rigid denim; yours falls back, panting up at the spiralling staircases above you, clutching onto the open ends of Robby’s hoodie for dear life when his finger starts pumping inside of you. “When you look so sweet and then get this wet for me?”
You clench around him, leaking into his palm while a groan rumbles from your chest when he adds a second finger. “Then don’t–” he bends them, finds something that makes you quiver, “Fuck, Robby, that’s good. Stop holding back around me.”
His hand curls around your jaw, pulling until your eyes meet; his are wild, pupils blown so wide his irises appear black even in the bright fluorescent hospital lighting.
You take the jump, your stomach flipping in a way that makes it feel like you’re actually in freefall, the admission somehow taking more vulnerability than letting him finger fuck you here of all places. “Stop holding back,” you say, desperately trying to convey that this is bigger than just this moment between you.
And when his hand stills, and he plants a dizzying kiss on your lips, it feels like he does, like he pours everything he can’t say into the simple, long press. You attempt to return the sentiment, slinging your arm around his neck, palming his nape that’s damp with sweat and holding him to you. You stay like this for a long moment, your heart beating so hard and fast that you wonder if Robby can feel it with how tightly you’re pressed together.
You don’t get time to think about if you can feel his, because his fingers slowly start up again between your legs, and he fucks you on his hand, palm grinding up against your clit until you’re crying out into his open mouth, coming hot, and hard, tears of pleasure spilling over your waterline while you tremble in his hold.
There’s nothing but him, his scent, the heat of his body, the stretch of him inside you coming even easier with your orgasm. You can’t breathe but it feels secondary to everything else when he grinds against your thigh, thick and heavy and fucking pulsing with need, trapped behind those cargo pants, and despite the fact that you just came, you feel like you need him more than air.
“Are you gonna put it in?” you ask, voice a little drowsy. “Please?”
The combination of his lazy grin and the flush along his cheeks makes him look somewhat boyish. “Give her one good orgasm and the fear of getting caught is fucked riiiight out, huh?” Robby says - anything but boyish - gently pulling his hand from between your legs while working his own pants open with his free one.
But it sobers you up a little from the lust you had overdosed on from the moment he crashed you into the wall. You go rigid against it now. “Wait. You said–”
“Relax,” he says, and embarrassingly, it’s enough to make you. Enough that you let him spin you around, yank your hips back and pull your pants and underwear down to mid thigh while your palms find the wall. “Wasn’t lying. No one comes here,” you hear him spit, followed by the unmistakably lewd sound of him spreading it around, “except,” he swipes the head of his cock through your messy folds, “for me.” The final word comes out with a punch of air and an oof! from you when he slides all the way inside in one go. He smiles to himself, pauses in consideration, then adds, “Well, and you.”
You laugh at the double entendre–you actually, properly laugh, when you should be focussing on adjusting to the thick spread of his cock. The soft walls of your cunt flutter around him, the plaster under your palms warming under your touch. “Shut up,” you say, but it lacks any bite or threat when your voice is still vibrating with laughter underneath it all.
“Hmm, no, I– Jesus, your laugh is making it… tight. This isn’t gonna take long.” Something between a chuckle and a grunt comes out when you clench more at his words, and you swear you can feel him shake with it.
“Then stop laughing,” you beg, a smile of your own spreading across your face when you look at him over your shoulder. “I had something far hotter planned, something like, Please, Robby, I want to walk out of here with your come dripping out of me.”
That gets him, his expression morphing into something a little more concentrated. It definitely breaks his giggles, because he looks down to where you’re connected and groans instead, a little involuntary stutter of his hips making him slide out just a fraction.
Using your grip on the wall, you arch your back and push against him. “Yeah? Is that doing it for you?” you ask, continuing the gentle ebb and flow of pulling off and pushing back, reveling in the slow drag of him along your sensitive walls, the way his fingers dig into your heated skin.
Robby scoffs. “The mental image of you walking out of here dripping with my come, knowing I’m gonna think about it each time I walk up and down these goddamn stairs, which is only every fucking time I’m at work?” He grunts when you slowly let him fill you again. “Yeah, sweetheart, that’ll… that’ll do it.”
Well, that shouldn’t make you feel as gooey as it does, but after everything, that might as well happen.
Biting your lip, you lean your forearms, temple resting where your wrists cross, head twisted back to watch him. There’s a sliver of his belly visible over the swell off your ass, and you can see it tensing as you keep your rhythm steady.
When he starts meeting you halfway, you wonder briefly if no one else truly comes here, or if at any moment, someone could sail around the corner and find you bouncing your ass off a doctor’s pelvis. It sends a rush of tingles up your body, and maybe you can admit to yourself that at this point, it really wouldn't faze you. The only thing that matters to you now, in this very moment, is the pulse of his cock and the promise of getting filled.
There’s another rush of wetness between your legs at the idea, and Robby inhales sharply through his nose when it makes him slide just a bit deeper, throat bobbing around a heavy swallow… and then he’s right there, with a curse, a groan that rises in volume and a pull of your hips back against his, where he holds you still. You can’t help but whimper at the warm sensation, at how fucking deep he gets as he comes and comes and comes. Heat spreads through your body, something that isn’t exactly an orgasm, but isn’t far off either, and makes your eyes roll back.
It takes a while for both of you to stop pulsing. With a deep sigh, you let your head fall forward, hanging down to observe the squished-together, naked tops of your thighs, your scrunched up pants, and your shoed feet with Robby’s larger ones planted on the outside of them. His hand has drifted up, tracing soft patterns across your back under your shirt that make goosebumps rise across your skin. There is absolutely no fucking reason for this to be so tender right now, but it is, and you kind of don’t want it to end.
But this is a hospital, and not the safe cocoon of either of your apartments, so it has to.
“C’mon,” Robby encourages softly, patting the small of your back, “we should get out of here.”
Your pussy protests when he pulls out slowly, and you can’t blame her, especially not when you feel achingly empty after. It starts the slow trickle of his spend out of you, the angle you’re bent over at making it slide over your clit. Your body reacts with a lewd squelch, and it only results in more leaking.
“Fuck, that’s…” Robby lets out a breath that sounds like a whistle, using his thumb and forefinger to spread you open a little more, “...pretty.”
Something disgustingly wrong with him for settling on that word. And with you for enjoying it so much.
His fingers slide downward, dangerously close to your clit– “God, do not do that if you don’t want it going everywhere,” you warn.
The sound he makes is fond, and he’s quick to listen, letting you go in favour of helping you pull your underwear back up your hips. “Trusting you to keep it right there,” he says, before giving you a flat-handed tap between your legs that covers your entire pussy, the swat landing with the obscene, soppy sound of wet fabric meeting skin.
A shock of pleasure shoots through your body, making you gasp and rise to your toes. You want to curse him for doing this to you here, where you can’t beg him to do it again until you come a second time - third? - because you could, you absolutely could. Instead, you’re forced to bend down and pull your pants back up your legs with an indignant little wiggle.
When you twist back around, fumbling with the button of your jeans, Robby’s already waiting, ready, safely tucked back into his cargo pants and with his backpack hanging off one of his shoulders. You sniff, hoping-praying that you look even a fraction as composed as he looks so you can leave the place with some dignity at least.
“You look beautiful,” he says, before he stretches his hand out to you. His comment makes you heat up, your own hand no doubt clammy when you accept. As you let him lead you up the stairs, you try, and fail, to not think about how the fingers he interlocks with yours were deep inside you just minutes ago.
Practiced, routined steps lead you through hallways and corridors, weaving and bobbing through groups of patients, visitors and colleagues alike, until you reach gold-coloured revolving doors and step out into the evening.
“Will you promise me something?” you ask as you start your trek, joined hands swinging between your bodies.
You notice that above you, the skies have cleared.
“Just one thing?” Robby asks. “You’re lowballing, I like it.”
You roll your eyes. Your belly flutters. “One thing now.”
He hums in affirmation.
“I can handle not seeing you on Wednesdays, I don’t mind seeing you at my place more often than at yours, but next time you want to ditch me for Abbot, make up a better excuse than rats.”
Robby lets out a laugh that’s basically just a punch of air. “Oh, I… Yeah. That was not an excuse. Those bad boys are actually down there.”
“What?” It comes out so much more indignant than you want to sound. “No they’re not.”
“Oh, I really do wish they weren’t,” he says, face scrunching up like he suddenly remembers the rats are in the emergency department, and he’s in charge of the emergency department, and this is a problem for tomorrow-Robby.
“Rats? Plural?”
“Plural.”
Immediately, your mind provides you with the mental image of rats in tiny hospital beds. You shake your head with a chuckle, “No wonder your wait times are insane.” Then, looking at him, you ask, “How does that work? Do they come in with wads of cash or do they have a tiny little insurance card? And why do I feel like rats probably have it better, like in general but definitely insurance wise, than we humans do?”
One corner of Robby’s mouth curls up, and he looks at you like he could kiss you. He doesn’t. He doesn’t answer either. Not that you expected him to. Instead, he says, “I didn’t see Jack just for the rat problem. I also talked to him… about you.”
You can feel yourself straightening up. That explains why the good doctor’s eyebrows nearly flew off. The rush of vindication nearly makes you sing, “Ohhhhh-ho-ho, now this I have to hear.”
Robby closes his eyes, lips pursing slightly with a small shake of his head.
“C’mon, I had to spill,” you tug him against your side, “now you have to spill.”
“I think I spilled plenty.” He leans in, mouth at your ear, “Can you still feel it?”
You groan, your poor cunt clenching around nothing. Yes, you can still feel it. “You never play fair.”
“You like it,” he says.
“I can recognize that my wants and needs in a blindly horny state are not always most beneficial to my well-being once said horny state subsides.”
He snorts. “If it ever does. I think it’s chronic.”
“Is that your official diagnosis, Doctor Robinavitch?”
“‘fraid so. There’s nothing we can feasibly do except for managing the symptoms to make you more comfortable.”
You give him a playful shove, before pressing yourself back against his arm, “You like that I like it. In fact, you like it so much that you didn’t even have the patience to get out of here before–”
“I like you,” he cuts in quietly.
Oh, what the fuck. Case in point, he does not play fair.
Robby trails out a little ahead from where you’re frozen in place, until your arms are stretched out as far as they can go without letting go of each other. The streetlamp just behind him perfectly accentuates the silhouette of his profile as his head tips down: his little quiff, the point of his nose, the scruff around his lips. He retraces his steps until he can face you.
“Told him that I have feelings for someone, but that I was… scared of it. Scared of fucking it up, because that’s what I always do, and that made me actually fuck it up, and I couldn’t stand seeing how I made you feel, but I couldn’t–”
“Robby, stop.” You shake your head, letting go of him to try and find your bearings. “You think I’m not scared?”
“It’s easy for you. You are,” he lets out a bitter laugh, “so much better at this than I am.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” you deadpan. Guess he missed the point spectacularly in the stairwell earlier. How someone, someone who is a doctor, can be so smart and so dumb at the same time, you don’t know. “I almost didn’t show up tonight because I was sure you were about to break things off with me because of how you’ve been acting.”
Robby’s head tilts, his jaw ticking as he looks at you with soft, guilty eyes. “Really?”
It takes everything in you to stay focused, because he looks at you as if you’ve wounded him, like you’ve just kicked him while he’s down.
“It isn’t easy for me,” you redirect the conversation. “None of this ever is, but… when you find something that’s worth it, you try, and… this thing with you makes me want to try.” Satisfied, you nod firmly at your own words, then add, “You like me, I like you, I think we should be together. Like, officially. But if you don’t, you should tell me now.”
The thin line his lips had formed wobbles, before a smile that’s big enough to make the corners of his eyes crinkle in that way you love spreads out across his face. “Look at you, giving me a big speech.”
You deflate with disbelief at how smug he looks. This fucking guy. “Wasn’t that big.”
“You are sooooo better at this than me,” he says, cupping your cheeks with both hands to bring your faces together. The kiss he presses to your lips is soft, so fucking tender that it makes your toes curl in your shoes. “I want to be together,” he says, staying close enough that you can feel his lips brush over yours when he says it. With a teasing lilt that mimics your voice, he adds, “Like, officially.”
“Don’t mock me right now or I’ll break up with you,” you threaten, half-heartedly poking him in the chest, unable to keep the sheer happiness that rockets through your body from creeping into your stern expression.
Robby’s eyes narrow, like he’s considering something. Then he says, “Should we ditch the cinema–?”
You scoff, quickly changing gears, “No.”
“–take a hot shower, order some food–” He kisses you.
“I am never ditching the cinema.”
Another kiss. “–let me eat your pussy until you come at least twice.”
Your eyebrows shoot up. “But I think I can make an exception just this once.”
Robby throws his head back and barks out a laugh, “See? Chronic.”
You have to twist your face to the side to keep yourself from laughing, too. Your cheeks already hurt too much from the stupid, happy grin that’s been plastered on your face intermittently throughout this rollercoaster of an evening. Turning your nose up to the sky and closing your eyes like you’re dismissing him, you push past him.
With a little jog, he catches up to you, slinging an arm around your neck, and using it as leverage to press a kiss to your temple. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I know someone very capable of managing your symptoms.”
“Pretty sure he’s my enabler,” you grin, reaching for his hand where it hangs off your shoulder. “Hey, so what’s the big plan you and Abbot came up with to solve the rat problem?”
“Exterminator, once they find the time,” Robby sighs. “Until then, Whitaker, one of the medical students on rotation. He caught a couple of them,” he snickers, “Santos calls him the Pied Piper of Pittsburgh.”
You snort, listening as Robby talks more, about his co-workers, about the curious cases that were wheeled into the emergency department today, and you let him lead you into the opposite direction of the cinema and towards his apartment instead.
In a quieter alley, you pass one of the street-level apartments, music bleeding from one of the windows and into the street. There’s soft, twinkling sounds, cresting drums and piano parts, an electric guitar that cuts in,
…and I'm getting closer than I ever thought I might…
Your mouth curves into a smile at the song.
Yeah.
Fitting.
– – – – –
Thanks for reading! Please come say hi and/or share your thoughts via ask/messages/reblogs/whatever you feel comfortable with! Also, if you have any song suggestions for my Dr. Robby playlist, send them over, I’d love to add them!
Being rabbot's controversial young gf would include
tw for age gap (duh, lol), daddy issues, daddy kink, oral (f receiving), brat taming, being called jail bait as a joke, riding, bush mention, if I missed anything please let me know ! Mdni ! Whole blog is 18+ and so is this post
Trying to balance your time between the two. The amount of scheduling alone that goes into dates with all three of you is...a lot. Catching them when they have the same day off and figuring something out that doesn't disrupt either of their sleep schedules is hard! And that's not even taking into account if they're up for it or not.
Fighting over whose card you use. They're both prideful men who have almost your life times worth of big doctor money tucked into the bank. They're not frugal but they don't splurge on themselves often. A nice place, regular upkeep, bills paid early, money tucked into a retirement fund. Nothing crazy.
Which lets you do the spending for them. Jack is always wordlessly tucking his card into your hand, pocket or purse. "You know the pin, use it, okay?" is often paired with a kiss to your temple.
Robby uses a different tactic. Direct deposits to your accounts. Looking at your carts online. Paying for your student loans and car note, setting them up to automatically come out of his account. Giving you a look when you're getting lunch with him and you reach for your purse before tapping his card on the reader.
Robby and Jack sit through the hauls after a shopping spree patiently, knowing how excited you get and that you want to explain what you got, why you got it, and what you plan to do with it. It's a part of the deal, they know this and accept it. Jack is the one to ask you more questions, encouraging you to talk about it all while Robby just tells you it's all very pretty. If you buy craft supplies or art supplies, he tells you "You know more about that stuff than I do, honey. More talent for that than me."
They're old men (affectionate) so they have old man habits. Some cannot be broken. Calling stores and things the wrong name, not understanding certain slang, telling you to get off your phone while they're trying to go to bed/talk to you.
"Put your phone down and go to bed, baby. Get some sleep and stay off tiktoks. You'll stay up all night on that thing and then you're cranky in the morning."
Jack has the light flash feature on for alarms and calls due to being a deep sleeper and being a little hard of hearing. Robby has a generic ring tone but set one for you specifically so he can know when it's you.
"Sweetheart, I've been down to one good leg longer than you've been alive."
Pet names galore. Sweetie, honey, baby, etc! All the classics. Don't get calling your partner stinky or pookie.
Robby sometimes just needs you to lay on him. Clothes off, feeling the warmth of your skin against his to ground himself in his body. It doesn't stop the thoughts in his head, no, but it does keep them from getting worse. Dragging his large, calloused palm down the length of your spine. Self soothing, is the word, he thinks.
Jack likes to crawl under your shirt and rest his head against your chest. Listening to the thud...thud...thud...of your heartbeat with his own ears, not through a stethoscope like you're a patient. The fabric of your shirt stretching around him. Almost swaddling his broad shoulders. A tuft of his gray curls poking out from the neckline. Being able to breathe your scent in so deeply.
Listen, they're old(er). They don't want to dance around problems or give you the silent treatment. Preferring to tell you if there's a problem or just talk it out. Jack is usually the one to start the conversations. They understand that you're younger and that sometimes you'll have a little fit. But they let you get it out of your system before sitting down and talking.
You get looks when you go out with them. God forbid you go out with the both of them. It makes for a few awkward conversations when people make assumptions about the nature of your relationship.
One time a waitress overheard you calling Jack daddy and the next time she came over, she mentioned how it's so nice that even grown up you still make time to go out with your dad's and spend time with them. Saying how no matter how old you are, Daddy's little girl is always their special lady. Jack got hard under the table.
Robby silencing his alarm, looking at you and Jack snoring next to him with a sigh and a drag of his palm against his face. Pushing himself out of the warm cocoon that you've turned the bed into since moving in. His warm hand rubbing over your back, over the fabric of a familiar hoodie, as he leans over to press a kiss to your temple and then jacks. Despite the protest from his aging back, he lingers. Lips pressing against your skin as his eyes flutter shut while he breathes in the sleepy scent that surrounds the two of you before starting to get ready for his shift. He says it makes the day a little easier to start.
Jack isn't ashamed of his leg, he's lived with it long enough now that it's just a part of him. But it does make him feel old sometimes, and some previous people have left over it. Getting a pretty thing like you to grab his crutches for him? The tips of his ears get a little warm. All the support bars in the bathroom and the shower chair? He goes to explain before you shut him down with a soft look. He realizes you don't care about the way any of it looks, that it doesn't make him seem old or broken. The way you hand him his crutches with a kiss on the cheek, offer a steadying hand when he needs one and keep creams and compression socks by your bed for when he sleeps over proves that. He can't believe he ever thought you'd have an issue with it now.
The first time you come into the pitt to drop off lunch, a forgotten badge or what have you, the muttering is quick to start. Not to your face and not necessarily negative.....just....shocked. You're so....young. Are Robby and abbot paying you? Have they reached that point in being so lonely? Trinity calls you jail bait, it's a joke. Mostly.
Meanwhile Dana just offers you a smile as she talks to you from her spot behind the desk. She's noticed the way the two of them have seemed lighter lately. A little easier of a flow to them. Dana had also caught a glimpse of an...... enthusiastic..... conversation in the group chat the three of you have a little while ago and forced one of them to spill. There just hadn't been time for a proper introduction. She talks to you kindly, tells you to ignore whatever gossip starts to float around. While young, young enough to have gone to school with one of her daughters she realizes, you're an adult. You're a big girl, who picked Robby and Jack.
Worry warts! You text the group chat one day saying that you're getting a McDonald's coke and large fry to fix your headache and they....are less than thrilled. Asking you to rate your pain, where it's located, if you hit it etc. Telling you that they have some medicine in the cabinet, to take that instead of getting the drink and fries. That it's not a full proof method and that the carbonation won't help your head feel better.
"Give it to him, yea, that's it baby, good girl." Jack says from behind you, his hands on your hips as you ride Robby, controlling your movements. Giving the soft skin of your thighs a sharp swat when you slow down or stop.
Jack is daddy, I hate to tell you. The way he holds himself lends to it so well. Firm when you need a guiding hand but knows when to give it soft enough that you actually listen.
Robby on the other hand.....he's a bit of a brat tamer. Gives you that look when you're acting out or doing something you're not supposed to. Jack gets a bit soft and gooey on you when you blink those big Bambi eyes up at him, but it makes Robby hard when he sees tears welling up in them because of a spanking or punishment.
"I know that's not our sweet girl. Daddy's sweet girl wouldn't be doing what she knows isn't allowed, would she? Gonna bring our good, sweet baby back? Hm?"
Big big big on eye contact!!! Jack doesn't like to cum if he isn't looking into yours or Robby's eyes. "C'mon, look at me please." In that low, slightly frantic voice he gets.
They're not as young as they once were but keep in general shape to be able to run around the ER all day and night. Their stamina isn't completely shot but they need a little bit longer between rounds than you do. Which is when taking turns with you comes in handy. Being able to keep you satisfied until one of them can go again, until they have your brain in clumps in your noggin.
"Gonna keep us young with a cunt like that, huh baby?"
They can be a little mean. Slightly condescending. Cooing at you from behind as one of them holds your legs, the other's hips drilling into you. A laugh against your ear when you whine that it's too much, too fast, too big.
They've both walked in on the other ruining you as they get home from their shift in the morning or evening. Robby just raises a brow and asks "It's 7:30, shouldn't we be feeding her about now?" While you moan and gasp from under Jack. On the other hand, Jack chuckles and watches Robby move on top of you before commenting "You're a dirty old man, before 8 in the morning? Poor thing is gonna be sore the rest of the day."
Robby who begs to eat it whenever he can. From behind, while he's on his soft belly, sitting on his face, he doesn't care. He wants to eat it. Sometimes you think it's more for him than it is you, with the way his eyes flutter shut as his mouth wraps around your clit and he groans against you. Rutting that gorgeous nose on you as his tongue plunges into your walls. It's not uncommon for Jack to walk into the living room to you sprawled out on the couch, eyes on the TV as you try to hold your moans in while Robby works between your legs. Head moving as he tries to get you to break, one of his favorite games.
Few things will make Jack chub up faster than being called a dirty old man (affectionate) by you. It makes him get that little grin and makes him raise a brow at you as if to say 'oh, really?' before starting to pepper you with kisses, nipping at your neck. "S'that what I am? Your dirty old man? Yea, sounds about right."
Bush enjoyers. They won't ask you not to shave but they might drop a few comments if you say something about going to get a wax or buy a new shaver. Saying things like back in their day, that kind of thing was incredibly sexy. That you know they don't care what you look like down there. One day, Jack flat out tells you he wants to bury his face in it. Says a little hair isn't gonna stop him.
Sensitive Robby ! Scalp, thighs and hips, neck. All over. His eyes flutter shut when you lightly drag your nails over his scalp and down his neck, shivers running through him at the sensation. Leaning into it like a dog getting scratched behind the ears. He might as well be a mutt for you anyways.
Jack is a biter. You, Robby, any skin is free game. Clamps his jaw down on your shoulder when he's rutting into you from behind and he feels himself getting close. Loves to see the indent of his teeth on the both of you. Makes him grin a little before nipping at your skin once more.
Taking them both can be so overwhelming but in the best way. Stretched beyond what you thought you could handle, the feeling of their warmth pressed against either side of you, hands roaming all over you to the point you lose track of who is where. It's almost biblical, really. In greed, in lust.
It's more than just sex at that point. It's a full blown experience. Mind melting heat that radiates off of all of you. Skin slick with sweat. Hot breaths ghosting over the back of your neck with every movement. Your own pleasure star forming in your bedroom. Right where it will live for the rest of time between the three of you. Robby thrusting deep enough to touch your soul. Jack holding you tight enough to keep you in your corporeal form.
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