bigbigbig thank you to all the beautiful, lovely, talented authors !! you guys are amazing at what you do and i’m so thankful you share your work with the rest of us <33
you lay there on the soft sheets of rafe's bed, his strong arms wrap around you from behind, pulling you close as his lips brush your neck in soft, lingering kisses. "you're so beautiful," he whispers, his voice rough and needy, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your hip. you feel his hardness pressing against your ass, thick and hard, making your breath hitch.
he shifts, guiding you onto your back, his pretty blue eyes locking onto yours with that intense, yet loving gaze that always makes your heart race. "i've got you, baby," rafe murmurs, hovering over you, his massive cock throbbing against your thigh. he kisses you deeply, tongue sliding against yours, as he positions the swollen head at your slick wet entrance.
slowly, so slowly, he pushes in, just the tip at first, and you gasp, your walls clenching around him. "'s’ too big," you whimper, tears pricking your eyes from the delicious burn. he pauses, cupping your face tenderly, thumbs wiping away the first tear that falls. "shhh, i know, pretty girl. just breathe for me." he kisses your forehead, your cheeks, your lips again, pouring affection into every touch as he inches deeper, giving you time to adjust.
you moan loudly, a mix of pain and pleasure, your body trembling beneath him. another tear slips down, and rafe groans, loving the sight of you like this, all vulnerable, completely lost in him. "fuck, you look so good crying for my cock," he says softly, as he sinks in further, stretching your pussy wide. with his free hand he uses his thumb to stroke your clit gently, easing the pain away, while he peppers your jawline with kisses.
bit by bit, he fills you completely, until he's buried to the point he can't go any further, both of you panting. "that's my girl, taking me so well," he praises, starting a slow rhythm, each thrust deep and loving. "rafe!" you cry out, moaning through the tears, and he captures your mouth in a passionate kiss, whispering "i love you" between breaths, making the moment even more intimate as he claims you as his.
military!rafe who gets convinced by one of his buddies to do that stupid trend where the girlfriend is supposed to stand still and just stare at her boyfriend when he gets home
"mine lasted thirty seconds."
"mine started cryin'."
“film it, cameron.”
meanwhile rafe is already smirking because he knows you, absolutely knows you
you've spent the last seven months counting down days on a calendar. there's no universe where you're standing there calmly
so one of the guys starts recording as rafe steps off the bus, duffel bag over one shoulder, uniform slightly wrinkled from travel and exhausted in that way only military travel can make someone exhausted but the second he spots you, he wakes up because there you are.
standing near the barrier, already looking emotional, already fighting tears, already losing this challenge before it even starts. for exactly half a second, you manage it, maybe less, just standing there staring at him and taking him in
the familiar face you've only seen through blurry video calls for months, the same blue eyes, the same crooked smile. the same man you've missed so badly it physically hurt sometimes
then rafe starts moving and that completely ruins whatever self-control you had because the second you see him shift his duffel bag and open his arms, you're done
“oh screw this.”
and suddenly you're running
meanwhile rafe is laughing because he knew itz knew there was no chance. the second you launch yourself toward him he's already reaching for you like his body moves before his brain does.
months apart and instinct wins. you hit him so hard he nearly loses his balance arms immediately wrapping around his neck face buried against his shoulder and rafe catches you automatically, both arms locking around your waist, pulling you completely off the ground.
he buries his face in your shoulder for a second before saying anything because he missed this. missed you, missed being able to hold you whenever he wanted.
rafe who laughs softly when you immediately start crying. not making fun of you, just completely unsurprised "baby."
"don't."
"you lasted about half a second."
"shut up." but his own voice is suspiciously rough. you know he’s emotional too: he’s just hiding it better.
your voice is already shaking. because you've barely looked at him for three seconds before you're crying. and suddenly rafe's smile disappears, replaced by that softer look he only gets around you
the one nobody else ever sees because now he's holding you just as tightly as you're holding him
"hey, hey." one hand cradling the back of your head, pressing you closer, “i got you.”
like he wasn't just as desperate for this. like he hadn't spent the entire flight imagining this exact moment
the video catches the way neither of you let go not after ten seconds, not after thirty, not after a minute. just standing there in the middle of the crowd holding each other like the rest of the world stopped existing
and later when the guys send him the video, they immediately start making fun of him because they catch the exact moment you start running and the exact same moment rafe drops his duffel bag without even hesitating. he pretends to be annoyed when the guys point it out
"look at that."
"man's dropped the bag already."
"didn't even give the challenge a chance."
and rafe just rolls his eyes but secretly saves the video to his favorites because it catches something he’ll never see: the exact moment both of you try to be strong and both of you failing miserably.
Synopsis. On campus? Choso Kamo’s the sweet, shy nerd you share film class with - the one who can barely meet your eyes without blushing. Online? Choso Kamo is really @cursed(your)wombz—the #1 streamer on C4mBoyfriends with 820k followers to see his…nine inches. And he might just be looking for a partner.
Pairing. Choso Kamo x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!reader, streamer!Choso, (sort of) B́J Alex AU, cámboy!Choso, college AU, he’s a nerd, film nerd!Choso, secret identities, masks, píercings (ears, tóngue, D), tattoos, chat, streaming, you’re a fan, identity reveal, exhíbitíonism, oraI (fem rec.), again PlERCINGS, tongue f, spítting, p sIapping, p talking, letting the viewers choose, fíngering with rings, overstím, dúmbifícation, Jacob’s Ladder, rough s, fiIthy s, he’s sIightly mean, tummy buIges, making it fit, pressing down, talking you through it, cIit pinching, pússydrúnk Choso, matíng presses, chokíng, manhandIing, mocking, sIight níppIe stim, creampíes, chat Iove you, cúmpIay, getting together, Phantom of the Opera references, pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 14.9k
A/N. Hehehehehe-
Sunday was the night you’d found him; sprawled out on your bed and thumbing through the Internet. Some glitzy pop song you couldn’t name blasted from your speakers, and the room was saturated in the tingly excitement of having speedy Wi-Fi, no assignments, and the night to yourself. LED lights pink.
You’re checking some of your messages - doling out a few hearts, a few reposts - when that bell-shaped button bursts in blue. A new notification.
@cursed(your)wombz liked your repost.
It was on a photograph of the Sun—big and yellow, seemingly melting over a grey horizon.
Which was perfectly ordinary- this was the Internet, after all. And though your list of followers was modest, of course you’d interact with a stranger here and there.
The problem was in the way the notification disappeared as soon as it came.
An…accident maybe? This person had liked and unliked your repost. And without a second thought, you’re typing their username into the search bar.
And clicking on their profile.
@cursed(your)wombz huh?
He had a pitch-black profile picture and a layout with nothing of note, a banner as equally colorless and unnotable, and a simple bio stating:
I know what you want…
- C.
And beneath that was a link.
It stood out stark against the black background. You don’t click on it, of course- for fear of being something malicious, you’re avoiding it like you’d avoid a minefield.
You’ve already heard one too many horror stories on here about such things. One click and you’d find your address posted somewhere. Instead, your eyes drop to the number of followers he had…and your eyebrows are immediately shooting up.
0 Following.
581k Followers.
Now that makes you blink.
Okay- alright, maybe it wasn’t the most astounding number you’ve ever seen throughout your expansive time on the Internet - but it was still niche celebrity-status. Especially on this app. Especially to be stalking an account like yours…where all you did was repost the stray picture of a pretty landscape or yell into the aether about your missing assignments for your friends to comment on.
Now that was a little strange.
And so you’re scrolling down.
And you never quite know what you’re in for whenever you enter the realm of a person’s account—fanfiction with tags you never knew existed, one part of an argument on social media that really shouldn’t exist, mpreg.
Which was all fine and dandy to be quite honest- you just never expect to be met with the most beautiful man you’ve ever laid eyes on.
The first picture you’re seeing- pinned.
Posted just an hour ago. It’s a mirror selfie taken at a low angle; of a man with his body angled towards the lens and his phone covering his face. In nothing but a towel. With nothing but his chiselled body. His beefy arms flexed as he takes the picture, biceps rippled with a few veins—though still lean and almost smooth to the touch. Pierced nipples. Defined abs. Your eyes linger on the sparse dusting of dark hair leading below, below, below his fluffy white towel…
The picture cuts off just a few inches past his navel. You know because you’re enlarging it.
The photo is almost vampiric in nature.
Somehow.
Dimly-lit. Beautiful—he clearly knew his angles and lighting. It’s slightly blurry and you can’t make out much of the man’s features - nothing more than the slender length of his fingers, silver rings, and the outline of his dark (perhaps brown?) hair. Touching his shoulders. From just above the hem of his towel, the amorphous blur of a tattoo snakes down his left v-line - and no matter how much you’re zooming in, you can’t quite figure out what it is.
Something twists at the pit of your stomach as you’re latching your eyes onto the very obvious bulge he was sporting through the towel - very.
The flash created a shadow of his lengthy cock—oh. Hanging between thick thighs, heavy and needy. And it also illuminated the slight dampness clinging onto his body; perhaps he’d just gotten out of the shower, or was about to take on after a workout.
Whichever scenario it was, both made your thighs clench- fuck.
Fingers slightly shaky, you’re exiting out of the picture and scrolling down for more.
The next post is a video seemingly taken from the very same instance: it was from the point of view of the beautiful man. Facing downwards, as he zoomed the camera in on his bulge and ran one vein-covered, ringed hand down his abs- down his pelvis- down to that throbbing erection and squeezed himself through his towel.
And then through your speakers echoes out the most pornographic moan.
Thank goodness your dorm had thick walls.
And that’s when you decide that you’ve seen enough.
Not enough as in enough enough to block this strange man and move on with your life- of course, not. As quickly as your fingers would possibly let you, you’re exiting out of the video and scrolling up to a bio that seemed to have more to hide than the first time you read through it.
The link stands mockingly stark - almost winking at you - against the dark background. You think you know what it is.
And you click on it.
Suddenly, your laptop screen’s flooding with a gaudy pink color. A loading circle swivels in the middle of it for a few seconds, before you’re met with a logo in swooping, slanted black script: C4mBoyfriends. Better than that boy in your dms.
Rapidly, you’re opening up a new tab and typing in the name.
“C4mBoyfriends is an adult streaming platform that hosts webcam performers that choose to label themselves as male. Here they can stream live video, post photographs, and interact on forums with a wide array of paying viewers—for a range of content catering to specific niches or sexual roleplays. C4mBoyfriends, since its recent launch, has shot up in the industry as one of the most-visited adult sites and the safest for its performers. All cuts go to the performers themselves and the site runs on separate donations from its audience.”
Ah- you’d guessed right.
Excitement burbles at the pit of your stomach for a few seconds. You’re clicking back onto the tab with the pink logo, and finding that it’d stopped loading.
It was in the layout of a streaming device, with static images of ongoing streams on one side of the platform, and different pages listed out on top. But what took up the majority of your screen was the vision of the very same man from before- from the mirror selfie, from the video.
This time, it was a stream.
@cursed(your)wombz is streaming—#1 streamer on C4mBoyfriends [101 week streak]. [Only solo]. Your internet boyfriend <3
0 Subscribed.
820k Subscribers.
455k Currently watching.
This time, he had his towel lifted up and his hands fisted around his fat cock.
Perfectly angled.
Your jaw drops. He was about eight- maybe more inches, though you weren’t in the state to count. Way too entranced by the way his veiny, ring-decorated hands were wrapped around his cock. Large. He was just so loooong and standing tall between wide-spread legs, shiverin’ every time he’s gliding his hand up and down. Up and down.
Again and again.
Getting faster by the second before he arches-
The edge of his thumb’s reaching for his ruby-red crown—then smearing the glistening liquid that just kept on foaming from the top. He lathers it upon his palm and drags it down his hot erection, making every inch gleam underneath the off-camera lighting.
You’re clicking on a button to increase your volume.
And just in time, too, because then he snakes his left hand down and squeezes his heavy balls- letting out a botched groan that leaves your shorts oh-so-wet.
Deep and guttural; there’s a slight quiver in them as he whispers. “F-fuck.” Just so full and sensitive—the man’s head tips backwards and his hips buck off the cushioned chair. Sluttily. As though he was fucking something invisible. It’s creaking ever-so-slightly as he settles back down, composing himself just a little bit before he starts cumming.
Pearly white droplets of cum.
Beading from the very top of his shaft - where he was the most pink n’ angry - shaking as he empties out. Globs of it start to glide down his length, and a few more collect where his silver Prince Albert’s piercing was positioned right beneath his mushroomy tip.
You’re just letting your eyes linger upon that little heap of satiny sap, when the man thumbs upwards and smears that, too. Such a mess.
And you think that might be all- but then he’s reaching his non-dominant hand upwards and pressing down on his frothing cockhead. Stopping himself from cumming - and as he leans to the side, you swear you’re glimpsing the twinkle of even more piercings on the upper side of his shaft. Was that…a Jacob’s ladder?
You’re rendered so damn speechless that you almost don’t register him speaking- “Awwww, did my pretty sluts wanna watch me cum?”
A shiver runs down your spine at the hitched tone of his voice- drunk on lust. He’s slightly slurring. So alluring, you almost catch yourself nodding.
“Well, too bad.” The man meanly snickers, before he’s suddenly reaching out with his non-dominant hand and angling it higher. The screen shifts to display that very same mouth-watering body from the picture—though, this time with the addition of a black-and-white mask that covered his features from forehead to his sharp jawline.
The only opening in it was a concave cutout for his mouth - almost reminiscent of a Phantom of the Opera mask. In the background was a clearly expensive bedroom of a clearly expensive home - far different from your single dorm - an artwork that you couldn’t name on the wall behind him. Something like a photograph or a portrait. Something about it was so precise- so cinematic. Like watching a movie scene. He continues, “Because you know why? You don’t deserve it.”
There’s a flurry of comments on one side of the screen, so fast that you wonder how he reads it.
“Didn’t I tell you to spam me with your nastiest stories in the chat?” He asks, and from beneath his mask you catch the outline of dark eyes shifting down those hurried words. Those needy comments. “None of you are nasty enough, so none of you get to see me cum…”
You’re tearing your eyes off of him to peruse what they were saying.
@girrrrrrrrrrth: nuuuuuu please, curse! i’ll get on my knees!!
@vampzo333: me too ME TOO
@likezmenpregnant: My story about the body pillow wasn’t nasty enough? TT
@CCpervnextdoor: AWWWW I’m begging~
@Curse’swifey: I’LL PAY YOU EXTRA PLEASEEEEEEE
@Curse’swifey donated 500 cherries.
“Tch- what a desperate bunch. Just fucking look at yourselves…” And though his words weren’t in the least bit nice, you couldn’t deny just how badly he made your cunt twinge.
Curse…that’s what his name was, huh?
You’re squeezing your thighs together- your sleep shorts were definitely soaked.
Curse rolls out the kinks in his neck just a little, and stares down at the camera with a crooked grin. “But that’s not gonna be enough. I said to be nasty- so be nasty.” The active chat becomes nothing but a blur once more: pleas, donations, stories half-typed in their urgency. “And in return I’ll moan whatever name you want me to moan when I cum.”
Before you know it, you’re opening up the sign-up page in a new tab.
Keeping Curse’s livestream playing in the background as you zip through your details. You’re picking out a username for yourself: Ietsmakeamovie and hastily going back to the ongoing stream with your newfound handle. Was it too obvious to make it the same username as your other account? The one that he had stalked?
Fuck- you’re too wound up to think of something else at this point. You decide that you’ll change it later…
Luckily, Curse’s stream didn’t have a paying threshold before you could comment. And you’re jittery with excitement as you pull the laptop closer to yourself and start typing out something—hitting send before you could overthink it.
@Ietsmakeamovie: Seeing you is the first time I’ve gotten this wet.
Curse’s eyes drift down the chat, and he seems to latch onto something. Eyes widening just a fraction.
“The first time?”
Fuck.
You’re feeling a jolt at the way he addresses you - never expecting him to pick out that comment amongst tens of thousands of others that were uttering even filthier things. Curse leans in and speaks with his deep tone, “Those other boys didn’t know how to treat a perfect pussy like yours, huh? This is why they call me the Internet boyfriend, baby.”
@Ietsmakeamovie: Yeah.
@Ietsmakeamovie: Fuck, you’re so hot.
@Ietsmakeamovie: I don’t even wanna look away to touch myself.
You feel embarrassed typing it all out - but you console yourself with the notion that no one here knows who you are. And you don’t know anyone here, either.
Curse leans back and starts pumping his cock even harder—taking his left hand off the drivelling top. His milky-white precum is frenzied n’ sticks to his hand like glue, and the chat grows more and more excited as Curse’s actions do the same.
“That’s alright, baby, you don’t have to finger yourself.” He chuckles, eyes locked on the comments. “I’d be doing that for you if I was there.”
@Ietsmakeamovie: Wish you were. You’d reach so much deeper.
@Ietsmakeamovie donated 1000 cherries.
“Fuh-fuck—” He hisses, head throwing back in his chair. You take the time to admire the lines of his prominent Adam’s apple - the way it bobs every time he’s taking a shaky swallow. “No need to donate or anything, baby, just keep- ngh, talking t’me like this and that’s enough…”
@0003h0lesforCurse: holy shit. i’ve never seen him like this.
@CCpervnextdoor: Needy Curse I like it~
@bewbsRlife: KEEP GOING OP KEEP GOING!!
You giggle to yourself.
@Ietsmakeamovie: Enough to make you cum, Curse?
“Greedy, greedy girl…” Through the slightest gaps in his mask you’re catching the way his nose crinkles in amusement. A wolfish smile. “S’that what you all want?”
The chat explodes in agreement.
He cocks his head, “Movie?”
Was that your new nickname now? Hastily, you reply-
@Ietsmakeamovie: Mhm.
“Well then…” He grins, toned body arching off the chair. “Get ready for a show—” Darkened gaze narrowing at the comments, “And you better not take your eyes off of me for a single second- hump your damn pillows if you have to. I don’t care.”
Quickly grabbing your own puffy pillow, you’re stuffing it between your legs.
Right as Curse lets his head loll backwards- and his cum drizzles out of his cock. He’s been edging the poor viewers and overstimulatin’ himself for so fucking long now—all it takes is a few pumps to let the cascade of white coat his hands and his rings. Just the slightest bit of silver peaking through.
Hard and fast.
The man’s cockhead flushes even redder as he drags his high out deliciously. Every burst of dopamine. Every heaving pant. Every pretty moan escaping him.
It seems to be ramming into him in waves- gooey ribbons of seed coat his digits. Getting smeared like a gloss across eeeeevery single inch, ridge, and vein—and since Curse’s pace was something furious, a few globs of cum splatter across the towel and onto his thighs. A mess that he’s seeming to love.
Because in the next few seconds, he’s wrung out just the final bits of pleasure in him- and is raising his cum-coated fingers up to his mouth and sucking. Staring straight into the camera lens as he does so.
You’re watching slack-jawed as those long, lacquered digits disappear between his lips. Finishin’ them off squeaky clean and letting his head tip to the side.
He mouths, “Movie—”
Part of your username.
Though you hadn’t asked for him to moan your name, as he’d promised to do to one of the viewers had they been nasty enough. And this special treatment…
Maybe he did it to every new viewer. Maybe he just liked how much you complimented him- though everyone else did, too. Either way, it’s perhaps what sets off the bursts of electricity between your legs—and soon enough you’re hurtling into a high you hadn’t even realized had been building up and up and up.
Your lashes flutter shut as the orgasm overtakes you.
Hips ruttin’ away into the plushness of your pillow- you wonder just how much better riding him would be…
And that’s setting off a whole new layer of dopamine at your core, your cunt quiverin’ as white-hot pleasure makes your heartbeat throb in your ears. Chest pounding. Breaths heavy.
By the time you’ve finished pushing through your high, you’re coming to find that Curse had somewhat cleaned himself up with the towel and was bantering back n’ forth with the chat. He rests his head on one hand and sweeps his eyes down the usernames, “What happened to dear Movie, huh?” Curse pretends to pout. “The first stream wasn’t too much for her, right?”
@girrrrrrrrrrth: kekekeke you’re too freaky, curse!!
@CCpervnextdoor: So dirty~
@daddytoeknee: Must thank Movie for the show though…
Urgently, you’re gathering yourself and tapping a few buttons on-screen.
@Ietsmakeamovie subscribed to @cursed(your)wombz.
@Ietsmakeamovie donated 2500 cherries.
@Ietsmakeamovie: It’d never be too much.
“Ahhh, there you are.” Such a beautiful smile smears across his face, and Curse’s leaning in to take a closer look at the comments. “And thank you for subscribing, same time tomorrow?”
You’re unsure whether that was directed at you or everyone viewing- but you’re chiming in agreement alongside the rest of the comments. And Curse reads through them, lingering for just a little while longer before he grins.
“Heh- bye, sluts.”
And he covers the camera, the stream cuts off.
Yet your heart still thunders.
Ignoring the time at the bottom of your laptop screen, you’re then clicking on his profile and scrolling through what other videos he had…
.
.
.
It was your fault that you kept dozing off.
Honestly.
You should have known better- and you know that you should’ve known better…but you couldn’t help yourself. After Curse’s initial stream, you spent some time browsing through the numerous photographs and short clips that he’d posted; there were even some saved streams that were each dirtier than the last—each with his attractive mask and his even more attractive voice, his sensual cock getting pumped over and over for the audiences.
And so you’d left a few comments, a few hearts.
Throughout all of them, you made the peculiar discovery that they were all more high-quality than the last. The standard of being the #1 on the site, you guess. But the lighting and angles were all just so perfect…
You’d watched them for just a little while- at least, what you’d thought was a little while. Because by the time you’re realizing that your laptop battery was dying, and your eyes were tired, you’re turning your head in the direction of the dorm windows and- fuck.
Why was the Sun coming up?
And so you’d rushed to get at least half an hour of sleep before you had to get up for your 8AM lecture.
Professor Yaga taught Film 101 as though he was trying to scare everyone off it. Rigorous coursework and never-altered deadlines. Though you yourself wouldn’t consider him an unreasonable man, it was impertinent to be punctual and alert in his classes - and right now, you were feeling neither of those.
By the grace of the universe, you’re somehow managing to stumble into class just two minutes after it starts. It’s not enough to rouse Yaga’s anger - and either way, you had made a name for yourself as one of his most avid students - though it does get you a sternly raised brow as you apologize and take the nearest open seat.
Just-so-happening to be in the very last row.
At the very forgotten corner.
Right beside who you knew to be Yaga’s actually most avid student—Choso Kamo.
Had it been a race between the two of you - perhaps between the entire department - Choso would have finished five times before anyone’s even stepping past the finish line. You would’ve gotten second. And that wasn’t to diminish your abilities in any way - you’d long since proven yourself to be one of the best students this course had even seen - it’s just…Choso was a film nerd through and through.
If there was anyone that could live up to such a title, then it was him.
Choso lived, slept, and breathed film and television. He could name any television show around the world with just a single frame, and most he could recite line-for-line. Oh, that? He learned Korean just to immerse himself in that scene in Parasite. That scene? It was from the 1957 Sri Lankan film Amba Yahaluwo, by the way did you know that Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom was filmed there, too?
Knitted vest. Hair in two messy space buns.
Clunky glasses rested atop his nosebridge, and dark bangs covering most of his vision, you’d often see him tottering around campus with a column of books that was damn-near taller than him. And despite his towering demeanour - from your mental counting, Choso was around 6’2 or more - around most of the student body, he was the type that couldn’t meet your eyes no matter how many classes you shared with him.
Even now, as you seated right next to him and smiled- Choso softly yelps and turns away from.
You don’t take it personally, of course, as he was simply the shy type. And by the flush that rises to his high cheekbones, you know he - at the very least - doesn’t dislike you.
Situating yourself, you’re opening your bag and pulling out your laptop. Opening it- fuck.
The briefest flash of one of Curses’s previous streams—where he had his cock in his hands and his face contorted mid-ecstasy flashes across your screen. And you can’t slam your laptop shut fast enough- cracking it just the slightest bit to exit out of the numerous tabs, fingers nothing but a blur. Thank fuck your volume hadn’t been set on high.
Head ducked, you’re looking out from the corner of your eye to check whether Choso had seen anything.
But if he did, he shows no indication.
Only keeping his back ramrod straight- his gaze ahead- his flush fiery as he listens to whatever Yaga was saying.
And so you think you’re in the clear…for now…
Opening your laptop up once more, you’re logging onto your lecture platforms and attempting to forget about last night. Which was difficult when that smile upon Curse’s face, just beneath his mask - was the only thing running through your mind.
And before you know it, you’d been staring blankly at your screen for a few seconds—before Choso inches in just a centimeter closer. Unwilling to let himself take up even more space. He keeps his eyes trained ahead and his voice - fuck, you’d never heard his voice before but it was just so deep and measured, something you wouldn’t have expected out of him - low.
Whispering to you, “H-he’s on Chapter 18 of Stone Butch Blues, we’re about to write a screenplay for the zoo scene.”
“Ah…” You don’t know whether you’re more surprised at the timbre of his voice or the way he managed a proper sentence out to you. All your previous attempts at conversation throughout the semester had been futile—and you’d long resigned yourself to the idea that he was too nervous to ever talk to you. “Th-thank you.”
He doesn’t answer but nods in shy acknowledgement.
And as you’re opening up your file, you bask in the realization that Choso Kamo was actually hot underneath those glasses. If only you could see his features further…
Maybe you’re being a little delirious. Your eyes feel heavy.
Heavy.
Heavier.
Tap-tap-tap.
A shake.
Tap-tap-tap-tap.
A warm hand on your shoulder, by the time you’re opening your eyes- you’re looking up into even warmer, molten chocolate-colored ones. They were framed by fawny eyelashes and thick glasses that made his shy gaze seem ever-so-slightly amplified.
You think you’re stunned for a few seconds before Choso speaks, “U-um…class is over.”
“Oh.” That makes you dart your head up and look around, noticing that most of the students had filtered in or were in the process of already doing so. “Oh, shit-”
You’d seriously slept through all that?
And Yaga had left you alive?!
No, you weren’t going to question this act of mercy—thank goodness for the last row, because he likely hadn’t been able to see you. Shooting upright, you’re grabbing all your things and hoping you hadn’t snored next to the sweet boy - “Thank you so much for waking me.” You’re turning towards him and saying, earnestness seeping into your tone. “Knowing me, I would’ve slept right through till next class. Might actually have been more convenient.”
He startles into a laugh then raises a hand up to his mouth and quietens himself down, “It’s alright.” You’re staring closely at the little bells of laughter, and he turns his eyes downwards. Bashfully admitting, “Happens to me too, whenever I stay up um- studying. Long night?”
You sigh, “You could say that…” Not a long night studying, but…
And as the conversation quietens down and Choso worries down on his bottom lip, you’re hiking your backpack up on your shoulders and saying. “Well, I guess I should be going then. Catch up on the recordings of the lecture and everything-” Turning, “See you ‘round—and thanks again.”
You make all of five steps before Choso finally gathers up the courage to call out-
“Wait—!”
Confused, you’re facing him once more. “Yes?”
And his hand was out, his fingers were slightly trembling. He was mouthing out the words as though still debating whether to speak them into existence - whether he was capable of. “I…we-” Eventually mustering up the courage once you give a reassuring nod, “When will we meet up?”
That makes you pause.
Was he…
“F-for the assignment.” Choso clarifies, a flush rising to his cheeks as he likely realizes he should’ve led with that. “Professor Yaga’s mid-semester project he always does…”
Ah—you’re clapping a palm on your forehead. How could you have forgotten? Yaga had announced at the start of the semester that about halfway through, the class would be paired up or put into groups to work on a collaborative project that contributed to about 50% of your grade. This semester, it was to write a full-length movie screenplay for a book or musical of your choice. And you’d been excited for it, in fact, but after the…activities of last night it’d completely slipped your mind that he’d be delving more into it this lecture.
And the poor boy stumbles through his explanation, “H-he let everyone choose their partners, and I wanted to wake you up but…you just looked so peaceful.” He fidgets with his fingers and flushes, “I th-thought one of your friends would come up here and choose you but-”
Probing him gently, “But?”
“B-but I’m afraid you ended up paired with me.” Choso just looks so genuinely apologetic- “I’m sorry- no one picked me either. I should’ve woken you up, but we can go talk with Professor Yaga about changing partners if you’d like-”
“Hey—wait.” You’re cutting off his spiel, something in your chest aching at the utterly devastated furrow between his brows. You take a step closer to him, “I would love to do the project with you, Choso. No need to talk to Yaga about anything.”
He looks up at you with wide, disbelieving eyes. “B-but your friends…”
“I don’t really have close friends in this class, anyway.” You smile, “I’d much rather do it with you.”
“Really—?” Breathed. As if he couldn’t believe it.
And it’s after some time - and a deep inhale - that he speaks again. Finally sinking in that someone would choose him of all people—that you would, that he speaks again. “And um- would you like to work on the script at my place?” Before you can answer, his breath hitches and his head shoots up. “N-not that I’m pressuring you into…it’s nothing weird, I promise! We can meet anywhere else you like- the library, your place- wait, no that’s weird, too…”
“Choso- Choso.” You giggle. And if this was anyone else then you would’ve assumed that they were putting the moves on you. “I’m okay with your place.”
.
.
.
The apartment was a fair distance away from the campus dorms.
Which made sense, you suppose, given the fact that less than half the people there would be able to afford the rent on such a place—especially after tuition. The highrise dove into the clouds, its vermicular body scaled in glistening windows and gold-accented furnishings within. You got the distinct feeling of being swallowed whole as you entered through the widely-gaped entrance, with several doormen and security that eyed you up and down, bowed at Choso.
You thanked them and made your way - slightly speechless - through the hallways.
This was everything you could ever dream of, and you’re sure you spot the odd actor or two down in the lobby. As you’re getting into an elevator the size of your entire dorm room, Choso punches in one of the highest floor numbers and turns to you-
Throughout the bus ride here, you’d been the one chattering away. And so it surprises you once he finally speaks, “I-I’m sorry…my place is a bit of a mess.”
“Can’t be as bad as mine. I won’t judge.” Who cares about a mess when he lives in a place like this? You couldn’t wait to go inside…
He pushes his chunky glasses upwards and gives you a shy smile, “Thank you.” Looking down at his polished shoes, “You’re so sweet.”
“Thank you.”
And you rise upwards in silence.
Soon enough, you’re finding yourself being led up to his massive apartment. He’s punching in the numbers of the code and setting his backpack down—telling you to make yourself comfortable. And you shuffle inside awkwardly; past the lavish furnishings and the alien-shaped lamps that all rich places seemed to boast.
He leads you in the direction of the master bedroom - where Choso said that his film collection was vast and likely to reveal techniques that the two of you would be able to incorporate into your own script.
“I even have a copy of Momijigari- it’s one of my most prized possessions.” He shoots you such a charming smile, eyes twinkling behind his glasses, over his shoulder. Heading inside.
And you can’t help but follow.
A single step inside his not-so-humble abode and you’re feeling a sudden sense of déjà vu wash over you, rendering you unsteady on your feet. Not quite sure why, you’re sweeping your eyes around the space: the high-quality camera equipment in one corner (not unusual to see for a film student), the chic furnishings, and then over to the empty wall space above the king-sized bed, something in you remained dissatisfied as they find nothing there but white plaster.
Choso notices that you’ve stalled behind and looks over at you curiously—he was taking a seat on the carpet, laptop opened up on top of the coffee table. “Something wrong? I’m sorry, I know it’s really messy but-”
“No, you’re good.” You shake your head, “It’s actually not messy enough.”
He smiles.
That night, you went home and wondered why Choso’s smile looked so familiar.
.
.
.
The musical that you’d chosen for your ‘adaptation’ was The Phantom of the Opera, suggested by you, of course.
And if there had been any connection to the masked man you’d been watching the night prior, then you were just glad that Choso had no idea.
It was far easier, given the fact that it’d already been adapted from the initial novel—though that only meant that Yaga would be critiquing yours even harder.
So you had to strive to be more cinematic, than the others in your class, stronger in ways than the ones before you - and though you doubt you’d ever match up to Schumacher’s visuals, there was little doubt as to whether you’d be the best amongst the students. This was a screenplay made to impress, and in the week since you’d pored over it—and Choso Kamo’s mahogany coffee table typing away at it, you only grew more determined in the fact. And throughout the week, you’ve been flitting in and out of that very apartment of his.
Choso had been a lovely partner for the project - the best you could’ve ever asked for - and you’re coming to find that he was actually far more funny than anyone ever gave him credit for. Far more open. Far more active when it came to something he was passionate about.
And of course, you knew that he’d be sweet.
Despite his initial insistence that he could do the project himself, you’d taken up half the work. And you’d joined him in browsing through his massive catalogue of movies, in searching up screenplays to read, and in annotating them for techniques when starting to write yours.
You’ve come to make friends with one of the doormen by now.
Just today you’d watched the 2004 Phantom of the Opera adaptation. And after a few hours of occupying his space and getting to know the nerdy boy a little better, you’d go straight back home to…Curse.
Whenever Choso made you feel tingly with his sweetness, Curse would amplify that heat to right between your legs.
It’s been a week of getting to know Choso Kamo, and a week of having Curse splashed across your laptop screen—cock furiously hard n’ his moans echoing. He’d smile and utter your username whilst wearing his iconic mask and it’d be a high strong enough to follow into the day after. And often Choso would ask you what you’re so happy about.
Today, in particular, Curse had just finished one of his streams - cumming aaaaaall over the desk this time - when he’d settled himself back down and started chatting with the comments. Responding to one or two of yours.
You’re just about to joke about why he was sticking so long after his orgasm when he speaks once more-
Voice somewhat serious, “Alright, now…settle down, settle down.” Curse waves his hand airily at the camera, throwing a middle finger up when the chat only gets more frenzied. “Tch- what brats you all are, would you wanna roleplay that someday?”
@vampzo333: YES PLEASE.
@likezmenpregnant: How about you be the brat…?
@Ietsmakeamovie: I would like that.
@sixeyesorsixh0les: ^^
@0003h0lesforCurse: ^
“Fine fine…” Underneath the mask, he rolls his eyes fondly. “But I really do have something to announce-”
@likezmenpregnant: You’re pregnant.
@Ietsmakeamovie: I’m the father-
@Curse’swifey: NO MEEEEEEEEEEE!!
“I’m thinking of getting a partner for these streams.” He finally admits, rubbing his chin as though still in thought. And your heart stops-
@bipplruletheworld: so down.
@Cursenoticeme44: Omg yeeeeeeeeees!!
@daddytoeknee: YESYESYES.
The chat practically explodes, and you’re unsure what to feel about it—after all, you don’t know Curse and it’d be strange to feel a little possessive over his solo streams, however, you did have your preferences. But then again, you can’t help but imagine just how much hotter it would be to have two people- perhaps to see him make expressions he never has before…
Ultimately, you’re quiet as Curse leans in and scans the chat. His brows furrow just a little as he sweeps through the blurring usernames, “I dunno…I’m still thinking about it- I haven’t even asked this person, to be honest. I just wanted to know what you guys thought.” Nodding his head along or huffing out laughter at some of the comments, “Movie?”
You jolt—at being called out.
He wanted your opinion specifically? You suppose you did contribute to about half his comment section most streams.
But you stall as your fingers reach for the keyboard.
Biting down on your lip and contemplating for a little while. Though he waits as patiently as ever-
@Ietsmakeamovie: I don’t mind!!
Something seems to wash over him as he reads your comment, nodding. “I see.”
He moves onto something else and his expression was indiscernible.
You’re flickering your eyes to the artwork behind him, the small corner of it peaking into the frame, and it suddenly hits you that it’s the theatrical poster of The Phantom of the Opera (2004).
.
.
.
It can’t be.
It can’t be.
It can’t be.
There’s something your brain was telling you that you’re absolutely refusing to believe—after all, how many people in the world loved The Phantom of the Opera? Hell, how many people in the world have watched The Phantom of the Opera?
That didn’t mean that everyone you came across had a secret identity as one of the hottest streamers on C4mBoyfriends.
You were being paranoid, you told yourself. You were being utterly silly- and the next time you’re going over to Choso’s apartment was the very next day. Which wasn’t entirely ideal, given how much you’d tossed and turned after Curse’s last stream conjuring up all the possibilities…but Yaga wouldn’t accept a request for an extension even if you were set on fire in front of him. And so you went.
The pit of your stomach twists as Choso swings the lavish wooden door open and gives you a beaming smile. So innocent. So sweet.
He shakily pushes his glasses up as he welcomes you in. “Come in—s-sorry if I took a while to get to the door, I’ve been doing some decorating recently.”
His nervous smile is what makes you find your voice. And you’re dubiously looking around the luxurious apartment, “You need to do some decorating?”
“Believe it or not, yes.” Choso huffs. “Would you like something to drink? Or maybe to eat? I checked out that bakery you recommended last time and you’re right- they have the best Danish pastries.”
“Actually, Choso…” You’re shaking your head, shooting him a grateful smile. “I’m good. I’d think I’d prefer to start right away, if that’s alright? I really wanna get to Act 2 today.”
“O-oh, of course—!”
And he’s sweetly guiding you inside, whilst you attempt not to look like you’re taking two steps at a time. Back to that familiar room. Back to that familiar desk. Back to that (somewhat) familiar bed which most certainly did not have an artwork from The Phantom of the Opera on it—
You open the door and the first thing you’re seeing is the familiar plane of that white mask. The Phantom.
Choso follows behind you and catches you staring at the poster. Gravelly tone echoing from behind, “I told you I did some decorating.”
And you jump-
Swivelling around to find him bearing you a sheepish smile, “Sorry if I startled you.” He pushes those chunky glasses up, “Tea?”
“S-sure…” You breathe, if anything for a thing to occupy your mouth with. Wait- not like that—!
And as Choso disappears down the hall, you’re taking a seat on the bed you’ve sat on countless, countless times before without a single care in the world. Now you’re sinking into the very - the very - edge as though it’d swallow you whole.
Body just resting on the plush comforter before-
“Hey, so I also have coffee if you would prefer?” Comes Choso’s sudden voice.
And you’re startling once more- “Just tea is fine, thanks.” Barely managing to get that through your lips, you’re watching as he disappears…as the sound of his footsteps echo…
Before darting off the bed and now heading towards the camera equipment you’d noticed in the corner the first time you’d been here. What you’d assumed to be part of another one of his classes or personal projects. Now, you’re leaning in and wondering with just which camera he showed his pretty cock off to millions, at just what height of his tripod he made your cunt so heated.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck this was real.
Now, you’re noticing things in the room that you’d never noticed before. Like the ring light kept underneath his bed, and the dresser in the corner with numerous rings- those weren’t costume props or anything. They were pure silver.
Heavy.
Heavy, like the pit in your stomach—excited and swirling. Just trembling at the tips of your fingers - ever-so-slightly - you’re reaching out as though to touch it, as though to feel the alternate version of Choso that you knew longer than you knew Choso-
“Ah, so you’ve realized.”
And then his voice permeates the room.
The room that suddenly seems smaller, the room that suddenly seems to rise ten degrees in temperature - though goosebumps skitter across your skin. And almost as though in a horror movie, you’re turning in slow motion to face the bespectacled man who was now holding up a tray of steaming hot tea.
He walks over soundlessly and sets it on the coffee table with a slight click! And besides that, Choso walks over to the dressing table and puts his silver rings on.
One by one.
His eyes hold court with yours through the mirror, “How long?” Voice a deep timbre.
You’re taking a step closer without even realizing, “Um…just last night. Just now- actually.”
He chuckles and you realize he’s asking how long you’ve known about Curse.
“I-I found you by chance. About a week ago, actually…” And then you say what’s been on your mind ever since you had, “Ever since you liked and unliked my repost.”
“Ah, a rookie mistake.” Choso comments. “I should have known better than to stalk using my public account.” And with all rings now put on and glinting in the lighting of his bedroom, Choso shuffles through his jewellery tray to pluck his earrings in and one eyebrow piercing. And then…one lip piercing—a lip ring that twinkles mischievously as he smiles.
He rises and you think you’ve never quite appreciated his built frame.
His deep eyes as they’re locking in on you. Echoing out, “Though…you really can’t say much- can you, Movie?”
And though you knew that he knew- you can’t stop the zaps of electricity running through your body.
Sputtering out, “Yeah-” Your fists clench and you’re looking up at the object of both your fantasies and your secret interest these past few days - melded into one. “Yeah, I really can’t. Choso you’re so…”
“Different?” He fixes his glasses, “Though I really am shy, I can’t deny that- especially around you. But it helps to be a little more antisocial when I’m around idiots.”
He leans in closer- so close that his scorchin’ hot breath wafts across your features. You have no idea how you’d diminished such a distance so soon…
“And if my memory serves me right-” Choso taps on the edge of his chin, in mocking thought. “-I seem to remember that Movie agreed to have a partner on my stream.” You shiver. And he looks at you adoringly, “So how about it? Wanna make a movie, baby?”
You step a little closer.
“Only if I get to match wardrobes.”
He chuckles and picks you up to spin you around-
And then it’s getting to work. And then it’s shuffling through his closet to find a mask that matches his own.
He stretches on the rubber a bit and brings it to you—“I bought this one when I first started, but it ended up being too tight- I think it’d be just the one for you.”
It was. It fit perfectly.
And then he paces around the room and starts to set up- before Choso’s gaze catches you hovering around the bed, and then he’s clicking his tongue and forgoing the tripods altogether. With just the professional lights and the high-quality camera, Choso places the camera on top of the coffee table. Facing the foot of the bed - everything and anything could be seen.
Just with a few clicks he’s started the stream.
And with just a little nudge he’s urging you to sit next to him.
“Hello, my little sluts—” Choso- or should you say Curse croons towards the camera. On one of his monitors you can see him being projected there - waving, in his knitted vest that clashed with his mask. You stand off awkwardly out of sight from the camera. He smiles. “As you can see, things are a little different today…”
@girrrrrrrrrrth: uuuuuu change of angle!! change of angle!!
@bewbsRlife: ARE WE GETTING A SURPRISEEEEEEE??
@likezmenpregnant: Pls be pregnant, Curse <3
“No- no, I’m not pregnant.” He laughs, “But I have been thinking about what we talked about last night.”
@bipplruletheworld: omg this can’t be…
“And guess what? I did what you guys told me about- and I talked to her.”
@bipplruletheworld: yessssssss
@yoyoyoureinmypuss: I’VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS ONE^^
@bewbsRlife: WOOOOOO-
@daddytoeknee: Omg where’s Movie, Ik she’d love this- heh. Imagine this WAS Movie though…
“So, my little sluts…” Choso announces, “I’d like to introduce you all to my new partner—” And he’s reaching out and clasping your wrist, looking up to check for reassurance before continuing. Miming whispering to the camera, “And this is her first time on stream, so be nice…”
You’re sheepishly walking into their view.
Slightly bowing your intrusion into the stream, “Th-thanks for having me?”
“Isn’t she cuuuuute?” He asks the commenters, and there’s a flurry of agreements. You’re even spotting a few questions about your name n’ interests, even kinks, amongst those - all of which Choso waves off with a laugh. “Now now—we can have the Q&A later. For now, let’s get to the fun part…”
@Curse’swifey: FUCK THAT’S MY FAV PART-
@2coolforcond0ms(i’mavirgin): Movie you’re missing out on a historic moment uwu
And the fun part consisted of clamoring onto the bed as fast as lightning. Letting the mattress dip n’ creak its protests out as Choso sits on it with his back turned to the camera, then lovingly pats his manspread thighs as a signal for you to climb on. Meaty muscles. Thick enough for you to want to sink your teeth into- how could you never have noticed?
Perhaps because this was the polar opposite of how he acted when he was on campus - always keeping to himself, never taking up too much space. Now he was practically vacuuming it all up so you had nowhere else to sit.
And you were more than happy to climb onto Choso Kamo’s lap.
Sitting your ass down on his readily-awaiting seat. From under your skirt you feel something hot—and throbbing between his legs. Cylindrically shaped and curved to the left.
Just the slightest movement makes his rock-hard erection twitch underneath- and you’re whimpering at the lewd sensation. At the way he drips out a hefty dollop of precum that seeps through his trousers and sticks to the front of your panties, making you gasp—“Ch-Cho-”
“Shhhh.” Choso wraps a hand ‘round your throat and cuts you off.
And before you know it, he’s bouncing his knees to get you to slide your drippin’ pussy up and down his bulge. Up and down. Turning towards the camera, “Ya hear that?” Up and down. “My girl’s so needy- she’s already begging for it. But I dunno if she deserves it, huh?”
@bewbsRlife: I MEANNNN
@theh0rniestsoldier: i’m feeling mean today…
@daddytoeknee: Give her your mouth!!
“Mouth? I love that idea.” Choso titters.
And then he’s giving a teasing slap on the side of your ass cheeks—smack!
“Please-”
“Sit on my face now, baby.” He purrs, eyes flickerin’ with pure need underneath his mask. Then leaning in to whisper in a loooow tone for only you to hear. “You know Choso, but let’s see if you can handle Curse.”
Then he leans back on the bed - his head pointing in the direction of the camera.
And you’re shuffling up Choso’s toned, brick-hard body—straddling your knees upon either side of his head, veerin’ your hips right atop that pretty face. You’re sitting - right in front of the camera. Though nothing was revealed…yet.
And Choso’s digging his tongue up to you instantly- he isn’t even making it past the fabric of your panties. But that doesn’t stop him from lettin’ his tastebuds take a looooong, luxurious lick of your swollen pussy.
Right down your sopping wet slit.
Suddenly, the room echoes with one of his pornographic moans- the very same ones you’d listened to night after night through your laptop speakers. Now they’re even louder, and somehow even sexier, sending electricity shooting straight up, up, up from your core.
And even more treacherous was the way you’re feeling something cold…and metallic at the very middle of Choso’s tongue. Rock-hard. It takes whatever’s left of your rationality to realize that it’s a silvery tongue piercing smack-dab where his tastebuds kissed your pussy. Scraping alongside where you were most sensitive.
Instantly; your head tips back and saliva starts bubbling at the sides of your lips. “Fuh-fuck…” And before you know it—you’re starting to drag your throbbing pussy up n’ down his features.
Short, barely-there jerks of your shy, shy hips.
And Choso chuckles huskily to himself at the cute way you were yearnin’ for his mouth. But what you didn’t expect was for him to reach one ringed hand up and squeeze the left side of your hips.
Your only warning.
Before he’s suddenly tightening his hold on you and reaching one more hand up- snaking it beneath your skirt like some pervert. Choso edges towards your throbbing cunt and places one good slap—
It’s the resounding smack! of skin-on-skin that makes you halt more than anything.
Jaw-dropped. Thighs quivering. The white-hot pleasure runs through your spine and leaves you barely hearing his roughened words, a tone lower than you knew his voice to be- as though drunk on the delicious taste of your pussy already. “Greedy, greedy girl…” Choso tuts, “Don’t tell me you’re trying to enjoy yourself without letting our dear audience in on the fun?”
Oh, shit.
You’re letting your head snap to where the camera was positioned and blinking its one gluttonous eye. Comments flooding the screen of the monitor so fast that you couldn’t read them-
You’d completely forgotten about the stream for a second.
“I—oh, I um.”
Yet another harsh smack! “Forgot, huh?” Amusement seeps into Choso’s words, as though he’d already guessed the situation.
You admit, “M-maybe…”
“I’m afraid I can’t blame you, baby.” Smack! “Curse’s mouth is too good, huh?” He yammers on and on, his tongue nudging deeper, his rippling tastebuds skidding into every ridge- as if trying to fuck you through your damn panties. “This pussy’s too good–she’s purring f’me already. Hear her?”
And you’re not sure why- but you’re nodding to whatever he says. “Y-yes—fuck.”
“Mhm. So why don’t we let our lovely audience hear, too, huh?” You’re barely given the time to register his suggestion, before Choso husks out a command. “Lift your skirt up, baby.”
Your thighs squeeze around his head at the notion-
And your fingertips touch the short hemline of your skirt.
@Cursenoticeme44: Holy shit.
@theh0rniestsoldier: i’ve been waiting for thisssssssssss-
@daddytoeknee: WOW.
@girrrrrrrrrrth: bby’s so needy!!
@R€4leater: munch Curse #canon
The chat explodes as you let them bear witness to Choso’s face stuffed between your pretty legs- he’s redly-flushed and ravenous. They could see the slightest glimpse of his nose n’ the way he’s driving it between your sodden pussylips, diving and diving, they could see the glossy layers coating your cunt—and the way Choso’s pink lips come up to suck on it.
Those handsome cheeks of his hollow out, as he’s makin’ out with your pussy through your panties.
Like a man starved.
Long canines slightly nippin’ at your folds- almost wolfish in mannerisms.
“Oh p-please…” You’re quivering atop him. You don’t even know what you’re begging for—just that it feels so good to have him veering his tongue hungrily against your cunt like this. And you wanted more.
More, more, and more.
Choso’s holding onto your restless hips with a clammy hand- he’s stuck to you almost like adhesive. And he guides your hips - he fucking slows them down - whilst you continue moanin’ and shaking atop his raw mouth. Glistening wet tongue extending even more than its usual length to slide-slide-sliiiiide your panties to the side-
And you’re gasping at the sudden whiff of cold bedroom air against your naked pussy. “Ch-” A spank. “I mean- fuck, Curse?”
“Mhm, m’here, baby.” He drawls out. Slightly slurring with all the extra globs of your pussy juices - pooling straight into your mouth, n’ Choso reaches up and smooches your soft swollen folds to smear it all around. Like some gloss. “M’here aaaaaand- so are 820k sluts that wanna watch you break.”
“B-break?” You’re gaping, “I thought you were just gonna- ngh, eat me out…?”
“Baby, Curse never ‘just’ does anything.” And you’re shocked to find him sliding his tongue out, tipping his head back to refer to the camera on the coffee table. “Isn’t that right, fuckin’ pervs?”
@daddytoeknee: Hell yeah.
@0003h0lesforCurse: duhhhhhhhhh
@yoyoyoureinmypuss: YOU’RE THE BEST CURSE
@Fishygurodad: Fuck, her pussy’s divine.
“Heh…” Choso smiles into your cunt, “And so whaddaya say? How many slaps before I stick my tongue in her?”
@vampzo333: 3
@bbynohuuuuzz: 14
@Ilikepr1menumbers: 29
“Since m’feeling nice- read your favorite one out, baby.” He murmurs.
To which you’re unable to do anything but- you tilt your upper half just the slightest bit closer to the monitor and pick out the first one you can read through the blur of words and numbers:
@Fishygurodad: Until she cries.
Oh.
Your blood runs cold.
Your cunt grows heated.
And before you can either rectify your recitation or beg for mercy—Choso doesn’t hesitate before fixing the rings on his fingers to be slightly higher than before. Making sure they’re in line of him planting one- two- three good, loud spanks on your sobbin’ cunt. “O-oh my god- fuck, mmm, oh my god.”
Until the skin of his fingertips seems to redden, and your pussylips feel raw - “How about that?” He asks- not from you, but from the viewers.
@daddytoeknee: I don’t see her crying yet…also idkkkkk I’m getting Movie vibes.
@girrrrrrrrrrth: movie would’ve loved this-
And then it’s one after the other. Again and again, Choso’s emblazoning the rude outlines of his rings against yours - until you’ve fucking memorized the ridges n’ patterns of the one ring on his middle finger with the carving of an octopus.
Tentacles flared out.
“Shit, not that damn ring again.”
And as he’s doing so he can’t help himself- fuck, he can’t heeeeelp himself. His canines dig into the sticky fabric of your underwear like a damn dog - and throughout the duration of what his hands were doing, you’re hearing the sharp riiiiip of fabric tearing—!
Soon enough, your panties are tattered and ruined in Choso’s maw- just from his mouth. He spits it out and continues swerving his thickened tips inwards to give a loving pinch on your clit—and you can’t help but burst into peals of shrill, needy cries. Both pain and pleasure mixing as he doles out a final swat-
Before Choso swipes your pussylips apart and spits- the glutinous glob of his saliva landing directly on your hole. He doesn’t give it the time to seep back out—instead, he’s surging up and shoving his face between your legs.
This time, without the barrier of your panties in the way.
@CCpervnextdoor: HE FUCKING RIPPED IT OFF WITH HIS MOUTH??
@bewbsRlife: HOLY SHIT CURSE-
@Fishygurodad: Shiiiiit, I’d do the same ngl.
And then Choso’s shoving his tongue inside and slurpin’ all around your wet hole like a damn animal…
In and out.
In and out.
Probin’ into slippery sweet spots.
Chin hitting the back of your slit. Plastic mask rubbing against your clit.
Choso’s pierced tongue was going absolutely fucking wild inside of you. He wastes no time before gripping either side of your cute hips and slammin’ your pussy down onto his mouth- hard and fast. The perverted nerd is slashing his tongue inwards, smearin’ apart your glue-covered folds. As deep as he could go. He doesn’t care if it hurts, he just needs to make sure that loooong slick muscle of his tastebuds were scrapin’ every inch of your walls.
With the curved tip of it, he flexes it against a sweet bundle of nerves. Making you buck with a pitchy moan of his name—“Ch-Cuuuurse—!” And the sensation was made even more delicious with the way his orb tongue piercing presses in contrast against your hot cunt. “It feels so good, Curse.”
“I already know.” Choso pipes up- cocky in all the ways you never knew he could be. “I already know- but what about those fuckers watching, huh?”
“W-well…” Spit drivels down your chin, and you’re struggling to keep your eyes focused to read the urgent chat.
@bipplruletheworld: they’re so HOT!!
@NERDSAREMYBABYGIRLZ: OHHHH WHAT A MUNCH
@daddytoeknee: Me next <3
And it was clear that they were seeing the effect he had on you- how could they not?
Your eyes were dazed and teary, your thighs were shaking like leaves in the wind, Choso was making your body twitch—just from the way he’s reeling his entire tongue out. And breathing out steadily and slowly against your twitchin’ pussylips, freezing cold air that leaves you even wetter on top of him.
He’s unfastening his mouth - leaving it wiiiiide open for all the satiny ribbons of your slick to enter his gullet. And once you’re done- that isn’t enough riling you up.
Choso leaves a good slap on your folds and asks, “So…what about it?” Muffled through his mouthfuls.
“They agree- they agree—” You’re keening out. Star-struck, seeing pleasure burst behind your shuttered eyelids at the sudden stinging. “Fuck- you’re the hck! best I’ve ever had, Curse.”
“I agree.” He hums. And as if this entire ordeal wasn’t sinful enough, Choso’s swashing around the silky-smooth sap he’d collected from your leaking pussy. Letting the flavor seep into his tastebuds, before he’s then spitting again on your pussy. A semi-opaque layer of lewdness that coats your inner thighs in a sheen that catches the lighting.
Perfect on camera.
You’re squeezing your wettened thighs together and creating an audible squelch!
“Awwww, look- this pussy agrees, too.”
The gooey addition startles you- and you rut.
Only straight down onto his awaiting fingers.
@girrrrrrrrrrth: oh, shit is he…
@legsopenforcurses: With the rings on, too!!
@likezmenpregnant: My show is onnnnn
It’s such a fucking mess for him to navigate- even with his own fingers. Soon enough, you’re arching your back as you feel him intrude a single ringed digit between those utterly swollen pussylips of yours—almost difficult to find your snug hole between them. You’re damn lucky that Choso’s fingers were slender as well as incredibly lengthy.
Because he’s circlin’ your tight orifice a few times - only a few times - before inserting the sections of his finger. Quirking just right and hitting the exact bundle of your nerves.
That infamous g-spot that made you yelp once he starts and keeps on hitting.
And his rings- oh, fuck, his rings.
Just so chunky and textured. They were the perfect designs to press up against your walls and massage them stupid- every drag meant that you’re feeling them dig into ridges n’ crevices you hadn’t even known existed.
Hitting and hitting. Curling his dexterous finger and scraping- “Fuuuuck, oh my god.” The doughy tip of his finger soon becomes damn-near molded to the area where it was, and your eyes flicker to the back of your head as you continue anglin’ your hips so he could hit it perfectly. “Right there, Curse- r-right there.”
“I know.” Choso rolls his eyes - at least what seems like it underneath his mask. “That’s why I’m hitting it. Honestly…is my girl dickmatized?” He utters as he sucks on your clit—ultimately erupting a sobbing slurp! that makes him nod. “Mhm, I think my girl’s dickmatized.”
Tipping his head back before you can refute his claims. He then addresses the audience-
“Whaddaya think, my little pervs? Dickmatized already…maybe I should go easy on her, huh?”
@olderandR4w: nooooooooooo
@yoyoyoureinmypuss: NEVER.
@Fishygurodad: Go even harder.
“Tough crowd.” And with that said, Choso’s stuffin’ in just a few more fingers. Each with their own numerous rings and sopping wet sounds accompanying them—slurp!
One.
Two.
You’re counting about three of his prolonged digits pushin’ your tight walls to their limits, rubbing your sweet spots raw with his constant bashing rhythm, before lustful fogginess coils around your brain. And it’s around here that Choso catches onto the glazed look in your eyes and chuckles—
“Ohhhh, you really are dickmatized.” He hums to himself, though you’re sure the professional mic picks it up either way. “And so soon, too. Probably hasn’t had a good finger-”
A fourth being added so that he can scissor apart your velvety channel whilst still multi-tasking with his other fingers to ram into your g-spot.
“-or even a good mouth on ‘er…” To emphasize his point, he presses a dramatically loud kiss upon your clit. One that’s making you bounce n’ bounce your hips atop his clammy face, and grind your throbbing nub down on his pointed nose. The addition of his mask just makes that cool touch even more lecherous. “My poor girl.” Choso still mutters out despite the way he’s gluing your cunt to his mouth. He pulls away from your clit with a loud pop! “What do you think, my slutty audience?”
At the slurring question you’re letting your head down to watch him. “Ch…Curse, what’ve you got on your mind-”
“M’just asking what else you deserve, baby.” He coos. And questions them once more, “How about a little quiz? Which parts of Curse are going to make my poor, poor girl feel the best? A). My fingers. B). My mouth. Or…”
And he pretends to listen to your noisy wet pussy once more.
“Or C…” You could practically feel the grin plastering against your needy pussy. The way his eyes narrow in sinful amusement beneath his mask- you didn’t have to see his full face to know that Choso was enjoying this perhaps way more than he should. “—all of the above.”
And it was futile to think that they would answer anything else.
C floods your vision.
You’re letting your mouth droop, and your gaze meet Choso’s own between your legs- but you’re finding that you don’t have to say a thing for him to already know the answer.
And as expected, he gives a final roll of his tongue atop your clit - before munchin’ on your aching cunt once more. This time, he’s tunneling his fingers deep into your cavern whilst still licking inside with his prolonged tongue—when stretched out, Choso’s tongue could reach almost as deep as his fingers could.
Your cunt was being stretched-out to lengths you never thought about before.
Not only were Choso’s fingers thicker than yours, but his tongue was something ravenous- no matter how much you’re flinching in sensitivity, he isn’t slowing down. “Mmm-” He groans, barely breathing through even his flared nostrils. You’re hit with the distinct feeling that he thinks he doesn’t even have to breathe as long as he had you on him like this - “Mmm, hold still.”
Taking advantage of the fact to lavish your sensitive inches with kiss upon kiss. To grind his nose down purposefully on your clit. To glide his metallic piercing across those hidden spots. To bash your poor g-spot in again and agaaaain with his fingers before his tongue’s coming to the rescue to soothe the slightly raw sting-
So it’s not long before you’re throwing your head back and cumming.
Perhaps the strongest you’ve ever felt when you’re in the throes of your high.
You barter your hips forwards and keep up a steady pace - one that’s making Choso hit the exact spots you wanted him to during the peaks of your high. The utmost peaks. “Shit—shit, just like that.” Breathless. “K-keep going, baby, it feels so good.”
And he doesn’t even answer - too caught up in fucking you through your orgasm.
In the way you shudder above him. In the way you’re only getting even sweeter by the second-
Bodyheat raising a few degrees in temperature; your heart sings and the bed creaks with how much you’re jostling from above. This was even better than touching yourself to videos of him, there were so many thrills of bliss that he’s wringing out of you- like he’d wring out of himself during his solo videos.
With both his fingers and his tongue, slurpin’ and sliding. Those doe-like eyes of his are edging straight to the back of his skull as he feels your drenched walls cleeeeench around his pierced tongue, as though it’s the best thing he’s ever fucking felt. And you’re acting on impulse - you really are - because the coffee table was positioned right beside the foot of the bed.
And all you had to do was reach your arm out to grab the simple camera there. Turning it into your point of view as Choso’s sweaty brown bangs stick to his forehead, as sweat trickles down his temple, as he lets out soft yet unyielding moans whenever you’re squeezing your thighs around his head.
@cockycockowner: no homo but that’s the most beautiful man i’ve ever seen.
@theh0rniestsoldier: woah he’s PUSSYDRUNK
@Fishygurodad: Show me his POV.
@daddytoeknee: Don’t you know that she’s his girl now smh?^^
@daddytoeknee: Movie-core- wya ml??
Choso cocks his head and keeps making out with your pussy in all the ways that make your toes curl—pleasure elongating from your orgasm and spreading into every part of you. Your vessels, your cells, your atoms.
They’re all buzzing with pleasure and still aching for more once Choso finally pulls away with a loud pop! of his lips releasing.
When they do, you’re sneaking a look down at him and noticing just how red n’ swollen they were. Even the skin around his jaw was flushed with the constant ramming contact. And the viewers are just gobbling it up - subscribing bells keep dinging here and there, and everywhere.
Just a single look at his stats on-screen reveal that Choso’s climbed up to 870k just since you’d started this stream.
And it’s after a little while - after he’s had his fill - that the dark-haired man finally taps at the side of your thigh to gesture for you to get up. Though, even then, he’s tightening his grip on your body—going against his own fucking instruction to press a final few open-mouthed kisses before he’s done.
He chases after your pussy with his maw for a little- before he’s finally sitting up.
And it’s only then that he seems to notice the camera in your hand, blinking his glazed eyes a few times to make sure he isn’t dreaming things up. Once it finally registers, the most attractive grin spreads across his face. “You changed POVs?”
“Had to.” You admit, “I wanted them to see how pretty you are…”
“Guess you finally learned about sharing, hm? Greedy girl.” He chuckles darkly to himself. And then he starts looming closer, “But you realize that the show’s not done yet, right?”
You gulp.
@Fishygurodad: Fuck her already, damn!! I’m only here for her.
@2coolforcond0ms(i’mavirgin): Hate to admit it, but he’s lowk right. I think I’ve discovered I’m bi…
@vampzo333: ^^
@girrrrrrrrrrth: ^^
“So impatient.” He looks at the monitor, reading the chat and tuts. “Honestly- so ungrateful. I should end the stream right here and fuck her on my own terms.”
There’s a frenzied flurry of comments- all of which you were sure were begging for Choso not to stop and bashing that one commenter for attempting to start a revolution. To which you’re only giggling and handing over the camera to him.
Choso - as the expert - then positions it somewhere by the edge of the fluffy pillows: where they’d be able to see the expanse of both your bodies and where you’d soon be connected…
And then you’re shedding your clothes in a hurry- making it to your smart blouse before he’s reaching a hand up and tearing through it. The buttons hit the floor, and at your noise of displeasure Choso merely lets out a half-delirious giggle.
He leans in and whispers, “I-I have a Phantom of the Opera t-shirt I’d love for you to wear.”
The change in demeanour gives you utter whiplash, and you can’t help but stare at him open-mouthed.
“What?” Choso asks, next moving on to shrugging off his own fabrics. They’re landing on a heap beside the bed, and your lips slightly part at the display of his red-hot erection—it’s just as large and sensual as all those streams had proven him to be. Polished strawberry top. Slender veins along the middle.
A happy trail of dark brown - nearly black - glistened with the splattered remnant of his precum. Just like the gleaming mess across his chin, mouth, and cheekbones that Choso wore like a medal.
He was slightly longer than even on camera- and even prettier up-close. Way up close- he shuffles his body up yours n’ fucks your tits a few times to dollop out glistening translucent precum across yours tits.
“Lighting’s not the best here.” Choso explains- or at least attempts to pin an explanation onto that. Onto something he’s clearly been wanting to do for so long. “Had to highlight ‘em, baby.”
You scoff, “It’s just…” Throwing a cautious glance at the camera, you lower your voice. “You’re so different from how you are in real life.”
“Oh? And how did you expect me to be, huh?” He positions himself between your legs - wrapping both of them around his waist. Before then thinking better of it and throwing them even more lewdly around his neck instead—his plush priggish tip kisses your entrance. “Did you expect me to be like…”
He trails off.
He doesn’t need to complete the rest of his sentence- and you don’t think you’d have heard him even if he tried.
Because in that very moment, Choso’s jerking his pale hips back a mere few inches—then plopping his globular tip between your pussylips and push-push-puuuuuushing. Fucking past the initial restraint of your first ring of muscle, he’s funneling in some thick inches that make your heels bang against the muscles of his back.
And he doesn’t even seem to notice.
He doesn’t even seem to breathe as he’s letting his cock swerve inside. Get suctioned inside. Get his Prince Albert’s piercing crept down your sensitive innards. Get gobbled up between your greedy legs-
You clench ‘round him and Choso throws his head back with a low, broken moan.
“Oh p-please—” He’s babbling out through unsteady pink lips, a lazy line of dribble starting up from one corner of his mouth. Those long lashes of his flutter as he’s reaching one bulky hand up to grip the headboard, and placing his right one on your hips- keeping you steady.
Fingers trembling. Muscles rippling.
@likezmenpregnant: Woah…make him do that again…
@sixeyesorsixh0les: SUBBY CURSE HELLO??
@whimperwhiteboywhimper: oh I am SO here for this
@Fishygurodad: Whatever…
Your eyes bulge once his throat cracks with what sounds like a whimper—“Please it feels so good.” And though you couldn’t quite make it out, even the chat seemed stunned as Choso punctures out a broken stutter of his hips. Delving a few inches into your goopy insides- though not enough to bottom out completely, as you’re still too wound-up for him to fit completely. And you’re able to pinpoint exactly where he’s using the orbed metal of his first piering. With more to come…“Ngh- oh.” Broken noises emanating into your eardrums and the mic. “It f-feels shooooo good, baby.”
Choso’s head drops into the crook of your neck, and there - and there - you’re feeling his cheeky grin.
And suddenly you’re understanding.
Oh—he was toying with you.
And he was doing it in a way that’d completely fooled you- and perhaps all of his viewers, too.
But before you’re able to open your mouth to bite back something at him, Choso staggers his hips back and gives you a vicious jackhammer with his cock, “O-ohhhhh, my god—” Your toes curl atop his shoulders, slippery with sweat. He hadn’t even rammed all the way inside yet, and yet the slightly left-leaning angle of his shaft was driving you wild.
Big and thick.
Running the slick globe of his tip down your walls, Choso probes a direct hit to that spot you loved so much. And he knew you loved it so much—he’d mapped out your entire pussy earlier, of course.
And yet, he’s still gasping as though the pearls gates of heaven had descended right here and there. He’s letting his sweet caramel eyes widen convincingly as he peers down at you, “I-is that…the spot, baby?”
@Curse’swifey: HE sounds SO NGH.
@daddytoeknee: Daddy likey…
@daddytoeknee: Also Movie would’ve really LOVED this, huh?
You hiss, “Curse, you should already know-”
“But how could I know—?” He exclaims. “This is my first time, after all…” Then Choso’s plastering his clammy tattooed hips - with a snake on the side - to yours, as though the two were connected by the force of the world’s strongest magnets: pulling and pushing, pulling and pushing. Every single battering ram of his mazing cocktip ends up lodged against your sweetly bruised g-spot, marking his circumference out with the sheer pace at which he was hitting it.
“Shit—” Your nails clench on the sheets, and feeling jealous- Choso guides them to fist his hair instead. “Shit, right there. It f-feels so good-”
“There?” The once-nerdy man breathes out in awe. Disbelief every single time - or at least the mocking imitation of one. Swipin’ a line of precum down your nervy spot once more, “Th-there, baby—?”
Something breathy- octaves higher in his tone. “Yes- yes there-”
“There-” Choked up and ruined. Husky grunts hatching in the back of his throat. There was something there in his words that you couldn’t quite pinpoint—a sort of undertone of primal need, primal amusement as he ruined your pussy with his speedily pap-papping hips, but acted as though he had no idea what he was doing. Every single syllable uttered was met with a thorough whack of his curved cockhead against your particular spot- “There there there there- there-”
“Fuh-fuuuck-”
“So this g-spot’s really m-mine now, baby?” Choso asks.
You whine, back arching off the mattress. “Yes-”
“Does she really have my mark on it now?”
“Yes…?” Eyes shooting open as you’re half-registering his question in your hazed brain. He bores his dark eyes down at you intensely. And as though to emphasize his point, you’re feeling his perfectly round tip squeezing into your throat by the next few thrusts. Deeper and deeper.
His Jacob’s Ladder starting to ease its frigid way past your entrance and glide across the roof of your cunt. It was a sensation like nothing you’ve ever felt before.
Choso probes even more, “I-is she really shaped to the shape of my cock now?”
“Cho—ngh.” Quickly shutting your cockdrunken self up. Quickly reaching a ringed hand up to squeeze your throat- before he’s languidly snaking his way up to squeezing your pretty cheeks together.
Smushing your face in a way that was almost disrespectful- though, not that you were in any state of mind to call him out on it. And there’s a mean inkling in Choso’s tone as he coos, “Awww, b-baby, why aren’t you answering me?” Another rude slap! of his hips make your own sear in flames- that damn strength of his. Those damn piercings of his. “Is your poor, poor Curse not good enough?”
Before you can answer, he’s looking at the blinking camera.
“My babies, my girl doesn’t love my cock anymore…”
“I do—I do-”
Squeezing his doughy-soft restraints - those contrastingly mean fingers of his - around your cheeks. He’s managing to smush your mouth shut and make you echo out the most pathetically pleading whines—as he fucks you. Determined and targeted.
The glossy rotund edge of his tip presses against your g-spot a few more times before you’re managing to make yourself take a peek at the comments on the monitor.
Almost too far away- almost too blurry with the tears in your eyes.
@Curse’snewestharem: Awwwww poor bby </33
@CCpervnextdoor: I would LOVE your cock, Curse!!
@girrrrrrrrrrth: is it just me or is he teasing us?
@Fishygurodad: ^^Yeah, he’s totally a fraud.
@Curseswombmommy: ^^girl shut up
“Th-they really think you’re oh-so-innocent…” You’re whispering up at him. Overstimulated tears in your eyes.
Breath hitching every time he’s surging his tattooed hips forwards and hitting that one spot particularly hard. Though there was never such a thing as too hard…
And Choso’s shooting you a secret smile - one just between the two of you - before morphing his expression into that of picture-perfect innocence. Roleplaying the demeanor of his nerdy self on campus, mixed with the utterly sultry—sexual way he was draaaaagging his lengthy cock in and out of your cunt.
Eventually, Choso’s emptying his inches out n’ bruising the bottom of your pussy. All of his nine - you seriously felt nine throbbing inches - inches shaping out the in-betweens of your legs. All of the beaded barbells of his Jacob’s Ladder massaging inside- the slitherin’ feeling of them making themselves at home. Zig-zagging and slithering.
He feels the sponginess of your cervix and presses a hand down on your abdomen just to make sure, before changing that excitement into one of almost-genuine bafflement- “I-I really bottomed out?” Choso’s pinkish bottom lip juts out and quivers dramatically.
“Of course, you did.” You’re ready to scoff-
But whatever sarcastic sound was in the back of your throat gets quickly dissolved at the sight of Choso with genuine tears in his eyes. Glistening. “But I never- ngh, never thought I’d be able to.” He puts some more merciless pressure on your stomach that makes you buck—
And the only thing you can do is let your head tip back into the pillows.
The only thing you can do is let out a few mottled moans as he rubs over the small tummy bulge he was fucking into you. Pushing his palm down so that he could feel it.
Whispering out, “I-I never thought this pussy would claim my cock as- ngh, hers, hm?” And for the moment there, you’re completely sure that he isn’t talking to you. Rather, your pussy that was sobbing out squelches after every one of his jackhemmerin’ thrusts. “And it’s not too big, right?”
“N-never—”
“Because m’just a nerd with a- hngh, biiiiiig fuckin’ cock.” How pitiful, right? He’s letting his long, dark lashes flutter as Choso avoids meeting your eyes—as though in shyness. He drills his hips even deeper - one unforgettable strike after the other following every word he spoke. “Just a big- fat- fucking- cock-”
“Please—!” Eventually, your arms reach upwards and you’re grabbing ahold of whatever part of him it is you could reach first. Which just-so-happened to be his bulky deltoids.
Choso’s brows genuinely seem to furrow at the lewdness of you digging your nails into his muscles, leaving your marks for everyone and anyone to see even after this stream has ended. And so he continues in his faux-innocent tone, “Oh? Did that feel good, baby?”
Purposefully slidin’ his cock across your g-spot so that you’d have to cry out. “Y-yeeees—”
“I didn’t even know, baby.” His mouth hangs open, and the most lustrous squelches! echo between your two connected bodies. Your cunt n’ his precum were making such messes…“I had no idea…”
His Jacob’s Ladder leaves your channel feeling raw n’ overstimulated- you feel raw and overstimulated.
And you’re laid-out on the bed dazed and feeling so fucking good as Choso’s picking his pace up even more, you notice for a split-second that his hands have moved. No longer was he holding onto your cheeks n’ watching you squirm—now, the nerdy man hooks both hands around your sweaty thighs and pins them close to his body.
Holding them in place as he leans down, down, dooooooown until the caps of your knees hit your tits.
You’re keening at the stretch, and a searing burn spreads from between your pussy and along your hamstrings. How did he even hide such strength underneath those soft knitted vest? Such a body?
Before you know it, you’re being pressed into your first-ever mating press.
And Choso gapes as though he was just as bewildered as you, “O-oh…did I do that?” He’s fucking asking you—however, when your stunned expression bears no answer, he turns and asks the same question from the camera. The bursts of replies obviously agree n’ tease him. And he’s shaking his head ever-so-slightly, “Did I really bend you in- heh-” A slight chuckle escapes him. “—half, baby?”
And what else can you do but nod and nod and nod—?
“I think this is called a…breeding press?” He cocks his head ever-so-slightly, before shaking his head. “No wait- a mating press.”
“A m-mating press.” You’re repeating lamely.
“I c-can’t believe I’ve folded you into a mating press, baby.” Choso nearly snarls at himself, his hips accelerating until that rouge-tipped cock of his was almost nothing but a blur. “Can’t believe—s’like my body is moving before my mind, ngh. My fat cock’s not hittin’ you too deep, right, my girl?”
“Not in the l-least…”
And he really was long enough to make each and every probe feel as though it was slam-slam-slamming into your throat- the capped crown of his shaft was entering crevices n’ crannies you hadn’t even known you possessed. All marked out precisely by the silvery orb of his Prince Albert’s.
Just then, after your answer, Choso reaches his left hand up to wrap ‘round your throat - and then hauls you back down to meet his slapping hips.
A thrust even harder than the ones before it.
Your breath gets snatched out of your lungs, dissipating into the heady air filled with the contact-riddled sounds of sex. Hard and fast. Only getting harder the longer you have your ankles looped ‘round his neck—“Not too hard, is it, baby?” Chosos asks you once more.
And you don’t have anything to spit out besides, “Oh f-fuck off.”
He gasps dramatically-
Well, not exactly dramatically. But in a way you knew was fake, and in a way that sends the chat exploding into comments.
The nerd pouts cutely, “Well, that’s not very nice…”
You’re rolling your eyes—right before Choso’s genuinely sending them rolling with his two fingers clamped around your clit. Using the silvery edges of his rings, he runs a few massages that end up with you sobbing and blabbering out your pleasure.
@Curse’swifey: FUCKKKKKKKKKK they’re both so hot. THEY’RE BOTH SO RUINED.
@peepeesarebetterfictional: they both look like they’re gonna cum soon hehe
@bewbsRlife: CUM CUM CUM CUM CUM
Biting back. “I would argue th-that that’s not very nice, either.”
“But m’just trying to make my gorgeous girl cum…” And from where he’d been looming his pretty face above yours, Choso then lets his head droop down between your tits. During his ravenous pace, he’s roverin’ his mouth all over to kiss and suck at your tits, your nipples.
His cold lip ring drags across your left areola- and he catches onto the way you’re shivering. Before Choso then grabs your nipple between his lips n’ hollows his cheeks out sucking—“Promise m’just trying to make you feel- hah, good.” He mutters, slightly muffled. “Promise I just wanna fuck my cock raw if it means making my lifelong crush feel good…”
“Cho- Curse, are you…?” Your eyes widen.
And his own flap droopily a few times, “Hmmm?”
And that proved it.
That proved it.
Because Choso Kamo could be pretending to be a stuttering, panting, blushing mess on your heavenly cunt all he wanted- he could pretend to be pussydrunk out of his mind. But at the end of the day, it was impossible to hide when pretend turned into something…more.
When the cocksure streamer that’d been driving you wild all this time morphs into the contentedly pussy-whipped nerd you expected him to be deep down inside.
His eyes genuinely glazed and blinking longingly.
His hair drenched in sweat.
His skin flushed with need- and only flushing even more fiercely the longer he kept his eyes on you.
Without much ado, you’re throwing your hands around his neck and tuggin’ him as far as he could crane his neck when his entire body feels like collapsing onto you and into your maddening pussy.
Choso pistons his hips slightly upwards to hear the slurp of his Jacob’s Ladder sliding across your walls, and he grooooans—
“Curse, baby…” You hum.
“Mhmmmm?” He replies with half-lidded eyes. Barely focused.
This was the big, bad #1 streamer on C4mBoyfriends? As though sensing your thoughts, Choso’s fingers grow a little more frenzied on your clit. “I need you to cum inside, okay?”
He jolts at the idea- that sinful, sinful idea. Before chuckling, “Never had any other plan, baby.” And then he turns to the camera, “What do you think, fuckers? Think my girl deserves to cum?”
@Fishygurodad: Yes.
@Curse’swifey: YES.
@likezmenpregnant: Yesssss~
@girrrrrrrrrrth: yesyesyes.
@daddytoeknee: Hell yeah-
He’s holding out a little longer to make sure there wasn’t a single ‘no’ in there - and had there been one, you’re sure that Choso would have stopped and edged your incoming orgasm until it was a wave of complete agreement.
Luckily for you, they liked you.
And all he does now is press down harder on your g-spot from inside, lingering, and massage a pretty heart on your clit once more, lingering—before a final, thorough stroke is all it takes for you to hurtle into your second high of the night.
For you to arch your body into his chest, and shutter your eyes. “Ch-Cho…”
Barely a whisper. He’s crashing his mouth into yours to make sure that secret between you two isn’t revealed. And you’re moaning deeply into Choso’s mouth as you cum—“Feels so- oh. It feels so…”
“Mhmmmm.”
Unable to even find the words.
The only thing you can do is riiiiiide out the massive wave of your high. It’s torrential; pure bliss floods your system from head-to-toe, and no matter how much you’re squirming your overstimulated hips, Choso only succeeds in batterin’ away his pierced cock into eeeevery single hidden sweet spot inside of you. The ones that prolonged your bliss and left spikes of euphoria leading up to your brain.
Your cunt clenched so tightly around his cock- almost as though you didn’t want him to even pull out. And Choso’s sweaty head drops once more into the crook of your neck as he cums with a shudder.
The knot between his brows deepening, the bedsheet around his knees bunching up as he surges his body upwards. Almost animalistically.
Choso bottoms out his furious, twitching cock and keeps it there- “Oh, fuck…” It didn’t sound like he was acting once his bawling red divot starts splatterin’ out more milky white wads. Deeep in the back of your pussy, right where your womb was, Choso puddles out his ecstasy in long ribbons. “Oh fuck fuck fuck—fuck. Always knew it’d feel this good.”
Wave upon wave.
Toes curling. Eyes scrunching shut.
If you thought his moans were sensual before, then you weren’t prepared for the ones your pussy was able to drag out of him - ragged and hollow utterances of your name. Over and over like a broken record, like a mantra.
He’s fucking into you to milk them out of his hefty balls- then fucking you again just to pump those webbed wads right back in. From the top of his rotund tip and dooooooown to the tufts of hairs at his base. All nine inches of him being used to stuff you till the brim—
You’re sure your insides look like an utter fuckin’ mess by the time he’s slowing his tattooed hips down ever-so-slightly—still shaking from the aftermath of his orgasm. This was far stronger than anything he’s ever experienced before.
Drunkenly, you’re blinking your eyes up at him. “Always?”
He smiles, “Ever since our first lesson of Film 101.” Admitting, he lovingly wipes off a bit of his cum you were foaming between your pussylips. “You referenced Pride and Prejudice when talking about the best lines of dialogue of all time, and I-I’d been a goner since then.”
“Corny…” You snort. Though you can’t help the flutter of your heart.
“So um- coffee after this?”
“It better be dinner.”
He laughs in agreement. “Also I bought a vibrating piercing the other day and have been dying to try it…”
Your eyes widen.
And once you’re helping him pull out- Choso reaches for the camera and gets a good shot of the cum leaking between your legs. Before you’re both waving at it, “Thank you for joining us, today—this was the most fun I’ve had on stream yet- heh.”
You’re shooting the camera a pretty smile, too.
And Choso kisses the corner of your cheeks, “Until next time. This has been Curse and Movie.”
@girrrrrrrrrrth: holy fuck??
@Curse’swifey: WAIT WHAAAAAAAAAAAAT NO WAY-
@bewbsRlife: HOLD ON-
@CCpervnextdoor: SAY SIKE RN?
@bipplruletheworld: oh my god that’s amazing.
@likezmenpregnant: Oh, a love story for the ages~
@yoyoyoureinmypuss: YOU TWO LOOKING FOR A THIRD??
@Fishygurodad: Damn.
@Fishygurodad: Hmu when he messes up.
@daddytoeknee: Stfu he won’t.
@daddytoeknee: Also I totally called it <3
A/N. I did NOT plan to have me inserted and beefing with Toji Fushiguro but here we are-
Thinking about drunkenly making out with Jack Abbot at a work night out, then having to go back to work a few days later without a text from him - embarassed and stupidly in love.
banner by the lovely @uzmacchiato
The thing about working in an emergency department is that you become very good, very quickly, at compartmentalising.
You learn to file things away mid-shift, the hard cases, the losses, the moments that would floor you if you let them, and save them for later, for the car ride home or the shower or the specific hour of three in the morning when everything you've been holding at a professional distance comes and finds you anyway. One night, you spent an hour in the shower with a whole bottle of wine to help deal with a particularly difficult shift. It is a survival skill. It is, arguably, the survival skill, the one that lets you come back the next day and the day after that and keep being useful to people who need you to be.
You are very good at it.
You are, it turns out, completely incapable of applying it to Jack Abbott.
This is inconvenient for a number of reasons, the most pressing of which is that Jack Abbott works in the same emergency department as you, approximately fifteen feet away from you on any given shift, and has done for the better part of a year. You have tried, on multiple occasions, to file him under colleague and boss and leave him there, and your brain has rejected the filing every single time with the cheerful persistence of a system update you keep postponing.
You haven't told anyone this.
Except Santos, who found out by accident four months ago when she caught you watching Jack cross the floor from the nurses' station and said, completely unprompted, oh, you've got it bad, in a tone of such serene satisfaction that you'd wanted to dissolve into the linoleum.
And Dennis, who hadn't said anything directly but had handed you a coffee one morning right after Jack walked past and said, you okay? with such gentle and transparent knowing that the effect had been essentially identical. Dennis sees a lot of himself in you, falling in love with superiors at a distance.
So: Santos and Dennis know.
Dana, you suspect, has always known, but Dana Evans knows everything and has the particular grace never to weaponise it, so you've decided she doesn't count.
Jack himself does not know.
Or if he does, he has given absolutely no indication of it, which is its own particular kind of torment, because Jack Abbott is the most unreadable person you have ever met in your life and you have been trying to read him for eleven months.
This is, more or less, the situation as it stands.
Or was, anyway.
Before the work night out.
Before everything got considerably more complicated.
It had been Dana's idea, which meant it had been non-negotiable.
Charge Nurse Dana Evans did not suggest things. She identified them as necessary and then made them happen through the sheer force of her own certainty, and so when she had looked at the assembled staff of the Pitt at the end of a particularly brutal Friday and said, drinks. tonight. all of you, there had not been a great deal of discussion.
You had gone, obviously. You'd changed in the locker room and met Santos at the entrance and walked the four blocks to the bar that the Pitt crowd tended to migrate toward, which was loud and warm and had cheap cocktails and a bartender who knew Dennis by name.
"Is he coming?" Santos asked, with a studied casualness that you recognised as the exact opposite of casual.
"I don't know who you mean," you said.
"I mean Abbott."
"I assumed he'd skip it."
"He's not going to skip it."
"He hates these things."
"He'll come," Santos said, with the absolute certainty of someone who had already checked, and you elected not to ask how she knew that, or if it was one of those 'speak it out into the world and it will happen' manifestation rituals she often talked about.
The bar was already half full of Pitt people when you arrived, nurses clustered at one end, Robby nursing a beer in the corner with the expression of a man who had shown up entirely for Dennis, which was accurate. Dana was at the bar with a glass of wine, somehow managing to look completely at ease and slightly supervisory at the same time.
You got a drink. You let the evening settle around you. You talked to people you genuinely liked, which was one of the better things about the Pitt, that beneath the fluorescent lights and the impossible hours and the particular weight of the work, it had given you people. Real ones. The kind that showed up.
You were midway through a conversation with one of the ER nurses about something you'd later be unable to recall when the door opened and Jack walked in.
He was late, fashionably so, and he was still in the particular clothes that Jack wore when he was not at work, dark and unremarkable and somehow still doing everything, and he stood for a moment at the entrance doing the thing he always did, the quiet sweep of the room, cataloguing before committing.
His eyes found you and stayed for a couple of seconds. Your neck grew warm under his gaze, and you turned your head so that he couldn't see the effect he had on you.
"Oh," Trinity said, from beside you, very quietly, in a tone of immense personal satisfaction.
"Don't," you said.
"I didn't say anything."
"I can hear you thinking it."
"I'm thinking many things," she agreed pleasantly, and went to get another drink.
He found his way to the bar eventually, the way he always found his way to the edge of things (ie the morning you found him on the rooftop literally right at the edge and ran back down the stairs), and you ended up beside him because the bar was crowded and the space beside him was the available one and you were not going to rearrange your entire evening to avoid standing next to a colleague.
"You came," you said, because something had to be said.
"I was told to."
"By Dana?"
"By Dana."
"She has that effect."
"Mm." He glanced at you, briefly, and smirked. "You're loud."
You turned to look at him fully. "I am not loud."
"You were laughing from across the room."
"That's called having fun. You should try it."
"I have fun."
"You actively avoid fun."
"I'm here, aren't I?"
You considered this. "Fair point. Barely."
He made a sound that wasn't quite a laugh but lived in the same neighbourhood, and took a sip of whatever he was drinking, and you stood beside him at the bar and felt your heart doing its familiar and inconvenient thing.
"Why do you always do that?" you asked.
"Do what?"
"The sweep. When you walk into a room. You always check the whole room before you do anything."
He looked at you with an expression you couldn't fully parse. "Habit."
"From what?"
A pause. "Just habit."
You looked at him for a second, this man who gave so little away so consistently, and felt the familiar frustration and the familiar fondness in equal measure, which was, you had come to understand, simply what it felt like to know Jack Abbott.
"Depends who's asking," you said, after a moment.
He blinked. "What?"
"You said earlier, when Dana tells you things, you said it depends who's asking." You looked at your drink. "I was just, I noticed."
A beat.
When you looked up he was watching you with something careful and very still in his expression.
"Yeah," he said, quietly. "I did say that."
Neither of you said anything else.
But you didn't move away from him.
The outside part happened later, which was the thing you kept returning to, the fact that it hadn't been impulsive exactly, that there had been an hour of standing beside him at the bar and talking in the particular way the two of you talked, which was always slightly combative and somehow always entirely easy. The night air when you both drifted outside was cool and quiet and a complete relief after the noise.
You didn't remember who moved first.
You were fairly certain, in your more confident moments, that it had been mutual, one of those things that happened in the space between two people before either of them had consciously decided to do it.
What you remembered was his hand at your jaw, warm and deliberate.
The way your breath had caught before his mouth reached yours.
And then the kiss itself, which was, not what you'd imagined, which was remarkable given how many times you had accidentally imagined it. Not tentative. Not gentle in the careful way of someone uncertain. It was the kiss of someone who had thought about this and was finally, with complete intention, doing it. His hand was steady against your jaw and you had grabbed a fistful of his jacket without thinking and kissed him back with approximately eleven months of accumulated feeling and thought, distantly, oh, this is a problem. His hands had wandered a bit too low and when he grabbed your ass with one of his strong hands, he cockily smirked at the gasp you let out against his mouth. It was messy, and unpredictable, and hot.
When it ended you were both quiet for a moment, foreheads nearly touching, breathing slightly uneven.
"Okay," you said, because your brain had apparently died a massive death during that kiss and you needed anything to fill the silence between you.
"Okay," he said back.
And that — catastrophically, humiliatingly — was it.
He didn't text.
Not that night, not the next morning, not at any point in the following forty-eight hours, and you did not text either, because you had convinced yourself with increasing conviction that you had somehow misread the entire thing, that he had simply, been in a moment, and the moment had passed, and the look on his face afterward had been polite rather than significant, and you had made it deeply weird by meaning it so much.
By the time your next shared shift arrived you had constructed a complete and airtight narrative of your own humiliation and were wearing it like a second set of scrubs.
Trinity found you at the nurses' station six minutes into the shift.
"Why is your face doing that?" she said.
"My face isn't doing anything."
"It's doing something."
"I'm fine."
"You just tried to hand me a chart and said here you go, buddy."
You closed your eyes briefly. "I'm tired."
"You're not tired."
"Trin—"
"Is this about Abbott?"
"No."
"It's about Abbott."
"It is genuinely not—"
"You're lying, and you're bad at it, and I say that with love." She leaned on the counter, dropping her voice. "Did something happen?"
You opened your mouth. And closed it again.
"Nothing happened," you said.
"Y/N."
"Something happened," you said.
Santos's eyes went wide with the specific delight of someone receiving exactly the information they have been waiting months for. She grabbed your arm. "Tell me everything, right now, immediately—"
"Not here," you hissed, because Jack had just walked through the bay doors.
He looked exactly the same.
This was deeply unfair. You had spent forty-eight hours in varying states of internal crisis and he looked exactly the same, calm, composed, the steady particular presence of him filling whatever room he was in without him seeming to try. He did the sweep. His eyes moved across the floor, checking, cataloguing.
They landed on you for just a moment.
Something shifted in them, briefly, and then he moved on.
"Morning," he said, to the room in general.
"Morning," you said, to the middle distance, in a voice that was perfectly fine and completely normal, and then slapped a hand against your forehead and turned away. Hard to get was not your thing.
Santos, beside you, made a sound only you could hear.
You told her at the vending machine at eleven-fifteen, in a rapid whispered account that she listened to with the focused intensity of someone watching a very good television programme.
When you finished, she was quiet for approximately three seconds.
"He kissed you," she said.
"Yes."
"And then said okay."
"We both said okay."
"And then neither of you texted."
"Correct."
Another pause.
"You are both," Santos said, with great care, "absolutely unbelievable."
"I know."
"Like genuinely — two supposedly intelligent medical professionals—"
"I know, Trinity—"
"Not a single text between you—"
"I was scared he regretted it!"
"Did he look like he regretted it?"
You thought about his hand at your jaw. The intention of it. The way it had not been uncertain at all. The low groan that came out of him when you seperated - how he pulled you back by the belt loop in your jeans.
"No," you admitted, quietly.
Santos pointed a pretzel at you. "Then what are you doing."
"I don't know," you said, honestly, which was the most accurate thing you'd said all day.
The supply room was where it finally happened, which was not exactly the setting you would have chosen, but you were learning that with Jack Abbott the setting was never quite what you'd have chosen and somehow it never seemed to matter.
You had gone in for gloves and he had followed you in, because of course he had, and the door had swung shut behind him and the supply room was not a large space and you were suddenly very aware of both of those things.
"Hey," he said.
"Hi," you said, to the glove shelf.
"You're avoiding me."
"I'm getting gloves."
"You've been getting gloves for four minutes."
You turned around. He was closer than you'd accounted for, which did not help anything.
"I'm not avoiding you."
"You are."
"I'm not."
"You haven't looked at me properly all shift."
"That's not—"
"You just looked at the shelf behind my head."
You had, in fact, just looked at the shelf behind his head.
"It's a very organised shelf," you said.
Jack looked at you with the expression he sometimes had that you'd privately categorised as deeply unimpressed but paying close attention, which was somehow worse than actual displeasure.
"Did I do something?" he asked.
"What? No."
"You're acting like I did."
"You didn't do anything, Jack."
"Then why—"
"Because you didn't text," you said, and it came out louder than you'd intended, and then it was in the room and there was absolutely nothing to do about it.
Jack looked at you.
"I didn't—" he started, then stopped. Something shifted in his expression. "You didn't text."
"I thought you didn't want me to!"
"I thought you didn't want me to."
You stared at him. "What?"
"You said okay and then you were just — gone, and I thought—"
"I didn't leave, I was standing right there—"
"You said okay," he said, with the emphasis of a man who had apparently been sitting on this for forty-eight hours. "What was I supposed to do with okay?"
"I didn't know what else to say! You kissed me and then you said okay back—"
"Because you said it first—"
"Because I was nervous—"
"So was I—"
You both stopped.
The supply room was very quiet.
You looked at him. He looked at you. The air between you had the particular quality of something that has been wound too tight for too long and has just, finally, released.
"You were nervous," you said, slowly.
"Yes."
"You." You pointed at him. "Jack Abbott. Nervous."
"I'm capable of being nervous."
"I've never seen you nervous."
"You've also apparently never seen me looking at you across a room for eleven months, so your observational skills are not at their peak today."
You opened your mouth. Closed it.
"Dennis told you," you said.
"Dennis told me nothing. I told you." His jaw shifted. "Did you mean it? The kiss."
The question landed like it always did with him, direct, undecorated, asking for the real thing and nothing else.
"Yes," you said. "I meant it."
"Okay."
"Jack, if you say okay again I'm going to—"
"Did you mean more than the kiss?" he said, and his voice had dropped into the quieter register, the one that meant he was not managing what he was saying anymore, just saying it.
You looked at him.
At the careful, open, slightly-wrecked quality of his face, which you had never quite seen before and which was going to live in you for a very long time.
"I'm kind of in love with you," you said, which was not how you had intended to say it, but was, you supposed, accurate. "I've been — it's been a while. And I know that's a lot, and if you don't—"
"I'm there too," he said.
You blinked. "What?"
"I'm there too."
"You—" You searched his face. "For how long?"
He looked at you with an expression that might, on someone else, have been sheepish. "A while."
"A while," you repeated. "That's all I get."
"You're not subtle," he said. "I noticed you a long time ago."
"I confessed that I love you and you're telling me I'm not subtle—"
"You called me pretty once. In front of Dana."
"I was delirious, I had a twenty-hour shift—"
"You told Whitaker my hands were nice."
"They are nice, that was an objective observation—"
"Y/N."
"What."
"Come here," he said.
And this time you didn't say okay.
This time you closed the distance yourself, and when his hands found your face they were warm and certain and exactly where they were always going to end up, and you kissed him in the supply room of the Pitt under the fluorescent lights with gloves in your hand and eleven months of accumulated feeling finally, completely, nowhere left to go but here.
He kissed you like he meant it.
He kissed you like he'd been thinking about it.
And when you finally pulled back, foreheads together, both of you a little unsteady in the best possible way, you looked at him and he looked at you and neither of you said okay.
"For the record," you said, quietly, "your hands really are nice."
Jack Abbott closed his eyes briefly in the manner of a man exercising considerable restraint.
"Yeah?" he said.
You laughed, and he made that sound — quiet, low, tucked away — and the supply room was small and the lights were terrible and it was, somehow, exactly right.
Santos was waiting outside the supply room door.
She was not even pretending she hadn't been.
"Well?" she said.
You looked at her.
Your face did something you had absolutely no control over.
Her eyes went wide. She pointed at you. She turned to find Dennis, who was approaching from the other end of the corridor with two coffees and the expression of a man who had timed his arrival extremely deliberately.
"Hey" he said.
He held out a coffee. His face did the warm slow thing. He said nothing, because Dennis never needed to say anything, and somehow that made it the best response in the room.
Santos, however, was not Dennis.
"I need every single detail," she said, "immediately, right now, starting from the beginning—"
"There are patients," you said.
"The patients can wait—"
"They cannot—"
"Five minutes—"
"Trinity—"
"Three minutes, I just need the highlights—"
Jack appeared in the supply room doorway behind you.
Santos looked at him.
"There are patients," he said, mildly, and walked past both of you back toward the floor.
Santos stared after him.
Then at you.
"I cannot believe," she said, "that you are in love with that man."
You watched him go, steady and unhurried, and felt your whole chest do its thing.
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who noticed you the first time you walked into the room with sarah. your laugh soft, with that twinkle in your eyes. the second sarah caught him looking, her expression shut down instantly, a quiet, sharp “no.” like she already knew exactly where his mind was going.
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who actually listens to sarah at first. keeping his distance, barely looking at you, forcing himself to treat you like just another one of her friends, but it doesn’t last, because every time you’re around, his attention drifts right back to you like it’s a magnetic pull.
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who starts with those subtle glances again, quick at first, then slower, heavier, and you always catch them, always hold his gaze just long enough to make his jaw tighten, but your glance is of annoyance, knowing his reputation.
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who talks about you like it’s nothing to topper and kelce, brushing it off, but your name comes up a little too often, his tone just slightly different, gaze a little love struck enough for them to notice.
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who finds reasons to be in the same space as you, walking into rooms you and sarah are in, leaning in the doorways, making annoying comments on the things you're both doing, or hovering just enough to get your attention without making it obvious.
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who realizes real quick you don’t treat him like everyone else does, rolling your eyes, brushing past him, muttering a quiet “fuck off, Rafe” when he blocks your path, and instead of backing off, it only makes him push more, his forbidden fruit.
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who tests the line constantly by standing too close in empty hallways, letting his hand brush yours, watching you carefully like he’s waiting for you to pull away, and noticing when you don’t.
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who ends up alone with you one time and doesn’t move out of your way, head tilted, smirk slow, “you’re different when sarah’s not around.” and something about the way you don’t deny it? yeah, that’s where it clicks for him.
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who somehow gets your number and starts texting you, casual at first like it’s the most insignificant thing in the world, then with purpose and he sees the exact moment you stop pretending you’re not interested, and he steals the opportunity with quickness.
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who corners you in the kitchen when the house is quiet, voice low, stepping into your space like he’s been waiting for this “i know what you’re doing, right” a small tilt of his head, “what do you mean?” you reply. his eyes flicking to your lips, “this little game” and when you don’t walk away, his lips find yours, closing the distance.
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who who wasn’t supposed to cross that line, but now that he has, there’s is absolutely no going back. he keeps it secret at first, saying things like a quiet “come here,” slipping you down hallways and into his room, the door shutting quick behind you like second nature.
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who always keeps one ear out for footsteps, but still lingers, still keeps you close a second longer than he should, like he physically can’t help it.
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who, right before you leave his room, grabs your wrist and pulls you back in for one more second, forehead resting against yours, “you’re trouble,” he mutters, and when you whisper, “you started it,” he just smirks satisfied “oh and i’m not stoppin’ sweetheart.”
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who tries to fix your hair before you leave, straightens your clothes, with a low voice right by your ear, “you’re fine baby, just act normal.” like he didn’t just make that impossible, like that ‘baby’ didn’t just make you weak at the knees.
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who acts like nothing’s happening in front of everyone, barely looks at you but somehow, you both always disappear at the same time at parties, reappearing minutes later like nothing happened, and no one suspects it, because you act like you hate him in front of people.
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who actually catches you staring at him across the room and doesn’t look away this time, just smirks knowingly. later, when he finally gets you alone, he leans in close, voice low “keep lookin’ at me like that in front of everyone, and see what happens.”
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who thrives off the secrecy of it. the risk of it all, the way you both have to listen for doors opening, or voices getting too close. and the way you come back flustered every single time, rambling excuses.
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who brushes past you in a crowded room, fingers grazing your lower back just enough to make your stomach flutter, and without even looking at you, he mutters, “meet me upstairs in five.” and the worst part? you always go.
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who watches you text the groupchat, “can’t today, next time!” while you’re sitting right next to him, and that smug little smirk settles, with that proud pit in his stomach like he’s saying ‘yeah, she chose me.’
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who overhears some assholes at the country club talking about how they want to hook up with you, and has to control himself from becoming his old reckless self again. but smirks saying “i think she’s taken” with a shrug
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who texts you while you’re sitting right next to sarah with no shame, phone buzzing in your hand,
rafe: you look prettyand when you glance up, he’s already watching you, eyes low, leaning back like nothing’s wrong
you: you’re gonna get us caughtrafe: that’s the the risk of the game
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who tells himself it’s just a fling at first, you’re just sneaking around, or it’s just something to pass time. but he keeps coming back, he keeps pulling you aside, he keeps wanting more than just a few minutes, and even a few minutes to him isn’t becoming enough anymore.
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who gets irritated when you pull away, questioning what you’re doing. his jaw’s tight, voice lowering out of hurt and annoyance, “you’re still here, aren’t you?” like that alone proves you feel it too.
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who starts blurring the lines without even realizing. spending more time and longer nights together. the moments becoming more intimate until you both realize it’s not just a fling anymore.
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who shows up to your house one night with hibiscus flowers, because you briefly mentioned once you liked them. acting like it’s the most normal thing, given your ‘situation’ but he’s watching your reaction a little too closely for it to just be nothing.
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who starts taking you out, but always somewhere off the obx, on the mainland, somewhere no one will recognize you, no chance of it getting back to sarah, or any of your other friends.
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who is still cocky and a little dangerous, but softer with you in ways he doesn’t even realize, like it just natural.
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who loves when you start soft launching him on instagram, with pictures like your hand in his, or his chain, or his shoulder, but never his face. just enough to have people asking questions, and people, including sarah asked many questions.
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who overhears people talking about your ‘mystery man’ and just leans back, smirking to himself, because they have no idea it’s him, the one person it shouldn’t be.
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who kinda treats it like a game, sneaking around, and he loves how long you both get away with it.
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who starts getting more careless over time, holding onto you a little longer, looking at you a little too openly, sending winks your way, like he’s slowly caring less about who finds out.
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who realizes he’s in too deep when it stops feeling like a game and starts feeling like he wants it to be his normal, like he doesn’t just want secret moments anymore, he wants all of it, he wants people to know you’re his.
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who gets a little jealous when someone’s talking to you too long, stepping in casually, arm brushing yours, “she’s busy,” he says smoothly, eyes not leaving yours, then quieter, just to you, “or you forgot that?”
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who doesn’t care he’s just did that in a crowd of people, “are you fucking insane?” you ask him, shocked he would defend you like that so publicly, he leans down to your ear, his lips almost brushing your skin, “pretty girl i dont give a fuck who’s watchin’ anymore.”
bsfriendsbrother!rafe who knows you’re hesitant because of sarah. he knows that once she finds out all hell will break loose. she’ll be angry about the line you crossed the second you let him even touch you. but would rather deal with sarah’s anger, than pretend he doesn’t want you and everything that entails you anymore.
Summary: Dr. Robby knows you have a crush on him, and while he knows he shouldn’t, he can’t help but toy with you. However, that’s all it is, just a game... until he sees Dr. Abbot flirting with you, and suddenly, crossing the line feels more like a need than a want.
Warnings: Dark-ish Dr. Robby, power imbalance, implied age-gap, jealousy. Smut| orgasm denial, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), semi-public sex, lil bit of degrading, praising, pet-names.
Pt. 2
He knew what he was doing was wrong.
But he had never been good at doing hard things- that’s what he kept telling himself.
He’d caught the way you looked at him from the very first day. He noticed the blush spread on your cheeks every time he talked to you, he felt you shiver with every graze of his hand, with every innocent pat on the back... he knew it all, just as he knew he should have taken a step back, he should have put distance between you two and let you forget about him...
But he wasn’t strong enough.
Or perhaps he simply didn’t want to.
Perhaps, the truth was that the sick and twisted part of him he was so very good at hiding, enjoyed torturing you, relished in the way you cowered and stuttered- lived to have you in the palm of his hand, a thing so small and delicate that he could choose to care for or destroy with so little effort.
So he did what he shouldn’t have.
He toyed with you.
He started standing too close as you performed procedures, his hands started traveling too low on your back or too high on your neck when he guided you from room to room.
He started using pet-names, absolutely loving the way you forgot what you were saying whenever he called you honey, baby, sugar... not to mention the look on your face whenever you did a nice enough job that earned you a simple, devastating “good girl.”
That was all, however.
He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t fucked his fist thinking of you on your knees, pretty mouth open and waiting, many more times than he could count- but he’d never crossed that line.
Maybe he liked the game, or maybe, you’d yet to give him a big enough incentive to do so.
That was until today.
He heard you first.
He heard your pretty, gentle laugh coming from somewhere in the ER, and instinctively, he started looking around.
He was expecting Santos or Javadi to be next to you, anyone but whom he found.
Dr. Abbot was looking at you in a way he knew damn well.
He was a player, a hell of a good one.
Michael knew there was nothing casual in the way Jack was touching your arm, in the look in his eyes, in the tongue wetting his lips.
He’d never been the jealous type. Much less with Abbot, given the history of... well, of the few women they’d shared during the years.
But this was different. You were different.
You were his in a way that meant so much more than it ever had.
He was making his way toward you before he had time to think.
“What are we laughing about here?”
His tone was stern, causing a quiet gasp to escape your mouth as you turned to him, surprised.
“I was just telling our lovely student about a few stories from the pitt.”
“’S that right?” Dr. Robby scowled, shaking his head as he tried to refrain from telling his friend to fuck off.
Jack had a smug look on his face as he smiled at him, one that persisted once he went back to looking at you.
“I have a lot more stories like that. I could tell you some more of them while we get a drink sometimes.”
Your whole face heated up, and your eyes widened as you stared at the night shift’s attending, all the while somehow only focusing on Dr. Robby standing beside you.
“I-I-”
“There’s a patient in South 15 waiting for you, Dr. Abbot. ”
Michael’s hands tightened into fists at his sides as he spoke those words, trying to remain calm while he stopped you from answering.
There was no way in hell Jack didn’t get what he was silently communicating.
Get the fuck away from her.
“Now?” Jack still had the nerve to ask, his eyebrow raising as he glanced pointedly at you.
“Now”
There was no room for argument, especially when Robinavitch decided to take matters into his own hands and, with a palm on your back, started guiding you away from Abbot.
Your breathing was laboured as you mindlessly followed him around a corner, where he decided to stop.
You felt embarrassed, and somehow, this weird... guilt was eating at you.
“I-I’m sorry, Dr. Robinavitch,” you mumbled, panicked.
He was looking down at you with such anger in his eyes that you wanted to hide away and cry.
You’d disappointed him.
And you really never wanted to do that.
“You’re here to learn, Dr. y/l/n, not to flirt with your superiors.”
A pit formed in your stomach.
“I wasn’t-”
Once again, he stopped you before you could finish your sentence.
He wanted to punch something.
It was taking all of his self-restraint not to lock you in a room and show you who you belonged to.
“I don’t wanna hear it.” he shook his head, exhaling loudly as he stared somewhere behind you. “Go find something useful to do... and stay away from Abbot.”
__ __ __
You’d had a lot of horrible shifts in this ER, but this one took the cake by far.
Trying to do anything while replaying the look on Michael’s face as he scolded you proved to make any task almost impossible.
Not to mention how hard it was to see him act so differently. He avoided you when he could, and when he couldn’t, it broke your heart to see him so cold and distant.
You didn’t know why you cared so much.
He was your attending, your boss... you shouldn’t have wanted to make him proud, happy- to impress him, and yet...
Yet you did. The truth was that you knew, for as much as you tried to deny it and get over it, you knew he wasn’t just that.
You’d developed a crush on him from the very first second your eyes laid on him.
He was handsome in a way that took your breath away.
So tall, strong- that beard, that nose, those eyes... and the moment you saw him in action... the moment you witnessed him get all serious and professional and bark orders and know exactly what to do, all the while remaining completely calm... You knew you were done for.
Moreover, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he treated you differently. Maybe you were just being delusional, but you’d only noticed him being touchy with you; his gaze seemed to always be on you whenever you found yourselves in the same room, and you were fairly certain he didn’t use pet names for anyone else.
Not to mention all the “good girl” incidents. You were pretty sure he’d caught you squeezing your thighs at the praise once... and yet he didn’t stop.
Things were different between you. Things were good.
Which is why you needed to fix this. You needed to make everything go back to how it was.
You were changed and ready to go home when you saw him making his way to the hospital’s exit.
Against your better judgment and the pounding of your nervous heart, you quickened your pace to catch up with him.
“Dr. Robby!” You called as the glass doors to the building closed behind you.
He was walking to his car, but he stopped when he heard your voice, giving you time to reach him.
“Dr. Y/l/n” he greeted you, his tone serious.
“H-hi, I just wanted to talk to you for a moment.”
“About what?”
You swallowed the lump in your throat as you tried to maintain eye contact.
“About before- I- Uhm... I wanted to apologize.”
The look in his eyes darkened, as if his mind went somewhere else for a moment.
You watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down as he weighed his options, before he ordered you to “get inside” with a single nod to the back of his car.
Your heart was beating a mile a minute as you settled in the backseat of his car, but it stopped beating completely once Dr. Robby followed and took his spot beside you.
It wasn’t a small car, but Michael’s presence took away two-thirds of the room and air in the space.
“You said you wanted to talk... now’s the time.”
The sun had already set outside, it was dark, but the street lamps caused a soft, dim light to infiltrate the car windows.
You could still see the entrance of the ER, but your attending had a mostly isolated parking spot, so the people you could glimpse felt far away.
It felt as if you were in a small bubble, a cut in monotony filled with unsaid words and buzzing electricity.
“I’m sorry if I did something wrong before,” you spoke meekly, “I wanted you to know that it wasn’t my intention to... flirt with Dr. Abbot.”
He scoffed, and it felt as if the world came crashing down on your head.
You just wanted him to understand that you’d never do that.
Sure, you had a functioning pair of eyes, you knew Jack Abbot was an incredibly hot man, and yeah... maybe you would have even thought of him that way if it weren’t for the fact your heart was indefinitely preoccupied with the man before you.
“N-no, I promise I wasn’t, Dr. Robby.”
You mumbled hurriedly, your hand absentmindedly finding his on the seat.
“I just didn’t think you were such a slut.”
It took a moment to register his words. He’d spoken them with such gentleness that you considered having misheard him.
“I-I...”
“What?” he raised a brow, looking at you with something that reminded you of... hunger. “Going around batting your eyes at your superiors...” he tsked
“I’m sorry, Dr. Robinavitch,” You sniffed, tears suddenly welling in your eyes, “I-I didn’t mean to- I-”
You were losing all common sense and all composure- while he enjoyed the show.
“I thought you were a good girl.” His voice was hoarse- his fingers moved some hair out of your face.
He watched heat crawl up your neck as you struggled to breathe.
You moved closer, your hand trailing up to his forearm to hold his hand on your cheek.
“I am- I am. I promise”
But while you nodded frantically, he was already shaking his head.
“Doesn’t seem like it.”
You willed your tears to remain confined in your eyes as heat pooled in your belly.
Yes, you hated seeing him disappointed, but he was so close... and his hands felt so good.
“I swear,” you murmured.
A slow, predatory grin pulled at his lips.
“Yeah?” His breath fanned your skin while you felt his other hand slowly land on your thigh.
“Yes,” you confirmed, your voice shaky.
It felt as if everything else disappeared. As if the world stopped existing and all that turned real- important, was you two, in the backseat of his car, in this exact moment.
You could feel your heart pounding in your chest as you stared at him wide-eyed.
His palm was moving up your leg, and you started doubting whether or not this was all a dream.
But the heat of his fingers as they seeped under the waistband of your pants was impossible to imagine.
“Would a good girl let me do this?”
You instinctively spread your legs as his digits traveled lower, finding your dampening core through your panties.
“I-I... I don’t know,” you whispered truthfully.
You didn’t know anything at the moment. You doubted you could remember your name.
He couldn’t help but chuckle.
He’d barely touched you, and you were already melting before him.
He had no clue why he waited so long... he should have done this a long time ago.
“The right answer is yes,” He cooed softly, as if you were the dumbest little thing on the planet, “But only I can do this, right? Not Abbot, not anyone... just me.”
His fingers drew higher, finding your clit, causing a gasp to flee your throat.
“J-just you, yes.” You muttered mindlessly,
“That’s right, good.” He nodded, eyes serious as his thumb traced your cubid bow.
Before you knew it, two of his fingers had found a way underneath your panties.
His skin on your raw heat was enough to make you moan.
“Dr. Robinavitch...” you breathed, as he explored your slick folds as if he owned them, all the while gently caressing your face.
He was watching every single expression you made, willing it to memory- praying to never forget it.
You looked so pretty like this... mindless, horny, wrapped around his finger... just how he wanted you.
He hissed as his digits dipped into you.
“You’re making a mess of yourself, baby.”
Your back arched as you bit down a cry.
“Please,” you whined, the car filling up with the obscene sound of his fingers thrusting in and out of your drenched core.
He grinned as his fingers plunged harder into you just to hear you cry and feel you spasm around him.
“You think you deserve to come?”
“I-I, yes, please- Sir”
Sir? Jesus, it’s like you knew exactly what made him tick.
He suppressed a groan as he slowed his movements, observing the lust and ecstasy in your eyes.
“You sure?” he taunted, his digits leaving you all of a sudden. “I think the only thing you deserve to do is apologize.”
He watched, with sadistic satisfaction, the shock in your eyes as his hand left you altogether.
“I’m sorry, Dr. Robby, I told you- it won’t happen again.” You begged, your pussy pulsating around nothing, your orgasm fading like a shattered dream.
He didn’t pay you any mind as his eyes fell to the moisture on his fingers.
“Jesus, sugar, look at this mess.”
Your gaze followed his, and heat crawled to your cheeks at the proof of your arousal.
“I-I’m sorry.”
It seemed as if those were the only words you knew today.
“’s alright, baby, open up.”
His thumb on your chin urged your lips to widen as he guided his soiled digits into your mouth.
He bit down a growl at the image, his cock begging for attention as you sucked his fingers clean without so much as a question.
“Such a good girl,” he praised, retracting both his hands and leaving you to look at him all puppy-eyed and lost.
If he were a better man, that look would have been enough to give you what you wanted, what you needed... but unfortunately for you, he wasn’t a good man.
“I-I really am sorry for what I did, sir,” you murmured.
He simply nodded while his hands went to unfasten his belt.
“That’s good, honey,” he cooed, “but I can think of a way more convincing apology.”
Your heart skipped a beat as he undid his zipper and, within seconds, freed his cock.
“Be good and suck my cock, y/n”
He was big. Very big.
And he was rock hard, with some precum already leaking from his tip.
You gulped as you watched him give himself a quick tug, before spreading his legs and settling back in his seat.
“You said you wanted to apologize,” he smirked, eyeing his dick, “this is your chance, sugar.”
There was so much you wanted to say- so many thoughts going through your head.
But as you glanced at his expectant eyes, all you could do was what he asked.
It was like you were under some sort of spell as you slowly sank your knees onto the seat and crawled closer to him, until you could lower your head to where he wanted it.
This wasn’t exactly how you’d pictured your first intimate encounter with Robby.
So many times you’d daydreamed of him kissing you and proclaiming his love for you under the rain... but different didn’t mean worse- right?
I mean, this was still very hot, and you were more than excited to do this; it just was... not how you expected.
You looked up at him, and he nodded, softly murmuring , “Go on.”
And that was that.
You couldn’t help but kiss his tip, and when that caused a little drib of precum, your immediate reflex was to lick it all up.
He hissed, and that only spurred you on.
You gave his head a few other kitty licks before widening your mouth and starting to gently suck him in.
His head fell back against the seat as he groaned in pleasure.
You hollowed your cheeks as your head began bobbing up and down his shaft, trying to fit more and more of him.
“Jesus, baby,” he rasped, gathering your hair in a makeshift bun.
He was much too big to get all of him down your throat, but you were gonna try your best.
“Go deeper, baby— Just like that- I know you can do it.”
His hand started guiding you, pushing you even more down, as his hips began to rock up into you.
There was nothing you could do to prevent the gagging.
And yet he seemed to take pride in that, because he didn’t stop- quite the opposite, he started to go harder.
“Goddamnit,” he growled as your throat constricted around him.
Your eyes were blurry with unshed tears, but you were more than willing to take it all just to make him proud.
“Good girl- taking me so well.”
You moaned around his manhood at those words, causing a grin to appear on his lips.
“Such an obedient little thing,” he rasped, as his free hand moved to slap your ass.
You squeaked in surprise, but as he did it again, a whimper of a moan vibrated around his cock.
“That’s right,” he cooed, moving your head up and down as if you were a mindless doll. “This is the only cock you want down your throat- You’re mine, sugar, you hear me?”
“mh-mh,” you hummed around his dick, feeling every ridge and vein of his against your tongue as you made a mess of saliva and tears around his base.
“Good,” he groaned, his hips thrusting up as you kept sucking him like your life depended on it “No more flirting with Dr. Abbot?”
You shook your head no immediately, earning a low, satisfied grunt.
“Got all you need right here,” he chukled darkly, caressing your backside now as he watched you take him in so well and so deep.
“’m gonna come down your throat now,” he muttered, his movements turning more erratic, “and you’re gonna be good and swallow everything I give you.”
You nodded as your hand gripped his thigh to ground you.
“That’s it, baby, that’s it,” he muttered like a prayer, moving you however it pleased him, “take it- like that... fuck- good fucking girl.”
He came with an animalistic growl, his dick spurting all his come down your throat, which you swallowed eagerly.
He exhaled loudly, loosening his grip on you and allowing you get back up.
His head was resting against the headrest as he watched you with half-lidded eyes.
You tried to wipe your face clean for as much as you could, your heart still pounding, your breathing erratic.
He smirked cockily as he tucked himself back in his pants, while you sat back down on the seat- your panties drenched at this point.
“You did good, baby.”
“T-thank you,” you whimpered as he raised his hand to softly stroke your humid cheek.
“You need a ride home?”
“If it’s not- uhm- too much trouble.”
He shook his head, smiling, “Of course not- anything for my special girl.”
Heat rose to your cheeks as you forgot how to breathe.
“C’mon, let’s get in the front,” he nodded.
You turned to do as he said, when he remembered something.
“Oh, and, baby-” he murmured, “Don’t tell anyone about this, alright? This can be our little secret.”
At first, Sukuna thinks being in a relationship is stupid.
Not you. Never you. Just… the whole concept. The labels, the expectations, the soft stuff. It doesn’t make sense to him. He’s used to things being simple. Want something, take it. Like someone, keep them around until you don’t.
But then there’s you.
And suddenly he’s… trying.
It starts small.
You mention, offhandedly, that couples usually text each other “good morning.” You don’t even say it like a request. Just a random comment while you’re half-asleep, scrolling on your phone.
The next morning, at exactly 7:02am, your phone buzzes.
“morning.”
That’s it. No emoji. No punctuation. Just one word.
You stare at it, smiling like an idiot.
When you see him later, you tease him.
“Wow. So romantic.”
He clicks his tongue, looks away. “Shut up. You said couples do that.”
But the next day, it’s:
“morning. eat something.”
And then:
“good morning.”
He doesn’t look at you when he says it out loud though. Just mutters it, like it physically pains him.
...
He tries other things too.
Like holding your hand.
The first time, you’re walking side by side, your hands brushing slightly every few steps. You’re too shy to actually grab his, and he’s… noticing. Of course he is.
It annoys him.
So he just—grabs your hand.
Firm. Decisive. Like he’s claiming it.
You freeze.
Your entire body goes stiff, and you’re staring straight ahead like if you move you’ll combust.
“…why do you look like that?” he mutters.
“I don’t—what—how do I look—”
“Like you’re about to pass out.”
“I’m NOT—”
He squeezes your hand a little tighter.
You stop talking immediately.
He huffs, but there’s something softer in it. “…idiot.”
He doesn’t let go the entire walk.
—
Dates are… interesting.
He googles things. Secretly.
You don’t know that.
But that’s how you end up sitting across from him at a café, blinking because there’s a small, slightly crushed flower sitting on the table between you.
“…did you steal that from outside?” you ask.
“I didn’t steal it,” he snaps. “It was just there.”
“So you did take it.”
“…shut up.”
You pick it up carefully like it’s the most precious thing ever. “It’s cute.”
He goes quiet.
Because he wasn’t sure if you’d like it. He almost threw it away three times before you got there.
“…it’s stupid,” he mutters.
“It’s not.” You smile at him, soft and genuine. “I love it.”
And something in his chest does this weird, unfamiliar thing.
He doesn’t understand it.
He just knows he wants to see you smile like that again.
...
He tries watching movies with you.
Which is torture.
Because apparently “couple things” include cuddling.
At first, he sits stiffly beside you, arms crossed, pretending he doesn’t notice how you keep subtly leaning closer.
Until you sigh, dramatic. “Couples cuddle during movies.”
“…who decided that.”
“Everyone.”
He rolls his eyes. “…fine.”
And then, awkwardly, he puts an arm around you.
It’s stiff. Unnatural. His hand just kinda… rests there on your shoulder like he doesn’t know what to do with it.
You melt into him anyway.
Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
After ten minutes, he relaxes.
After twenty, his fingers start absentmindedly tracing little patterns on your arm.
After thirty, you’re fully curled into his side, and he’s glaring at the TV like he dares it to acknowledge how soft he’s being.
“…you’re warm,” you mumble.
“Yeah. I know.”
But he shifts slightly, pulling you closer anyway.
...
He even tries compliments.
He’s bad at them.
So bad.
You show up one day wearing something different. Not even fancy, just… different. And you’re clearly a little nervous about it.
He notices immediately.
Stares for a second too long.
You fidget. “What?”
“…you look fine.”
Your face falls just a little. “Oh.”
He notices that too.
And it bothers him.
A lot more than it should.
“…I mean,” he adds, rougher now, like he’s fighting himself, “you look… good.”
You glance at him.
He looks irritated. Like this is the hardest thing he’s ever done.
“…really?” you ask, softer.
He clicks his tongue. “Why would I lie.”
Your smile comes back.
Bigger this time.
And yeah. That weird feeling in his chest again.
Stronger.
...
The thing is, Sukuna doesn’t really understand romance.
He doesn’t get why it matters. Why any of these small things are important.
But he understands you.
He understands the way your eyes light up when he tries.
The way you hold his hand a little tighter after he grabs it first.
The way you lean into him like you belong there.
your doctor father invites a couple of his buddies to a barbeque on a hot summer day on one of the only days of the year where they're all off at the same time, and they're having a good time drinking beers and flipping burgers when you go out into the backyard. "hey dad, where do you keep the toolkit again? the vanity you built me is coming loose."
your voice is sweet and bright, and you're wearing shorts and a tank top due to the sweltering heat outside. your father directs you to where his tools are, and you turn around, about to head off, when you and jack make direct eye contact.
he coughs a bit, burying his face into his fist while you nearly collapse into the grass from pure shock. your dad's coworker/friend is the guy who you met on a night out a few months ago who told you he was a mechanic.
the same guy you've been fucking once a week in seedy motels. your dad turns around to see why you're still here, and you and jack quickly look away from each other. it's too late though. your dad smiles at the two of you. "oh, have you two met?" he asks curiously. he and jack aren't always scheduled at the same time, so he assumes you went into the hospital looking for your father at one point only to be met with jack. or you might've met him somewhere in the city. it is a small world. and your father trusts you enough not to think about the possibility that you and jack know each other for far less decent reasons.
jack is quick to come up with a lie, saying; "yeah, met y'kid at the hospital once. she came from college looking to talk to you a little while ago. only talked for a little bit."
your dad buys it immediately, happy his daughter and friend are acquainted. in fact, "jack, buddy. do you mind helping her with her vanity? keeps coming undone. i know you're good with your hands."
again, both you and jack nearly choke on your spit.
he nods nevertheless, walking towards your house and muttering a quick, "c'mon kiddo." and leads you to get the toolkit then go to your room.
you watch in quiet disbelief as you sit on your bed with jack abbot in your room, fixing your vanity. doctor jack abbot. he'd lied to you.
"so you just weren't going to tell me you were a doctor?"
he sighs and presses his lips together, not responding for a beat. then, "i don't like to mix work and life, kid. you'd get it if you were my age trying to date."
you stare at him. "so you wanted to date me?"
he looks up at you. "dunno. maybe. thought you'd rather i just fuck you. and 's not like i can date you now, with your dad being my buddy."
you cross your arms and stare at him. "good enough to fuck but not enough to date. got it."
"did you not hear what i just said?" his face tightens a bit.
"well if you liked me enough, you'd make it work with my dad."
jack gives you a deadpan look and stands up, putting the tool in his hand down for a minute "he wouldn't like it, i'll tell you that much." he walks over to you slowly, standing over you from where you're sitting on the bed. he gives you a onceover, analyzing those skimpy clothes of yours.
"but who'd be better to take care of his little girl than me?" he whispers, laying you back in the bed and placing a soft kiss to your cheek, the sensation making you giggle under him. "i'd be so good for you." he whispers between kisses, lifting off your clothes and making his way down your body, telling you everything you want to hear.
"make sure you're home at a reasonable time every night..."
"taking you to nice restaurants and on trips, making sure your bills are paid and you're not having any difficulty with your course work..."
"taking care of you in ways only an older, stronger, sensible man can do." he finishes, stopping right by the fluffy patch of hair above your glistening pussy. he probes your clit with his tongue, circling it until it hardens and peeks out for him. he immediately gives it more attention, kissing and tweaking the bundle of nerves between his soft lips while you squirm, bucking your hips into his face and fisting your hand in his hair.
he lets out a soft laugh into your cunt and buries his face into your folds, munching on your pussy happily. his eyes are closed with contentment as your tangy-sweet taste hits his tastebuds, his long, thick tongue lapping a broad stripe along your drooly slit and stopping at your swollen clit, which he hasn't forgotten about. he offers a couple licks there before making his way back down, closing his mouth around your cunt - lips and all, and slobbering his tongue around your pussy.
jack eats you out in a way only he could. nudging your thighs around his head so you can crush him, two thick fingers already pushing their way into your puffy hole and stroking, curling, and poking along your insides, and his tongue and mouth making out with your cunt. all in your childhood bedroom as well, with your dad and the rest of his friends having wondering what the hell jack's doing up there so long.
jack pumps his fingers in and out of you, looking up at you with hooded eyes while you make those pretty noises above him, pleading and moaning and panting his name. "yeah baby? you wanna cum on my face?" he says sweetly, spreading your thighs just enough to suck bruises onto the soft, meaty part of your flesh just below where the cuff of your shorts were earlier. a spot where if someone stared at you long enough, they'd notice the mark that certainly wasn't there before. he puts marks on both sides of your thighs, then dives back in, somehow pushing his tongue inside you with his fingers.
jack probes you with his digits and tongue faster, his tongue's pattern erratic and unpredictable. one second its inside you, swallowing up the tasty cream that's been leaking out of you since he started sucking your clit, then lapping up your swollen folds, making nasty noises. the entire lower half of his face is slick with your essence.
you cum on his tongue with no warning, adding to that earlier mess and cumming straight into his mouth and on his fingers. he skillfully coaxes you through it, trying to push as much cum out of your pretty pussy as possible by eating you out while thrusting his fingers knuckle deep into your hole hard and fast. you scream and thrash under him, having no care that you're not home alone at all.
all that matters is jack, and how he's just proved how well he can take care of you by making you cum so hard your vision's gone white.
you're an overachiever and certain you can get anyone you want. so you keep pestering this man who's way out of your league in terms of size. it wouldn't matter how big you are, this man will always be bigger, broader, heavier, stronger.
you know you're probably reaching for the stars by flirting with him everyday, clinging to him and rubbing up on him and telling him you're aching and empty and only he could fix it. you know he likes you too, but he's playing hard to get. he keeps warning you, "back off, kid. you're not getting any dick from me."
and you whine and mope about after him, annoyed by the refusal. "but why?"
he scoffs and returns to his task. "already told you. im gonna break you."
and you keep pushing him, giving him eyes and wrapping your arms around his middle so his attention is back on you. "but i want you to break me, please... i know what i want."
and he just shakes his head and picks you up, setting you away from him again and telling you to go play house with someone your size. oh, and that gets to you. fine, if he keeps turning you down, you'll make him chase you by flirting with one his closest friends in front of his face.
the friend is just way too easy, melting at your attention the way he never does. you're almost instantly bored, but you keep your expression bright and flirtatious so it seems like you're having fun. obviously, the man didn't think you'd actually go run off and try to sleep with someone else, because you always ignore him when he tells you to run along and you keep clinging and pouting up at him with your wide eyes and soft lips. and so when he sees you starting to walk off to somewhere private with none other than his closest friend, he loses his shit.
grabs you by the nape of the neck and scowls at his buddy. "they're done here." he snarls, then steers you away like a misbehaving puppy so he can give you the dick you want so bad. you're not getting it from anyone but him. he doesn't care. he's not nonchalant enough to act like he won't be affected by you fucking someone else, but his friend?? fuck no. he'd probably throw up due to jealousy if he had to hear the details about how his friend fucked you.
he corrals you all the way to his home and into his bed, gets you nice and wet by teasing your predictably tight, small hole for hours until you're squirming and begging for him to just fuck you already. a grave mistake.
he finally lets you see the cock he's been warning you about for ages now, and... he wasn't exaggerating. it's long, hitting his belly with a wet thud, leaking thick rivulets of cream along the flared, swollen tip and down his fat, curved shaft. he's going to fill you to the fucking hilt, without a doubt. "w-wait, we should probably-" you try to backtrack, but he's not having it, shoving your legs open as wide as they'll go and cramming his cock into you inch by inch, watching how your pretty hole stretches around his girth and swallows it up.
he groans the closer he gets to bottoming out, and once he does, balls hitting your puffy folds with a juicy, slick sound, he sees the fucked out look on your face, drool slipping down your chin from your parted lips and your eyes rolled back. just one thrust and you're already fucked dumb. pathetic.
"told you you couldn't handle me, you stupid thing." he tuts, drawing all the way out until nothing but his tip is left in you, then he slams back in, causing you to jolt and cry out, before he begins his punishing pace, pounding into you with no remorse. "but you didn't listen. riled me up and tried to fuck my friend, and now you're getting punished."
you cry out and babble his name, body bouncing on his bed as he fucks into you, your belly protruding just a smidge each time he stuffs you up balls deep. he's big enough to hit your cervix each time, tip kissing your womb roughly and rubbing against your cervix muscles, causing little gusts of slick to squirt out of your poor hole. he's hitting that sweet spot that makes you leak uncontrollably.
he bullies his cock into you, fucking you from above with one hand around your throat and the other on your hip, using you like a toy to drag you down onto his cock to meet his rough thrusts. you're loud, too. having zero care if you get caught or not, because all you care about is how good he's fucking you. how his curved cock fills every inch of space within your velvety walls.
he gropes your chest roguishly, playing with your puffy nipples until they get all firm and swollen, then pinches them when theyre at peak sensitivity, rolling the buds around his rough fingertips. when his other hand releases its grip from your neck to play with your clit, pushing back the hood to bring out your stiff clit and pushing and pinching it in tandem with your nipples, you can't hold back anymore, screaming his name and clamping down around him to cum around his cock. he hisses as you squeeze him tight enough to practically wring the cum out of him, and he hilts himself inside you, pouring his thick load right into your womb.
of course a man his size would also have a huge load, and you watch in disbelief as your stomach curves just slightly from how much cum he's filled you with. you're stuffed and fucked out, having gone weak from so much stimulation and being fucked by such a big dick. but he's not even close to being done with you.
he has to make up for all that time you spent bothering him and insisting you could handle him with no problem.
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summary: you have a sex dream about your attending that leaves you hot, flustered, late for work, and completely off your game. then things go from bad to worse when gossip spreads and the entire emergency department finds out—including dr. robby.
notes: i honestly haven't been this excited or motivated to write in forever, and i just really hope it doesn't suck. this one feels a little different, kind of like... it just flowed? my writing feels less mechanical, i think? i don't know, i feel like i've been stuck in a rut and even though this isn't perfect, it feels like i finally enjoy writing again. i put so much love into this and tried so hard to get the characters right, i just really hope you guys enjoy! please, please let me know what you think!
warnings: more sitcom than drama (just let them have a good day, i beg you), swearing, italics, reader can drive, medical descriptions, blood, medical procedure descriptions (it's not super graphic though), most definitely incorrect medical information (my friend is a doctor, i am not), implied age gap but never specified, very likely incorrect tagalog (i'm sorry in advance), reader doesn't know tagalog, implied smut but nothing explicit, reader gets injured (and stitches), and making out (on shift, lol, nothing graphic but still, mdni please).
word count: 12763
You wake all at once.
Not slowly, not gently, but with one sharp inhale like you’ve surfaced from deep water.
For a second you don’t know where you are. Your room is too warm, the air too heavy, every inch of your skin flushed and slick with sweat. Heat clings to you, your heart pounding wildly in your ears, sheets twisted tight around your legs, and for one disorienting moment you swear you can still feel him—warm hands, breath close, the dizzying pull of something forbidden and overwhelming.
The echo of his voice follows you up from sleep, low and wrecked and impossibly real.
Dr. Robby.
Your stomach flips.
“Fuck,” you mumble into your pillow, already mortified, already knowing your brain has crossed a line it absolutely shouldn’t have this time.
Because it didn’t feel like a dream. It still doesn’t. Fragments flash behind your eyelids—the way he touched you, his voice softer than you’ve ever heard it, the teasing burn of stubble where he shouldn’t have been close enough to touch.
You roll onto your back and drag both hands over your face, groaning quietly as awareness settles in piece by piece. Your pulse refuses to slow, every nerve still humming like your body missed the memo that none of it actually happened.
You stare at the ceiling.
“…You have got to be kidding me.”
This wasn’t random. Not by a long shot.
It was him. Your attending. The stubborn, overworked, infuriatingly competent man who makes unresolved emotional baggage look hot. The man you have to see in barely two hours.
A small, helpless sound escapes you as you roll onto your side again, squeezing your eyes shut.
This is a problem.
A very real, very immediate, absolutely unprofessional problem.
And yet, you still don’t move. You lie there too long, cheeks burning despite the fact that no one else can see what you’re replaying in your mind. Warmth lingers beneath your skin, pooling low in your belly as you let yourself remember every phantom touch. Every whispered word. The look in his eyes as he’d settled between your legs and—
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
You bolt upright, your hand flying out to find your phone.
You’re still hot, still flushed and sticky. Still half-dreaming about Robby and his goddamn hands—but now? Now you’re late. Horribly late. Because that alarm isn’t your wake-up alarm—it’s your backup alarm. The one that goes off when it’s time for you to leave for work.
“Fuck!”
You throw the covers back and rush into the bathroom. You strip quickly out of your damp sleep shirt, tossing everything on the floor before stepping into the shower without even waiting for the water to warm. Which is exactly what you need, you remind yourself as you hiss beneath the cold spray.
Fifteen minutes later, you’re standing in front of the mirror in your black scrubs, trying to fix your hair and will the colour to drain from your cheeks. But it’s stubborn. Bright. Hot to the touch and utterly telling.
“Jesus Christ,” you sigh, squeezing your eyes shut for a second too long.
A second you don’t have.
With a deep breath, you turn, grab your bag, and sling it over your shoulder, wondering whether running to the hospital might actually be quicker than your usual commute at this time. Traffic is never great—you never truly know which route will get you there fastest—but now you’re about to hit peak hour.
You spend the entire drive trying to think about literally anything other than the dream—patient charts, upcoming shifts, whether your stethoscope is in your bag or your locker—but your thoughts keep slipping sideways, traitorous and vivid.
So vivid.
Stop thinking about his hands.
Stop thinking about his voice.
Stop—
You groan softly and turn the radio up louder.
It doesn’t help.
By the time you pull into the hospital parking lot, you’re almost twenty minutes late. You slam your car door shut, hike your bag higher on your shoulder, and practically run toward the ER doors.
“Woah,” Donnie says, quickly stepping out of your way. “Someone’s in a hurry.”
You don’t reply. You just keep going until you hit central, then slow to a hurried walk—head down, eyes fixed on your feet, praying everyone is already too busy to notice you.
“You’re late,” Dana says.
You stop mid-step, more out of habit than intention.
“Yeah, I’m sorry. I—”
“Shit, hon, you okay?” She steps around the desk, peering over her glasses. “You look like you’re burnin’ up.”
You step back before she can press a hand to your forehead.
“I’m fine, I swear.” You keep backing up. “Just my—my car’s A/C isn’t working and I’m a little warm. That’s all.”
You know she doesn’t believe you. This is Dana you’re talking to, not some brand-new, bright-eyed RN. Dana can see through any and all bullshit, and by the look on her face, she isn’t buying this at all.
“I’m fine,” you say again, forcing a smile before turning sharply on your heel.
Only to turn right into something solid.
Warm. Tall. Unmoving.
“Shit, I—”
You look up.
And your entire nervous system shuts down.
Dr. Robby.
“Sorry,” you blurt instantly, stepping back so fast you nearly trip over your own feet. “I didn’t see—I mean, I was looking, just not—”
His hand is still wrapped around your elbow, grounding you in place, and for one terrible second all you can think about is how close he is. How close he’d felt last night. How real it feels right now.
His eyebrows lift slightly, confusion flickering across his face. “You alright?”
“Yes,” you say too quickly. “Fine. Totally fine.”
You are not fine.
Your face feels nuclear, and you’re suddenly aware of everything at once—his height, his proximity, the way his sleeves are pushed up, the fact that he’s looking directly at you like he’s trying to figure something out.
His head tilts slightly.
“You’re late,” he says, not unkindly.
“I know.”
Neither of you move for a moment.
You can feel your pulse in your throat. Your chest. Lower.
“I—I’m gonna—”
You don’t even finish before you turn away, hurrying down the hall toward the lockers. Every inch of your skin feels like it’s on fire—and every thought in your head is so wildly inappropriate for where you are right now you feel like you might throw up.
“Damn.” Santos appears beside you, her eyes flicking between your face and the tablet in her hands. “Either you’re febrile or you just did something really embarrassing.” She tucks the tablet under her arm. “What gives?”
You shoot her a flat look as you key in the code to your locker. “Nothing gives. I’m fine.”
She snorts. “Sure. That tone is really selling it.”
You take a deep breath and turn toward your locker, shoving your bag inside before unzipping your jacket and shrugging off. You stuff that in too—then sling your stethoscope around your neck, shut the door, and turn back to your fellow R2.
She looks concerned now, brows drawn as her eyes track over your face and neck.
“You’re seriously flushed,” she says. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”
“I’m fine.” You turn and start walking back toward central. “Just running late, okay? Now can I start my shift before—” You stop yourself, his name catching somewhere in your chest. “Before I have an attending down my throat for slacking off?”
God. You could have chosen better words.
“Okay, whatever,” Santos mutters, holding her tablet out again. “Sorry for caring.”
She gives you a sarcastic little eye roll before veering off around the other side of the nurse’s station and ducking into one of the active patient rooms. You watch after her for a second before a voice across the room steals your attention.
He’s on the other side of central, nodding along while Mohan and Whitaker brief him on a patient—and looking entirely too hot for seven-thirty on a Monday morning beneath harsh fluorescent lights.
“Stop it,” you whisper to yourself, pausing at the nurse’s station to collect a tablet.
“Stop what?”
You startle, head snapping toward the man suddenly beside you.
“Jesus Christ, Dr. Abbot,” you sigh. “Are you trying to get me admitted for a heart attack?”
The corner of his mouth twitches. “You already look halfway there.”
You roll your eyes. “Okay, I get it. I’m red and I’m sweaty—can everyone please stop commenting on it now?”
He chuckles. “Sorry. Didn’t realise you’d already been bullied about it.”
You sigh again and turn your attention to the board, tipping your head back to read it.
“Why are you still here, anyway?” you ask.
“Wanted to see my favourite resident,” he says. “You sure you don’t want to come back to nights?”
You huff a laugh through your nose. “I love you, Abbot, but nights aren’t for me.” You glance across the nurse’s station, where Dana and Robby are now discussing the latest incoming trauma. “I just miss Dana too much.”
Abbot snorts. “Dana?”
You look back at him. “Yes. Dana.”
Amusement flickers across his face. “You sure?”
“Yes,” you say, too quickly. “I mean, who—what else would—”
“Doctors,” Javadi interrupts, stepping in front of you both. “Sorry to interrupt, but could I get a second opinion on a patient in South Twenty-One, please?”
Abbot nods, glancing at you. “I’ll go. You settle in.” The corner of his mouth lifts a little higher. “Maybe check in with your attending.”
Then he turns and walks away with Javadi at his side.
You stare after him—eyes wide, pulse racing, wondering what the fuck he meant by all that.
You’ve always suspected Abbot might be a mind reader, but that? That was something else. Too knowing. Too dangerous. And now you need to figure out what the hell he thinks he knows.
“Doctor,” Perlah calls from behind the desk. “Could you check on Central Twelve? She’s still complaining of pain after morphine and Zofran.”
You turn to her, shaking your head as if that might knock your thoughts back into place. “Uh—yeah. Of course. Central Twelve, heading there now.”
She gives you a curious look, brows drawn, but you turn away before she can ask any more questions.
On your way to C12, you pull up the patient’s chart—seen by Whitaker about half an hour ago—and double-check the morphine and Zofran doses she received. You pause just outside the room, drawing a deep breath and reminding yourself that you are at work. You don’t have time to be flustered. You don’t have time to worry about what Jack Abbot may or may not know. And you definitely don’t have time to obsess over the imaginary rasp of Robby’s beard against your thigh that you can somehow still feel.
When you push the door open and step inside, you’re the picture of professionalism. You offer the patient a polite smile, introduce yourself, and start the routine checks that feel more like second nature than work.
After the exam and a brief conversation, you order two more milligrams of morphine, review the labs Whitaker sent, and make a note to check back in fifteen minutes. Then, still intent on avoiding your attending, you bury your nose in your tablet and move on to the next patient waiting in South Sixteen.
Pressure-like chest pain. Diaphoretic, no shortness of breath. Initial ECG normal. Labs pending.
“Alright, Mr. Mullens,” you say, squirting a pump of sanitizer into your palm. “We’re going to get some scans done so we can get a better idea of what’s going on. If the pain gets worse before then, let us know.”
The man nods. “Thank you, Doc.”
You smile, stepping out into the hallway. “I’ll be back soon to check in.”
As soon as you turn around, you look for Robby, making sure you’re not about to run into him again. Literally.
You spot him all the way across central, walking with Santos toward the North hallway. Good. You’re safe. And if all goes well, maybe you’ll manage to avoid him for the entire day. Maybe you won’t have to come face to face with the face you can still see buried between your legs.
Fuck.
Your pulse kicks, heart beating too fast as you remember the way his eyes had watched you in your dream. It’s almost too much. Even the phantom memory of it is making you breathless.
God. If it ever actually happened, you might pass out.
“Why would you even think of that?” you mutter to yourself, stopping at the nurse’s station.
When you finally look up, Perlah and Princess are watching you closely, speculation sparkling in their eyes.
“Sobrang pula ng mukha niya,” Perlah murmurs.
Princess nods. “Hindi lagnat ’yan.”
Perlah lowers her voice even more. “Sa tingin mo ba may kinalaman ito sa crush niya?”
They both laugh quietly, turning away from you as if it isn’t you they’re gossiping about.
“Malinaw,” Princess says.
You give them both a tight smile before glancing up at the board, searching for something suitably distracting and far away from nosy nurses and unfairly attractive attendings.
You’re just about to head back toward the South hallway when a gurney crashes through the ambulance bay doors.
“Trauma Two!” Dana calls. “Robby!”
Abbot is already moving, meeting the paramedics halfway and guiding the gurney toward T2.
He points at you as he walks. “With me.”
“Shit,” you mutter, dropping your tablet on the desk and jogging over.
“Thirty-two-year-old male, MVC, restrained driver,” the paramedic says. “Front-end collision, airbags deployed. No LOC. Increasing shortness of breath during transport. Breath sounds decreased left side.”
“Let’s get him on monitor,” Abbot says, moving to stand opposite you at the head of the bed. “On my count.”
Robby steps in at your side, like he always does—close enough that you feel him before you see him.
His arm brushes yours.
Your stomach flips.
Focus.
“One. Two. Three,” Abbot counts.
You transfer the patient from gurney to trauma bed, and Santos starts cutting away clothes.
“Two large-bore IVs,” Abbot tells Jesse. “Trauma labs. Portable chest X-ray.” Then he looks at you, brows raised. “Breath sounds?”
“Oh—uh—” You fumble with your stethoscope, pressing it to each side of the patient’s chest. “Diminished on the left.”
You reach for the patient’s neck, fingers steady despite the noise around you.
“Trachea midline.”
Abbot nods, then turns to Santos. “Let’s get ultrasound.”
“BP holding?” Robby asks.
The sound of his voice sends goosebumps racing along your arms—and you shiver before you can stop yourself.
“Pressure’s 118 over 76,” Jesse replies. “Stable.”
Robby glances at you, brows drawn. “You okay?”
You nod quickly, without looking up. “Never better.”
“Absent lung sliding on the left,” Santos announces.
“Likely pneumothorax,” Abbot says, looking at Robby.
“Sats dropping,” Jesse calls. “Eighty-nine.”
Robby nods once. “Okay. We’re putting in a chest tube.”
“Chest tube tray. Twenty-eight French. Left side,” Abbot orders.
You try to move out of the way, but Robby’s hand catches your elbow—and you can’t help but look up. His dark eyes meet yours with an intensity you’ve never noticed before, and suddenly your lungs forget how to work.
“You’re up,” he says. “I’ll walk you through it.”
You know there’s no time to argue. You know you can’t. Shouldn’t. This is your job. And it’s not like you could say no to this man even if you wanted to.
You swallow. “Okay.”
Robby nods, then looks at Jesse. “Alright, let’s get some lido. Sutures ready. Hook up suction.”
You turn back to the patient, watching Abbot position the left arm above his head while Jesse preps the area—chlorhexidine swab, sterile drape. The rustle of sterile gowns and the snap of gloves fill the room as you pull on your own and push a pair of protective glasses up your nose. Then you grab the lidocaine from the tray and lean over the patient’s left side, steadying your hand as you guide the needle in.
The room is quieter now—save for the steady beeping of the monitors—chaos narrowing into focus as everyone watches you sink the needle into the patient’s skin.
“A little deeper,” Robby murmurs.
Your breath catches, but your hands stay steady.
You can feel him just behind you, leaning close, his warmth bleeding through your scrubs and setting your whole body on fire.
“Now find the rib,” he instructs. “Stay above it.”
You discard the needle onto the tray and start feeling ribs, counting down until you find the space.
“Scalpel,” you say, refusing to take your eyes off the spot your fingers found.
Jesse places the scalpel in your hand, and without hesitation, you cut a three-centimetre incision.
“Good,” Robby murmurs.
Your pulse thrums beneath your skin.
“Clamp,” you say, your voice almost breaking.
Jesse takes the scalpel from your hand, replacing it with a curved clamp.
You insert the clamp, pushing past muscle layers, and begin to spread. It feels forceful. Too much. Invasive, even though you know this is exactly what you’re supposed to do.
Robby steps closer. “Commit to it.”
His hand covers yours to adjust the angle, add pressure—until you feel the pop. And it takes every ounce of your self-control not to react. Not to whimper at the very normal, very professional way your attending is guiding you right now.
“Now sweep,” he says, so close you can feel the warmth of his breath against your cheek.
You insert your finger into the space, confirming entry into the pleural cavity and checking for adhesions—then nod. You don’t dare turn your head as you hold your hand out for the tube. He’s too close, too warm. You can smell the faint scent of soap on his skin even over the antiseptic and metallic tang in the air.
“Inserting tube,” you say, more to yourself than anyone else.
You start guiding the tube in—slow and controlled—feeling every millimetre of movement.
Until it stops.
Too much resistance.
“Up,” Robby says, his hand covering yours again. “Aim higher.”
He adjusts your wrist slightly, guiding the pressure.
You swallow hard and nod, hoping no one else can hear your uneven breathing—but knowing Robby definitely can.
He helps you apply more pressure, firmer now, angle corrected, and the tube starts moving again.
“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Good girl. Keep going.”
Your brain short-circuits.
Heat floods your face. Your chest. Lower.
His voice echoes from your dream. Breathless. Panting. Words whispered against your skin.
Fuck. Now is not the time.
You tighten your grip on the tube and push.
Then—
A rush of air.
“Air return,” Abbot says, a hint of pride in his tone. “Now secure it.”
Robby steps back, and you hear the snap of his gloves coming off.
“O2 sats climbing,” he announces.
“Cool,” Santos says, grinning at Abbot’s side. “I’m doing the next one.”
You barely look up. You can’t. Your whole face feels like it’s on fire. You've never blushed this hard before. You’ve never been this hot in your life. And you’ve definitely never been this horny in the goddamn trauma bay.
“You good to finish up?” Robby asks Abbot.
Abbot nods.
From the corner of your eye, you see Robby step toward the door, glancing over his shoulder with a small, impressed smile.
“Nice work, Doctor.”
You don’t reply. You just nod, lips twitching with a soft smile as you keep your eyes on the patient.
As soon as you finish suturing and securing the tube, you step back, tearing off your gown and gloves as if that’ll somehow give you a reprieve from the heat beneath your skin. Jesse takes your place beside the patient, nodding along to Abbot’s orders while he and Kim start cleaning up.
You shove your gown, gloves, and glasses into the biohazard bin and head for the door without looking back—which is exactly why you don’t notice Santos trailing you.
“That was so cool,” she says, startling you.
“Jesus,” you mutter. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”
She frowns. “Sneak? I was right behind you. It’s not my fault you’re all weird and jumpy today.”
“I’m not—” You glance across central to make sure Robby isn’t somewhere in your path to the ambulance bay. “I’m not weird and jumpy.”
Santos scoffs. “Right. And I’m not behind on my charting.”
You don’t bother arguing with her. You just keep walking—and she follows. All the way through the ER and out to the ambulance bay, where you stop just before the curb and draw a deep breath. It isn’t nearly as refreshing as you’d hoped, but a break from the fluorescents is always welcome.
“Okay,” she says, folding her arms. “What is with you today? You’re never this off. I’ve seen you perform procedures you’d only read about without a single assist from the attending. And I know you’ve done a chest tube before.”
You don’t answer. You don’t even look at her. You just tip your head back and stare at the roof of the ambulance bay, wondering whether it might collapse and save you from this conversation.
“And on that note,” she goes on, “Dr. Robby knows you’ve done a chest tube before, so why the hell was he being so patient? I swear he’s got a soft spot for you. Javadi pointed it out a few weeks ago and I honestly don’t know how I missed it. I mean—has he ever yelled at you?”
You finally look at her, brows drawn. “I—uh—no, I don’t think so.”
“Exactly,” she says, stepping closer. “And please tell me I heard wrong, but did he say good girl to you back there?”
As soon as she says it, your cheeks burn with renewed intensity. You can feel your heart in your throat, beating out of rhythm and way too fast for someone who is definitely not in a life-or-death situation.
And Santos notices—because of course she does.
Her eyes go wide. “Oh my God. This totally has something to do with Dr. Robby.”
“Shut up,” you mutter. “It’s not—”
You stop yourself, squeezing your eyes shut and pinching the bridge of your nose.
Santos isn’t going to let this go. You know her. She’s too inquisitive, too nosy, and there’s not nearly enough chaos today to distract her.
“Okay, fine,” you sigh, looking up, face burning. “I had a sex dream about him and now I can’t stop thinking about it.”
She stares at you for a second.
“A sex dream?”
You nod miserably.
Her mouth twitches—then she snorts.
Not a polite laugh. A full, startled snort she tries—and fails—to muffle behind her hand.
“Oh my God,” she says. “I knew you had a thing for him, but a sex dream?”
“Would you stop saying it?” you hiss, glancing nervously around the empty ambulance bay.
She laughs a little harder. “Was he good?”
“Oh my God,” you mutter, dropping your head into your hands. “I regret everything.”
“Hey,” she says, still laughing as she drops a hand on your shoulder. “For what it’s worth, I’m pretty sure he’d go there if you asked.”
Your head snaps up. “If I asked?”
She shrugs. “Why not shoot your shot?”
“Because he’s my boss!”
“He’s your attending,” she says. “Technically, Dr. Underwood is your boss. Dr. Robby just supervises you.”
You shut your eyes again and draw a deep breath, trying to steady your pulse.
“Okay,” you say, squaring your shoulders. “I’m done with this conversation. I’m going back to work, and you’re not telling anyone what I just told you. Okay?”
She mimes zipping her lips. “I’m a vault, I swear.”
You nod. “Good.”
Then you turn and start walking back inside, trying not to conspicuously check for Robby on your way to the nurse’s station. Santos is still at your heels, still wearing an amused grin as if your humiliation is her exact brand of humour.
“One more question,” she says, stopping beside you as you grab another tablet from the rack.
You sigh. “What?”
She leans in. “Did he say ‘good girl’ in the dream too?”
Your pulse jumps.
“Goodbye, Dr. Santos,” you say, turning quickly on your heel.
“I’m taking that as a yes,” she calls after you.
You ignore her, turning toward S16 to check on your chest pain patient.
“Hey, Mr. Mullens,” you say as you push back the curtain. “How are you feeling?”
The older man sits up a little. “I’m okay.”
“Good.” You pull up his chart on your tablet. “The pain hasn’t gotten any worse?”
He shakes his head. “No.”
“That’s good to hear,” you say, quickly flicking through his lab results. “Your first labs look reassuring, but we’ll repeat them in a couple of hours just to be safe.”
You glance up, and he nods.
“Thank you, Doctor.”
You smile softly. “If the pain gets worse, or if you start having trouble breathing, press the call button.”
“Will do.”
You offer him one last nod before tucking your tablet under your arm and squirting a pump of sanitiser into your palm as you exit the room.
The second you step into the hall, you take a deep breath, finally feeling like your lungs remember how to work. Like your pulse might finally be settling into something resembling a normal rhythm. Like maybe—just maybe—you can survive the day if you stay distracted with work long enough not to think about last night.
About his voice—low and rough in your ear, whispering something you can’t quite remember.
Except the way it made your spine arch.
Or the moment he’d braced his hands on either side of you, his head dipping just enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath before he—
“Doctor.”
You jerk slightly, heat rushing straight back into your face as the memory evaporates.
“Sorry—what?”
Whitaker, now standing in front of you, clears his throat. “Nothing. I just—you looked a little out of it.”
You shake your head and turn toward central. “Yeah. Sorry. I’m a little off today.”
He nods, falling into step beside you. “Santos mentioned.”
Your head snaps toward him. “Santos mentioned what?”
“Just that you were out of it today,” he says quietly, staring at the floor.
You stare at him. “And?”
He shrugs, but it’s stiff. “And nothing.”
You stop at the nurse’s station and drop your tablet on the desk.
“I swear to God, Whitaker, if she told you—”
“She didn’t tell me anything,” he says, clearly panicked now. “I—I’ve got to go check on a patient.”
Then he’s gone, hurrying off toward the South hallway.
Fuck.
You told Santos barely ten minutes ago and she’s already told Whitaker?
So much for being a vault.
“What’d I tell you about swearin’ on God, little lady?” Dana asks, peering over her glasses from the other side of the desk.
You sigh, resting both forearms on the counter. “Sorry. Rough morning.”
“Tell me about it,” she says, glancing down at her tablet. “Sprained ankle in North Four wants an MRI and a wheelchair escort to the parking lot. Psych hold in B2 tried to climb out the bathroom window. Ogilvie ordered the wrong labs and blamed the computer. And someone—” she pauses, squinting toward where McKay is assessing a patient, “—keeps leaving half-empty coffee cups everywhere like we’re running a café instead of an emergency department.”
You huff a quiet laugh.
“And we’re only on hour two,” she adds, looking back up at you.
“Lucky us,” you mutter.
She sets her tablet down and slides her glasses off, folding them into the breast pocket of her scrubs.
“What’s with you, hm?” She leans in. “First you’re late, then you run out of trauma like you’re about to pass out. That’s not like you, kid.”
You shrug. “Just a little off today.”
She watches you for a second, her eyes narrowing just a fraction. She’s not stupid. She knows there’s more to it than that—but Dana isn’t the type to push.
She hums quietly.
“Alright,” she says. “I’ll pretend I believe that.”
You give her a small, appreciative smile as you push off the counter. “Love you, Dana.”
She just shakes her head, the corner of her mouth lifting as she glances back down at her tablet. “Yeah? Then check on North Four for me and see if you can get ‘em discharged.”
You nod. “North Four, on it.”
You start to turn away, then stop yourself and swivel back toward her.
“Hey—uh—is Abbot still here?” you ask.
“No, he left right after the MVC trauma,” she replies without looking up.
“Oh.”
“Why? You need him?” she asks. “I’m sure whatever you need, Dr. Robby can—”
“No,” you say quickly. “Nope. I’m good. Totally fine. Don’t need anything at all.”
You hug your tablet to your chest and start turning away again.
“Everything’s fine!”
You don’t dare look back. You just keep walking toward the North hall, completely missing the sceptical look Dana sends after you—and the confused look on Robby’s face as he glances between the two of you.
On your way to N4, you pull your phone out of your pocket and tap on Dr. Abbot’s contact, typing quickly.
So much for saying goodbye to your favourite resident.
Then you hit send and tuck your phone back into your pocket.
You’re not actually offended. Not really. This is the ER. People barely have time to finish a sentence, let alone say goodbye.
You’re just… nervous.
Nervous because Abbot thinks he knows something—and you need to figure out what that is before he decides to say something to Robby and make this whole situation infinitely worse.
You stop outside N4 and take a deep breath—your hundredth deep breath of the morning. You can do this. This is the easy part. The patients. The work. The familiarity of what you do every day. You just need to focus on this for the next twelve hours and definitely not the way you can still feel the weight of his hand on your hip, steady and certain, holding you exactly where he wanted you as he—
“Nope,” you tell yourself out loud. “Absolutely not. Focus.”
You shake your head as you step into the room and slide the curtain back, greeting the patient with your practiced mask of cool, calm, and collected. You manage to convince them they don’t need an MRI, since their ankle is only sprained, but you do get Ahmad to escort them out in a wheelchair—and now you owe him ten bucks and a bagel tomorrow morning.
Then you move on to the next patient. And the next.
The next few hours pass by in a blur of minor catastrophes. A migraine that melts away with the standard cocktail of Toradol, Reglan, and Benadryl. A Lego piece extracted from a three-year-old’s nose while Whitaker distracts the squirming patient. Three stitches in the eyebrow of a man who swears he doesn’t drink before 10AM—even though you can smell the alcohol on his breath. An overworked woman with chest pain that turns out to be a panic attack. A teenager with a swollen knee and a devastated look on his face when you suggest he might be benched for the rest of the season.
And at half past noon, you step into C9. Mid-thirties, right lower quadrant abdominal pain, nausea, mild fever—what you can already guess is appendicitis.
“Hi, Ms. Park, how are you feeling?” you ask, squirting a pump of sanitiser into your palm.
She winces. “Not so good.”
“It says here you’re having abdominal pain, nausea, and a bit of a fever,” you say. “When did that start?”
She nods. “Early this morning. Four, maybe.”
You set your tablet on the cart, grab a pair of gloves, and drag a stool beside the bed. “Mind if I take a look at your abdomen so I can get a better idea of what’s going on?”
She nods and tips her head back against the pillow, hands falling either side as you start palpating her lower abdomen. It doesn’t take more than a few presses for her to hiss and lift a hand, trying to push you away.
“Sorry,” she says, voice strained. “It hurts a lot.”
“That’s okay.” You scoot back and rise from the stool, peeling off your gloves. “I’m going to order a CT scan to take a better look, and we’ll give you something for the pain and something for the nausea in the meantime.”
You step around the bed and grab your tablet off the cart.
“A nurse will come in shortly to start fluids too,” you add. “You’re probably a little dehydrated if you haven’t been able to eat or drink much this morning.”
She looks at you with wide eyes. “I don’t know if I want a CT. Isn’t that a lot of radiation?”
“It’s a relatively small amount,” you reply evenly, “and it’s the best way for us to see what’s going on inside your abdomen. I can assure you, it’s very safe.”
“I try to avoid unnecessary radiation,” Ms. Park argues, shifting uncomfortably. “Is there another option?”
“Ultrasound can sometimes help, but it’s not always reliable in adults,” you say. “A CT scan will give us the clearest answer.”
She hesitates, eyes dropping to her lap. “Well—could I please speak to the doctor in charge?”
You open your mouth to reply when someone steps in beside you. Tall. Solid. Close enough to make your pulse skip and your stomach take a nosedive.
“You are,” Robby says, arms folded. “She’s the physician managing your care right now, so we’ll follow her recommendation.”
You step to the side, nearly tripping over nothing, clutching your tablet to your chest.
“Uh—Dr. Robby, this is Ms. Park,” you say quickly. “Thirty-five, right lower quadrant pain since early this morning. Nausea, no vomiting, low-grade fever at triage. Tenderness at McBurney’s point. I’ve ordered labs and a CT abdomen to rule out appendicitis.”
Robby nods once. “That sounds appropriate.”
Ms. Park sighs.
“Alright,” she says, a little more pleasantly now. “If that’s what you recommend.”
She doesn’t even look at you as she says it—her eyes stay fixed on Robby, softening in a way that makes you briefly consider poking her appendix again.
Not that you can blame her.
Your gaze flicks to Robby, wondering if he’s noticed the sudden change in demeanour—or the way she’s practically making heart eyes at him.
But he isn’t looking at Ms. Park.
He’s looking at you.
You clear your throat, quickly glancing back down at your tablet. “Uh—that’s good. Great. I’ll finish the orders now, and a nurse will be by shortly with some pain relief.”
Ms. Park gives you a brief nod before turning back to Robby with a smile that makes you want to roll your eyes. Robby just nods, squirts a pump of sanitiser into his hand, then steps out of the room—and you try not to follow too closely.
You slide the curtain shut before turning into the hall, half expecting Robby to be gone—but he isn’t. He’s still standing there, holding his tablet in one hand while the other scrubs at his jaw in that mildly anxious way it always does.
“Nice work in there,” he says without looking up.
Heat floods your face.
“Thanks,” you say with a tight smile. “And thanks for backing me up.”
He glances at you over the top of his glasses.
“You had it handled.”
You clutch your tablet to your chest. “Well—uh—thanks anyway.”
Then, before you completely lose the ability to function, you turn on your heel and start down the hall—but not fast enough to miss Dana’s voice.
“Careful, Robinavitch,” she says dryly. “You’re hovering.”
“I supervise,” Robby mutters.
Dana hums.
“Uh-huh. I’ll pretend I believe that.”
Hovering?
You tighten your grip on your tablet as you hurry down the South hall, pretending you know where you’re headed.
Robby wasn’t hovering. He was just doing his job. Right?
He hovers around every resident and med student.
It’s not like he was—
You shake your head.
No—Dana’s just teasing. It’s her thing. It’s practically her love language.
You stop short when you reach the end of the hall. Elevator ahead. Restrooms to your right.
Nowhere else to go.
“You okay, Doctor?” McKay asks, stepping out of the ladies’ room.
You blink. “Uh—yeah, I just—”
You’re not sure what excuse to use now—standing in the middle of the hall, staring at the elevator, white-knuckling your tablet like you’re one bad patient away from a psychotic break.
“You look like you’re buffering,” she says, the corner of her mouth twitching. “Why don’t you take a break?”
You shake your head. “I don’t need a break.”
Her brows lift as she gently places a hand on each of your shoulders, turning you back the other way. “Alright. Well, why don’t you go sit down and catch up on your charting?”
She starts guiding you slowly back up the hall.
“Charting,” you echo, a faint frown forming between your brows. “Yeah. That’s a good idea, actually. I haven’t done much all day.”
She nods. “See? I’m full of good ideas. And you are seriously concerning me today.”
You give her a look. “I’m fine. Everyone is just being—”
“Caring?” she offers.
You roll your eyes. “Overbearing.”
She shakes her head, laughing quietly as she steers you toward the nurse’s station.
“Here,” she says, pulling out a chair in front of a vacant computer. “Sit.”
“Yes, ma’am,” you mutter, dropping down at the desk.
She steps behind you, pushes the chair in, then leans over your shoulder.
“Good girl,” she murmurs.
Your entire spine locks.
“What was that?”
McKay straightens, already grinning.
“Charting,” she says lightly, tapping the monitor. “Try it.”
“But—you just—”
She laughs under her breath, already backing away.
“Finish your notes, doctor. You don’t want to have to stay late.”
Then she’s gone, shaking her head again as she disappears back toward triage.
You sit there for a few seconds longer than you should, staring after her while your brain desperately tries to reboot.
“Fucking Santos,” you mutter, finally turning back to the computer.
“You called,” Santos says, appearing on the other side of the desk.
Your eyes snap up. “You.”
Her brows lift. “Me?”
“Yes,” you snap. “You’ve been telling people.”
She tries—and fails—to suppress a smile.
“Not technically.” She leans forward, resting both forearms on the counter. “I only told Huckleberry, but McKay overheard. Can you blame me, though? It’s the most interesting thing to happen around here today.”
“Yes,” you hiss. “I can blame you. And I will blame you if—”
You stop, your eyes flicking past her to where Robby has just stepped out of C8, chart in hand and head bowed. Santos frowns for a second before following your gaze over her shoulder.
She snorts. “Oh my God. You can’t even function.”
“Who can’t function?” Whitaker asks, stepping up beside Santos.
You drop your head into your hands and sigh. “Great. They’re multiplying.”
Santos leans closer. “Hey, what’s the song that plays in your head whenever he walks past? Is it, like, SexyBack, or more… Like a Prayer?”
Whitaker snorts softly, his cheeks turning pink.
You glare at Santos. “Neither.”
“You’re right.” She nods thoughtfully. “I can practically hear the Careless Whisper sax playing in your mind right now.”
Your eyes go wide as you snatch a pen off the desk and lob it straight at her—but she dodges it easily.
“Wow,” she says, still laughing. “I’m on fire today.”
“Is that so, Dr. Santos?”
You recognise the voice before you even see him—because of course you do. You dream about that voice.
“That would mean you’ve caught up on all your charting and discharged your patient in North One?” Robby asks as he steps up beside Santos.
Her grin drops. “Uh—yeah. Actually, I was just on my way to North One.”
Her eyes slide back to you as she pushes away from the desk, lips pressed tight to keep herself from laughing.
“Dr. Whitaker,” Robby says. “Are you hovering?”
Hovering?
Whitaker glances up. “Oh—uh—no. I was just finishing some orders.”
“Good. You can finish them on your way to discharging South Twenty.”
Whitaker nods, barely even glancing at you as he grabs his tablet off the desk and turns toward the South hall.
Then Robby looks at you, holding up the pen you threw at Santos.
Your pulse stutters.
“Think you lost this,” he says, leaning forward to drop it on the desk.
“I threw it,” you blurt.
He hesitates, the corner of his mouth twitching before he turns away.
“I know.”
You watch him go until he turns a corner and disappears—then you look down at the pen.
“Fuck,” you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I need today to end.”
You slide the pen aside and force your attention back to the computer—to the cursor blinking patiently beside the single word you’d managed to write since sitting down.
Right.
Charting.
You manage exactly four more words before you’re interrupted again—something about your abdominal pain patient in Central Nine.
With a sigh, you push away from the desk, grab your tablet, and head for C9.
After confirming Ms. Park does indeed need an appendectomy and contacting Garcia for a surgical consult, Dana stops you in the hall to ask if Mr. Mullens can be discharged from South Sixteen. Then Javadi grabs you to present a calf laceration that you end up supervising while she sutures it, and after that Whitaker calls you in for a second opinion on a dizziness patient in North Five.
The hours start to blur together. You bounce from one room to another, just barely finishing your notes in between patients and med students and reviewing labs. By the time you finally make it back to the desk again, you’ve almost—almost—forgotten about why your heart is still beating a little too fast.
“Back to charting?” Princess asks.
You nod. “The never-ending task.”
She gives you the same quiet, speculative smile she gave you this morning.
“You seem off today,” she says.
“I’m fine,” you mutter. “Just tired.”
“And red,” she adds before turning away.
You frown, pressing a hand to your ridiculously hot cheek as you turn back toward the computer. If this keeps up, you’re more likely to end the shift as a patient than a doctor.
With a small sigh, you scoot your chair closer to the desk and pull the chart back up. Your eyes flick to the corner of the screen, to the little clock telling you that you only have a few hours left. A few hours to finish your charting, discharge a couple more patients, and keep avoiding Dr. Robby. Then you’re free. Then you’ve got at least eight solid hours to sort yourself out before you’re back here tomorrow.
Just as you position your fingers over the keyboard to start typing, your phone vibrates in your pocket—and your pulse jumps.
Abbot.
You quickly pull it out, swipe up, and open the notification.
Sorry. Too busy mourning the loss of my status as your favourite attending.
Your stomach drops.
What the fuck is that supposed to mean?
You stare at the text for an unreasonable length of time—heart pounding, face burning, thoughts racing. Abbot definitely thinks he knows something. Something he shouldn’t know. Something he’s probably very wrong about. Something you need to figure out and shut down immediately.
Before he decides to say something to Robby about whatever it is he thinks he knows.
“Hey,” Dana says, stopping on the other side of the desk. “Thought you were working?”
You clear your throat. “Uh—yeah. Sorry. Got distracted.”
Her brows lift. “Distracted, huh? That’s exactly what we want in emergency medicine.”
Then she shakes her head and walks away.
You tuck your phone into your pocket and turn your attention back to the chart in front of you. The chart of exactly five words—the first of many unfinished charts standing in your way of going home on time.
And today is not a day you want to stay back.
Your fingers hover over the keyboard again, eyes flicking over the few words already written. It takes a minute—probably longer than it should—but eventually you remember how to do your job and start typing.
The ER fades into background noise—monitors beeping, nurses chatting, the rumble of beds rolling past—and for the first time all day, you feel focused. Steady. Until—
“Robby,” Dana calls, “can you come over here for a sec?”
Your fingers slow over the keys—and against your better judgment, you glance up.
“Mrs. Alvarez,” Robby says fondly. “What brings you here?”
Your brows draw together as you study the older woman sitting on the bed. She looks familiar, and Alvarez rings a bell, but you can’t quite place it.
“Perlah,” you say, without fully looking away from the woman. “Who’s Mrs. Alvarez?”
“She used to work here,” Perlah replies. “She was the night shift charge nurse before Lena. Partially retired a couple years ago, but she’s covered a shift or two since then.”
You tilt your head. “Oh.”
“She probably asked for Robby,” Princess chimes in. “She always had a soft spot for him.”
Perlah tries to muffle her laughter. “Katulad ng ibang kakilala natin.”
Princess laughs behind you, but the sound barely registers. You’re too captivated by the scene unfolding in front of you. The very normal, very professional interaction that is hardly out of place in an ER—yet for some reason, it feels like you’re watching an adult film made specifically for you.
Mrs. Alvarez’s bed is parked up against the wall—a sight that would normally remind you to look for patients to discharge, but right now that’s the furthest thing from your mind.
Robby has pulled a stool up beside her, leaning in while she talks, forearms resting loosely on the bed rail. He nods along as she explains what’s wrong, his expression soft, his posture relaxed. There’s absolutely nothing obscene about it—but your pulse is still racing.
There’s just something about the way he listens—really listens—that makes it difficult to look anywhere else. That makes it difficult not to envy Mrs. Alvarez right now.
“Let’s take a listen,” he says after a moment, voice low and steady.
Your stomach does a strange little flip.
It’s such a normal sentence. Completely harmless. Totally professional. You’ve probably said the same thing yourself at least three times today. But hearing it in that voice—calm, warm, just rough enough at the edges to carry across the department—does something deeply unhelpful to your concentration.
He slips the stethoscope from around his neck, the tubing sliding through his fingers with the kind of easy familiarity that only comes from years of doing the same motion over and over again. The movement is quick, practiced, almost absentminded.
Still, your eyes follow it.
They follow the way he leans forward, one hand bracing lightly against the mattress while the other presses the diaphragm of the stethoscope gently against Mrs. Alvarez’s chest.
“Deep breath for me.”
Your pulse stutters.
Because suddenly—unhelpfully, vividly—you remember exactly how those hands felt in the dream.
The same steady fingers. The same calm voice, dropped just a little lower when he leaned close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath near your ear.
His hand had been wrapped around your wrist—firm but careful—guiding your hand above your head and pinning it against the pillow.
“Hold still,” he murmured.
The memory is sharp enough that for a second you can almost feel it again. The weight of his body pressing into the space between your knees, the quiet authority in his voice when he spoke, the way his fingers tightened against your skin just enough to keep you right where he wanted you.
Your hands had curled into the bed sheets as his lips traced the line of your jaw, his voice dropping again—softer now, almost thoughtful.
“Look at me.”
Your breath had caught in your throat when you did.
Because he was watching you the same way he watches patients—calm, focused, completely absorbed—except the attention felt different in the dream. Slower. Heavier. Like he was studying every reaction you gave him and deciding exactly how much more you could handle.
Your pulse had started racing the second his gaze dropped to your mouth.
It wasn’t subtle.
Just a brief shift of his eyes—thoughtful, almost curious—but the heat that followed it made your stomach tighten.
His thumb found its way back to your jaw, tracing slowly along the curve of it as if he were considering something. Following the line of your chin as he tipped your head back just slightly beneath his hand.
You hadn’t realised you’d stopped breathing until his fingers stilled.
“Breathe,” he said quietly.
The word brushed over your lips.
You remember the way your chest rose when you obeyed him—slow, unsteady—and the way his gaze followed the movement before drifting back to your mouth again.
God.
The corner of his mouth had lifted slightly then, like he’d noticed exactly what he was doing to you.
Like he wasn’t in any hurry to stop.
His hand slid from your jaw to the side of your throat, fingers warm against your skin, thumb resting just beneath your chin as if he were holding you there—not tightly, just enough that you stayed exactly where he wanted you.
And the entire time he watched you with that same quiet concentration.
Like this was just another thing he was very, very good at.
“Hey,” Santos says, appearing beside the desk. “Your abdominal pain in C9 just went upstairs.”
You blink at her. “Already?”
She shrugs. “Garcia signed off.”
You nod once, shifting awkwardly in your chair as you turn back toward the computer, trying very hard to ignore the heat pooling low in your belly.
“You good?” Santos asks, as if you haven’t been asked that enough today.
You clear your throat, eyes flicking briefly back to Robby and Mrs. Alvarez. “Yeah. Fine.”
She follows your gaze, the corner of her mouth twitching.
“Wow,” she says. “You’re down bad.”
You glare at her. “I’m charting.”
“You’re drooling.”
You quickly lift a hand to your mouth, swiping at the corner.
Santos grins. “Well, it depends who you’re asking, because if you ask—”
“Santos,” you warn.
She laughs. “Come on. It’s just a joke.”
“Isang biro?” Princess says, smiling. “Walang nakakatawa sa paraan ng pagtitig niya kay Robby.”
Your stomach drops.
You might not understand Tagalog, but you sure as hell know what that last word was.
“Santos,” you say, slowly rising from your chair. “How many people have you told?”
She presses her lips together sheepishly. “Again, technically? Just Huckleberry.”
“And—and I haven’t told anyone,” Whitaker adds quickly.
“Ano ang pinag-uusapan nila?” Perlah says behind you.
Princess shrugs. “May alam lang na sikreto si Santos.”
Your eyes widen. “Santos, I swear—”
“Relax,” she says. “They’re not talking about the dream. They were talking about your staring.”
Princess steps forward. “A dream? What dream?”
You bury your face in your hands. “Oh my God.”
“Wait,” Perlah says. “Did she have a dream about—”
Santos smirks. “Yep.”
“Oh,” Princess gasps. “That’s why she’s been so weird today.”
Perlah snorts.
Princess mutters something else in Tagalog that makes them all laugh again.
“Oh my God, Santos!” you say again, louder this time. “I’m just trying to get through the day without my attending finding out I had a sex dream about him and you’re telling the entire emergency department?”
Silence.
Perlah is staring at you.
Princess is staring at you.
Whitaker looks like someone has just pulled the fire alarm inside his head.
And Santos—
Santos is very carefully not looking at you anymore.
“What?” you snap. “No more jokes?”
No one answers.
Instead, Princess’s eyes flick slowly past your shoulder.
Whitaker clears his throat.
Santos presses her lips together, the corners twitching like she’s fighting for her life not to laugh.
“What?” you repeat, glancing over your shoulder.
And there he is.
Your attending—standing just a few feet from the nurse’s station, tablet still in one hand, glasses sliding slightly down his nose as he looks at you over the top of them.
Your stomach drops so violently it feels like all your organs have fallen out of your body.
He clears his throat.
Once.
“Alright,” he says evenly. “Back to work.”
That’s all it takes.
Perlah and Princess busy themselves on the other side of the nurse’s station.
Whitaker rushes off toward triage.
Santos lingers just long enough to give you a look that promises she will never let this go before she slips away too.
And then it’s just you.
And him.
He doesn’t say anything for a moment. Just adjusts the tablet in his hand, pulls his glasses off, folds them into the pocket of his scrubs, and turns away.
And as he steps away, you could almost swear you see the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth.
Almost as if he’s fighting a smile.
But that would be ridiculous, right?
It takes an embarrassingly long time for you to remember how to move.
How to function.
You can feel Perlah and Princess watching you. Waiting for you to do something other than stare at the spot your attending had been standing when you announced your sex dream about him to the entire department.
God.
This has to be some kind of HR violation.
Robby is probably on his way to find Dana right now so she can tell you to go upstairs and talk to someone about misconduct. If you’re not fired, you’ll be transferred.
Or worse—night shift.
You gasp and fumble for your phone, pulling it out of your pocket.
Abbot's message thread is already open when you swipe up and start typing.
What’s that supposed to mean?
Then you hit send and tuck your phone away again.
It’s a ridiculous thought, but maybe if you can talk to Abbot and explain that this was all just one giant misunderstanding, maybe he can convince Robby not to hate you for it. Maybe he can convince Robby to let you finish your residency at PTMC without it being painfully awkward for both of you.
Because as funny as this is to Santos and the nurses, you’re not so sure Robby will see it that way.
Not when you’ve let it affect your work.
Not when you just embarrassed him—and yourself—in front of the entire emergency department.
You draw in a slow breath and grab your tablet off the desk.
All you can do now is your job.
All you can do for the next hour is avoid Robby and pray Abbot will hear you out when he comes back on shift.
You turn deliberately toward the North hallway and pull up the lab results for Whitaker’s dizziness patient, keeping your eyes fixed on your tablet as you walk.
The department hums around you like it always does—monitors beeping, beds rolling past, nurses calling out vitals—but you can still feel eyes on you. Whether it’s the nurses or the med students, or even a patient who overheard your outburst, you know you’re being watched.
Whispered about, probably.
But if you don’t look up, it doesn’t count. Right?
By the time you circle back to central, Mrs. Alvarez has already been discharged, which you take as a small mercy. Then you duck into South Fifteen to check on a teenager with a sprained ankle who is mostly interested in whether he can still play soccer this weekend. After that it’s a quick review of labs for a chest pain patient in Central Ten—normal troponins, thank God—and a brief stop at the nurse’s station to sign off on discharge instructions Dana has already printed.
None of it requires you to look up very much.
Which is ideal.
You spend the next half hour moving steadily from room to room—listening to a set of lungs for a persistent cough in North Three, answering a worried daughter’s questions about her father’s blood pressure in South Twenty-Two, and checking a set of repeat vitals on a dehydration case Princess flagged earlier. Every task is perfectly ordinary. Completely routine.
And through all of it, you make a very conscious effort not to look for your attending.
Not that you’re avoiding him.
Obviously.
You’re just… busy.
You still see him, though—across the hall, talking to patients, nodding along while med students present. He doesn’t look up. Never looks at you. Just keeps walking, keeps working, keeps nodding.
Like nothing happened.
And somehow, that’s worse.
You’re on your way back from dropping discharge paperwork at the front desk—walking a little slower than you should as you wonder how long until the end of your shift—when McKay calls out from triage.
“Hey, you busy?”
You stop mid-step. “Always. What’s up?”
“Can you grab me a suture kit?” she asks. “I’m out in here.”
“Of course. What size?”
“Four-oh nylon. Whatever's closest.”
You nod. “On it.”
“And maybe send a med student to grab more from supply,” she calls as you walk away.
You don’t reply. You just duck into Trauma One—thankfully empty—grab a kit, then call out to Ogilvie on your way back, telling him to go get more suture kits for triage as soon as he’s free. You don’t even wait for him to answer, but you do hear him turn to a nurse and ask where supply is.
You wedge your tablet under one arm as you head back toward the triage bay. With the kit held against your chest, you start peeling back the sterile packaging—since you know McKay’s already halfway through cleaning whatever it is she needs to suture up.
You’re just being helpful.
But the plastic seam is stubborn, and just as you turn into the bay the wrapper gives with a jerked tear—and the scalpel slides free.
You shift to catch it, but the blade grazes the inside of your upper arm before you can pull away.
“Oh—shit.”
It’s not dramatic. Just a sharp sting at first, and for a second you assume it’s nothing more than a scratch.
Until the warmth starts to trickle down your arm and drip from your elbow.
“Damn,” you sigh, watching a small droplet of blood hit the floor.
McKay glances up, eyes going wide. “What the hell happened?”
She quickly takes everything out of your hands, and you lift your arm to inspect the damage.
“Scalpel slipped.”
McKay winces. “That’s going to need stitches.”
Ignoring the confused patient still sitting in the triage chair, she grabs a wad of gauze off the cart and presses it against your arm.
“Hold this,” she says. “I’ll go get someone to take over here, then we can—”
“It’s alright,” a familiar voice says from somewhere behind you. “I’ll deal with this.”
Your stomach drops.
“Oh.” McKay glances over your shoulder, the corner of her mouth twitching. “Thanks, Dr. Robby.”
Fuck.
You turn slowly, one hand still clamped over the gauze on your arm.
He’s already so close—barely half a step away—and you have to tip your head back to look up at him.
“Let me see,” he says, voice low.
You hold your arm out obediently.
His fingers brush yours as he peels back the gauze, and your pulse jumps.
“Alright.” He nods once, something indistinguishable flickering across his face. “That needs stitches.”
Before you can respond, his hand closes lightly around your wrist, guiding your arm back toward your side as he turns you with him.
“Come with me.”
The touch is brief, professional—but when his hand shifts to the small of your back to steer you out of triage, the warmth of it makes your heart stutter out of rhythm.
“Dana,” he calls, walking quickly through central. “What’s open?”
Dana looks up from the desk just as the two of you pass. Her gaze flicks from the gauze on your arm to Robby’s hand still resting lightly at your back, and something sharp and knowing slides into her expression immediately.
“Central Eleven just got cleaned,” she says.
Robby nods once. “Thanks.”
Dana’s brows lift just a fraction as she watches the two of you step into the room, like she’s just connected several very interesting dots.
You move automatically toward the bed, trying not to feel disappointed when Robby’s hand leaves your back. He shuts the doors on both sides of the room, then slides the curtain closed—and every move makes your heart rate climb higher.
“Lay back,” he says.
Your whole body flushes with heat as you adjust yourself on the exam bed, trying desperately not to think about the other circumstances in which he might give you that instruction.
He rolls the stool beside the bed and reaches for your arm, turning it out gently.
His fingers are warm as he removes the gauze.
You try not to think too hard about his fingers.
“It’s a clean cut, at least,” he says after a second.
You nod. “Sharp blade.”
Like he didn’t already know that.
He releases your arm long enough to pull on a pair of gloves and gather what he needs from the tray beside the bed. You watch him move around the room with that same quiet efficiency that has been ruining your concentration all day—steady hands, calm voice, not a hint of hurry even though the department outside the door is probably chaos.
“Come a little closer,” he says, almost absentmindedly—as if he doesn’t know what saying something like that is going to do to you.
You shift against the mattress while he lifts your arm again, angling it under the exam light.
He’s so close now you can hardly breathe. You can feel his breath against your cheek, his warmth bleeding through the thin fabric of your scrubs, every touch careful as he starts cleaning the cut.
The antiseptic stings enough to make you tense.
“Easy,” he murmurs, steadying your arm. “It’s not that bad.”
“I’m aware,” you say quickly. “I do actually work here.”
“Yes,” he says mildly. “I’m aware of that too.”
You risk a glance at him then—and immediately regret it.
He’s standing now, leaning close enough that you could count every fleck of grey in his beard. Close enough to notice the way his glasses have slid slightly down his nose while he concentrates on the wound. His fingers move with careful precision as he prepares the needle driver, completely focused.
Completely calm.
Completely unaware that your brain is still stuck somewhere between the nurse’s station and a very inappropriate dream.
“Hold still,” he murmurs.
Your stomach flips—and when you squeeze your eyes shut, that exact moment from your dream flashes through your mind again.
The lidocaine burns for a second when he injects it, and you suck in a breath before you can stop yourself.
“Breathe,” he says automatically.
God.
If he could stop with the direct quotes from your dream, maybe you would actually be able to breathe.
You clear your throat, staring stubbornly at the wall now while he begins the first stitch.
“Try to relax,” he adds quietly.
You let out a short, incredulous laugh. “I’m trying.”
His hands pause for the briefest moment.
Then he glances up at you over the rim of his glasses.
“You of all people should know better than to open a suture kit while walking.”
You let out a small, embarrassed breath and shift slightly on the bed while he works, trying not to react every time the needle passes neatly through the edge of the cut.
“Sorry,” you mutter. “It’s been a weird day.”
“Mhm.”
The sound is absentminded, the same one he makes when a patient is explaining symptoms he already understands. His attention stays on your arm while he ties the knot and reaches for the next stitch, movements calm and precise, like this is the most ordinary thing in the world.
“You seemed a little distracted earlier,” he adds after a moment.
Your stomach tightens.
“Busy department.”
He hums again as he adjusts your arm slightly.
“Not exactly what I meant.”
You stare at the ceiling again, your pulse racing dangerously fast.
“It’s not unusual, you know,” he says after a moment, his voice calm and thoughtful as he works. “There’s actually quite a lot of research on it. In high-stress environments people’s subconscious tends to latch onto someone they admire rather than… straightforward attraction. It’s a way of organizing all that pressure—long hours, constant adrenaline, the need to trust the people around you.”
He pauses briefly to adjust the stitch.
You feel like you’re about to throw up.
“Hospitals are particularly good at creating that kind of dynamic,” he goes on. “Everyone’s exhausted, everyone’s relying on each other, and if there happens to be someone who seems steady in the middle of all that—someone people look to when things go wrong—it’s very easy for admiration to blur into something else.”
Another small pause, the thread tightening neatly under his fingers.
“It’s rarely intentional,” he adds, quieter now. “Most of the time the person experiencing it doesn’t even realise what their brain is doing.”
You finally look at him. His face is barely inches from yours, close enough that you can see the faint crease between his brows while he concentrates on the last stitch, all of his attention focused on closing the cut.
“Wait,” you say slowly. “So… I—I’m not fired?”
His hands still for the briefest moment before he glances at you, genuine confusion flickering across his face.
“Fired?”
You swallow. “For… you know. The thing I said. Out there. To the entire department.”
He huffs a small laugh—barely a breath.
“Why would you be fired?” he says mildly. “Embarrassing yourself in front of the nurses isn’t exactly grounds for termination.”
Your face burns.
He sets the needle driver down and reaches for the scissors, his tone settling back into that same calm, matter-of-fact rhythm.
“You shouldn’t have let it distract you from your work, though,” he continues. “That’s the only part I was concerned about. But one off day doesn’t suddenly erase an otherwise solid record.”
You stare at him.
“Concerned?”
“Mhm.”
He snips the suture, then reaches to adjust your arm slightly under the light, examining his work.
“First you were late,” he says, almost absently. “You were flustered during the chest tube. You’ve been avoiding traumas all day—” His eyes meet yours briefly. “And your attending. You’ve barely caught up on your charting, and you’ve unintentionally encouraged the nurses’ gossiping.”
Your stomach drops.
“Not to mention,” he adds, just a little drier now, “the pen you threw at Dr. Santos for—what? Teasing you, I presume.”
Your brain short-circuits.
Because suddenly, Dana’s voice echoes through your mind.
Careful, Robinavitch. You’re hovering.
Hovering?
Like the way he’d stood so close while you placed that chest tube. The way his hand had settled at your back when he guided you out of triage.
Why was he even there to begin with?
Santos’ voice cuts through your mind next.
I swear he’s got a soft spot for you.
I’m pretty sure he’d go there if you asked.
And suddenly the entire day looks… different.
Not like an attending keeping an eye on his resident.
Like a man trying very hard not to make it obvious he was paying attention to you.
Robby smooths the edge of the dressing over the sutured cut, pressing it down carefully as he glances back up at you.
“Keep that dry for the next—”
And that’s the moment your brain finally catches up.
Before you can talk yourself out of it, your hand shoots out and grabs the front of his scrubs, fingers bunching the fabric at his chest as you pull him the few inches closer.
Then you kiss him.
It’s not graceful.
It’s barely even planned.
Just a quick, impulsive press of your mouth against his—warm and startled and over almost as soon as it begins.
For half a second, he doesn’t move at all.
“Oh—fuck. I—”
You drop his shirt like it’s suddenly on fire and lean back on the bed, horrified.
“I’m so sorry,” you blurt. “I don’t know why I just—”
The apology dies halfway through, because Robby hasn’t stepped away.
He hasn’t leapt back, shocked or offended. He’s just… there.
Where he was when you grabbed him—close enough that you can still feel his warmth, with one hand resting lightly near your arm where he’d been finishing the dressing. For a second he simply watches you, studying your face with the same quiet concentration he uses when he’s working through a diagnosis, like he’s trying to decide whether the last thirty seconds actually happened.
Your pulse is hammering.
“I shouldn’t have—” you try again.
His hand lifts.
The movement is slow, deliberate, and before you can finish your sentence his thumb and forefinger settle lightly around your chin, tilting your face upward just enough that you have to look at him.
Your breath catches.
He hesitates for the briefest moment, his gaze moving across your face as if he’s still weighing the decision.
Then he leans in.
The first contact is firmer than you expect—his mouth warm and solid against yours, the faint scrape of his beard against your skin as he adjusts the angle. His glasses are still on, the frame nudging the bridge of your nose when he shifts closer. His nose bumps yours before he tilts his head, finding a better position.
For a second it’s almost restrained.
Then it isn’t.
His grip on your chin tightens a fraction as he deepens the kiss, tipping your head back against the pillow while he leans over you. The change is sudden enough that your hands catch the front of his scrubs again without thinking. The fabric bunches in your fingers as he moves closer, the pressure of his mouth shifting—slower now but more certain, like he’s stopped pretending he’s about to pull away.
The beard you’d been trying not to notice all day brushes your cheek again when he moves, softer than you expected, and when his teeth graze your lower lip for half a second the sound that escapes you is embarrassingly honest.
He exhales quietly through his nose against your skin.
Not stopping.
If anything, the opposite.
His free hand comes down beside your shoulder on the mattress to brace himself as he leans over you, the movement tilting your head back further while his mouth finds yours again—deeper this time, the rhythm of it suddenly practiced enough to make your stomach flip.
Like this is something he hasn’t done in a while.
But definitely knows how to do.
And the entire time his thumb stays lightly under your chin, holding you exactly where he wants you while he kisses you like he’s still trying to decide whether this is a mistake—and losing that argument by the second.
You barely notice when he shifts closer again, the movement subtle but unmistakable, his hand tightening slightly against the mattress beside you as if he’s about to lean in further, about to let himself forget the door, the department, the fact that this is an exam room in the middle of a shift—
The curtain whips open.
“Been looking for you, Robinavitch—”
Abbot stops dead.
For half a second no one moves.
You’re still on the bed, Robby bent over you, your hands fisted in the front of his scrubs while his hand is still braced beside your shoulder.
Abbot’s gaze flicks from your grip on Robby’s shirt, to Robby’s face, to the dressing he’d just placed on your arm.
His eyebrows climb slowly toward his hairline.
“Well,” he says after a beat. “I wish I could say I'm surprised, but…”
Robby straightens immediately.
Not panicked. Not flustered.
Just very, very still for a second before he adjusts his glasses and steps back from the bed like he’d simply been finishing a routine procedure.
“Jack,” he says evenly.
Abbot folds his arms, the corner of his mouth already curling upward.
“Michael.”
The silence stretches just long enough for the humiliation to fully settle in.
Abbot glances at you again, then back at Robby.
“Should I come back later,” he asks mildly, “or are you two… just about done here?”
The heat that floods your face is instantaneous, and you slide off the bed so fast you nearly fall.
“Don’t get it wet for twenty-four hours, stitches out in a week unless there’s redness, swelling, drainage, fever—I know the drill,” you ramble, slowly backing toward the door.
Robby has already turned back to the tray, calmly disposing of the suture needle like none of this is remotely unusual. Only the faint redness creeping up the back of his neck gives him away.
Abbot doesn’t move. He just stands there, arms folded, with a look of deep theatrical satisfaction on his face.
“This,” he says pleasantly, “is exactly what I meant, by the way.”
Your stomach drops.
“What?”
His brows lift.
“Your text.”
Your eyes widen.
Abbot tilts his head, studying you for a moment before glancing toward Robby again.
“I mean, honestly,” he adds. “I leave you two alone for what—ten hours?”
“What day shift does is none of your business, Dr. Abbot,” you mutter, trying to slip past him.
Abbot’s mouth twitches.
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” he says. “It seems very much like my business now.”
You snort, the sound escaping before you can stop it.
“Don’t be jealous,” you say, glancing over your shoulder as you step out the door. “He’s still your boyfriend.”
Behind him, Robby drops the gauze into the bin and gives a quiet shake of his head, laughing softly despite himself.
“That’s my girl,” he murmurs.
Abbot’s eyebrows shoot up.
“Your girl, huh?”
Robby scrubs a hand over his beard and turns away.
“Shut up.”
You’re not sure you were supposed to hear that last bit—but it makes your heart race anyway.
The second you step into the hallway, the emergency department crashes back in around you—monitors beeping, nurses calling for labs, a stretcher rattling past that you have to dodge. Almost like the last fifteen minutes never happened at all.
“Hey, Doc,” Princess calls from the nurse’s station. “North Five, dizziness patient’s daughter is looking for a doctor, but Whitaker’s stuck in chairs.”
“And Javadi needs you in South Seventeen,” Perlah adds. “Something about a rash.”
“Oh—and imaging’s back on your sprained ankle kid,” Santos says. “He’s asking when he can get out of here.”
You nod. “Uh—right. Okay, yeah. I’ll just—”
“Hey,” Dana cuts in, appearing beside you. “You okay? How’s the arm?”
You blink down at the fresh dressing like you’d almost forgotten about it.
“Oh. Yeah. It’s fine.”
She studies it for a second before her gaze drifts up to your face—and her brow lifts.
“Uh-huh,” she says slowly.
You frown. “What?”
“Nothing,” she says lightly, starting to walk away. “Just thought that looked like beard burn.”
She gives a small shrug, then glances back over the top of her glasses.
“But I know my doctors are far too professional for that.”
Your entire face goes hot.
You open your mouth—then close it again, because there is absolutely nothing you can say to that without making it worse.
Santos leans across the desk at the nurse’s station, squinting at your face.
Summary: Dennis and Trinity end up roping you into a silly little bet that had you ending up in a very compromising position with two of the Senior attendings as they overheard the details of the game.
CW: 18+ MDNI, Smut, Oral (m/f), fingering, Double penetration, Unprotected P I V, anal, a little degredation and condecention but like in a hot way hehe
Note: Welcome to my dirty little 6.5k word fic that isn't really proof read and was supposed to be a teensy little drabble!! Brought to you by a conversation with @valyntynhardy that had me thinking up a storrmmmm, thank you babes 🩷!! However, halfway through writing I noticed it started to sound a little like a fic I had read so with their permission I will tag the creator of that fic which is, @rr-after-dark and you can find the fic here Hope you all enjoy!!
“TRIN WAIT NO!”
The voice of Dennis Whitaker traveled through the hallways as you stood by the lockers with Mel and Samira. Followed quickly by the sound of what could only be described as a small scuffle and loud thud before Trinity arrived at your area.
“Did you guys-whoo I’m out of shape- did you know huckleberry here has like no body hair?” Trinity lets out small giggles as she begins spilling a very intimate secret about her roommate.
“Uhm, well no I can’t say for a good reason why any of us would have known this.” You look around to everyone in your proximity, “But sharing is caring I guess?”
“I’m sorry and how do you know this?” Mel squeaked out with reddened cheeks.
“I’m so glad you asked, he was taking the longest time in the shower as usual and so I went to scare him and the idiot grabs the shower curtain” trinity paused to snort out a laugh, “and-and it all comes down and next thing I know I am staring at a naked little mole rat”
“It’s not funny! It’s probably like an underlying condition of something okay” With cheeks redder than Mel’s, Dennis was trying hard not to make it seem like he was confirming his predicament. He wasn’t denying it either however.
“You know what I’m sure loads of men don’t really have body hair,” Samira was doing her best to console the poor boy, “I bet even some people we work with are in the same boat!”
You fixed your face into a you’re joking expression directly aimed at her.
“Okay then who? Because I couldn’t name one who I think is smoother than poor Dennis over here” Trinity motions to the entirety of the ED before getting a look in her eye. “Hold on, what if we I don't know take some bets about this.”
“No, Trinity, that's such an HR violation” Mel immediately voices her concerns
“Only if you tell them, okay let’s narrow it down to the attendings keep it small” she sneaks a look at you specifically, “Abbot and Robby; bush, trimmed, or fully shaved? Bonus points for chest hair”
A beat of silence followed after her statement, as everyone took their time in processing what exactly they were getting themselves into. And if they were willing to participate.
“I don’t think that’s appropriate”
“They’re our bosses-”
“IT’S A CONDITION!”
All three began arguing over the ethics of Trinity's proposed bet, you however lifted a finger to your chin before interrupting everyone.
“Abbot is for sure trimmed with a little chest hair, and Robby is definitely a full jungle head to toe no doubt about it”
A shrug was added towards the end as if this was light work, and that's because it was. You weren’t going to lie and say you hadn’t thought about this before, many, many times. You were an R4 and had been working at the PTMC since your MS4. There was no doubt that you held a candle to both of your much older attendings, hell you’ve been called out multiple times on the doe eyes you’ve made when you thought no one was looking.
Dana had especially caught on, and never ceased to remind you that they were double your age and that a sweet girl like you didn’t need to be tied down by old men like them. If only she knew how much it turned you on to hear just how much older they were. And it was worse when the reminders came from Robby and Abbot themselves.
‘Good God I was in med school by the time you were born sweetheart’
‘I have tattoos that are older than you kid’
Both statements were seared into your brain the moment they said it. Lines that replayed one too many times with a hand furiously circling your clit while splayed out on your bed fantasizing about your bosses. So yeah your bet was one made with the confidence of four years of pining after these men.
“Nah Abbot's smooth and Robby is trimmed” Trinity wasted no time in following behind with hers.
“Fine, uhm both of them are trimmed short, but Robby has the chest hair” Samira's vote was cast in a mumble as she avoided eye contact.
“I’m going to say both are clean shaven” you had a feeling Dennis was just trying to make himself feel better.
“Nope, no thanks I’ll handle the money” Mel shook her head having absolutely no interest whatsoever in participating.
“Okay, problem though. How exactly are we going to find out?” Trinity once again laid her gaze on you, which to be fair so did everyone else. Point taken.
“Alright sure I volunteer as tribute, but if I do this it’s up to 20$ per correct guess. Bush and chest hair are separate so we’re talking 40 bucks per attending”
You weren’t about to become a walking HR violation if there wasn’t a chance of getting 240$ richer. A girl has bills to pay.
As all agreed on the bet, handing your money over to Mel you realized you needed a game plan.
______________________________________
It all began the next day when Abbot had picked up a double. He and Robby were chatting and discussing patient care when you and Trinity saddled up to the station to chart on your own patients. Seeing no time like the present you decided to seize the moment and turned to Trinity.
“Do you have a good waxer?”
Trinity's eyes bugged out for just one moment before she recognized the plan.
“No, sorry babe I just take care of it myself at home”
“I used to have a good one but she moved to LA, and I haven’t touched it since” Not a lie, “I don’t trust myself not to cut off a lip so I figured I’d just leave it until I find a new one.”
Out of the corner of your eye you caught the way both men had frozen in their spots, eyes wide and a blush creeping up Robby’s neck.
“Say Dr. Robby, Dr. Abbot do you guys know a good place to get waxed?”
That sweet blush melted onto poor Robby’s cheeks at your inquiry. He then looked over to Jack as if making sure he wasn’t going crazy.
“I, uh can’t say that I do kid” Hand rubbing the back of his neck.
“You really think we look like the kind of people who would know someone for that sweetheart?” Jack settled his gaze into nonchalance a lot easier than Robby did.
“Well I don’t know I didn’t want to assume, you know” you shrug before grabbing Trinity’s wrist and walking away, “okay well that eliminates waxing but doesn't eliminate if they shave or trim.”
The next opportunity you had was a week or so later when you saw Robby standing alone in the supply closet.
“Do they have any witch hazel or aloe in here?” An innocent and slightly stupid question that no one would blink twice at.
“I’m not entirely sure why, what’s up kid?” Robby turned to look at you as if you were presenting a case.
“Well the patient in central 6 came in with what they thought was an STD, burning and itching and all that. Turns out it’s a simple rash from shaving” You search his face for any sense of acknowledgement, or the vibes of understanding. But instead you get nothing but the look of okay and?
“Well if we don’t have it, discharge them with instructions and some powder for the irritation” Robby tried his best not to blush once more at the full attention you were giving him, efforts that ended up failing at your next statement.
“Well what do you do Dr. Robby? You know if you shave too short and it gets really itchy and bothersome?”
“I don’t, uhm-“
Robby was saved by the bell as Dana came in and called a trauma. Something you huffed about knowing you weren’t going to get an answer. The breath you let out caught his attention unbeknownst to you, as a quizzical expression fell onto his face as he realized this was the second conversation like this he’s had with you in as many weeks.
______________________________________
Jack’s turn for questioning came the next day at shift change as you ran into him at the lockers. You were putting your things into the space and he was taking his out.
“Oh hey Dr.Abbot, I have a quick question for you”
“Your questions are never quick nor are they usually good for my health”
“No I promise this is totally five by five”
“I don’t think you used that-”
“Anyway, so what type of fabric is your underwear?”
A long sigh left his nostrils as he closed his eyes letting his head dip down. Turning his body to face you fully he leaned a shoulder against the lockers as he folded his arms across his chest.
“I want to ask why you want to know that sweetheart, but I think I’m also scared of knowing the reason”
“Well, since you kind of asked I’ll tell you,” stepping a bit closer to him so you could demonstrate your question while you tell it, “I haven’t bought new ones in a while and I noticed that if I shaved, it would poke through the polyester fabric which was super uncomfortable. So I was just wondering if you had that problem?”
If only you had a camera because the look on Jack Abbots face was priceless but only for a split second. His attempt at remaining stoic quickly dropped as his shoulder slid off the lockers for a moment, losing his cool before he straightened up schooling his expression and narrowing his eyes at you.
“Cotton.”
The flatness of his tone sent shivers down your spine as he locked his gaze onto yours not letting you escape, It was your turn to slightly lose your cool. Jack figuring the best plan is to meet you at your own game, one that you were so clearly playing.
Before this your flirtations were kept small and sweet. Ones that he and Robby were more than happy to play into, but they never entertained you much further knowing that you were much too young for them. They also refused to let themselves believe that you were genuinely into them. You who were sunshine personified with the confidence to boot during procedures. The one who they watched as every med student and consultant flirted with you in an attempt to get into your pants only to come out unsuccessful each and every time.
These thoughts and memories were swimming through his head as you left him with a small ‘oh ok, thanks’ and headed out onto the floor but not before he saw you quickly pull out your phone and began furiously typing. Grabbing his backpack he heads out as well, stopping when he sees Robby at the nurses station and figures he'd ask if he noticed anything odd about you lately.
“Hey brother I got a question for you, have you noticed anything odd with-”
“Oh thank god you too?”
Jack didn’t even finish his sentence before Robby was adding in his own thoughts. Both the men recounted their encounters with you noticing a similar topic to your questioning and interest with them recently. But it wasn’t truly making sense to why you were so hung up on this until they overheard a passing conversation that they definitely weren’t supposed to hear.
“Damn it, she said still nothing definitive” came the voice of Trinity Santos the day shift R2 came close to where the two attendings were standing but not close enough that she and Dennis Whitaker saw them standing there.
“I still think betting on their body hair is weird”
“Okay well technically it's not their body hair it's just how they keep their bushes okay with a side bet of chest hair, totally appropriate,” She scoffed as she typed a quick reply on her phone, “plus are you not 80$ deep like the rest of us?”
“Well yeah but having her do it feels cruel when she’s told us about how much she likes Abbot and Robby,”
“Chill with the emotions huckleberry, and please they like her just as much. Which is why she has the best chance”
They walk away soon after leaving both attendings to stew over their words. Over two things specifically; one being the fact that a small group of their doctors have been betting over their pubic hair, but second and more importantly that you actually liked them. Their eyes met and it was almost as if they had the same thought process, which they did. Now they only had one problem though, they needed to figure out how to confront you about it.
Because here you were flaunting around the ED flirting with them and asking questions that should’ve definitely sent you straight to HR. Except Trinity and Dennis were correct, it didn’t because it was you who asked. Taking a quick peek at the schedule they saw that the next shift was your last before you had four days off, they were also short a couple doctors and coincidently neither were supposed to be working. And since Jack and Robby were both such givers they signed themselves up to pick up the shift.
________________________________________
The day started out like any other. You showed up ready to work with an extra pep in your step as it was hot attending free, feeling like you could finally breathe. You loved flirting with them truly, but with this bet going on it was getting harder and harder to get through your shift. Not because you were getting sick of them, no never that. It’s the amount of forced proximity that was really messing with your head.
You were starting to feel as though the faint scent of their body wash and cologne was beginning to embed itself inside your sinuses. Or how the sound of their voices were etched so deep into your brain it replayed constantly as you wore out the batteries of your favorite vibrator almost nightly. But today was going to be different, today was a hot older man free day. At least it was supposed to be, but that quickly dissipated as a few voices you thought weren't going to be around came from behind you.
“Look at her walking in here with a little pep in her step, what do you think got into her?”
“No idea, maybe it's just her youthful state. I mean you remember what it was like to be her age don't you?”
Michael fucking Robinavitch and Jack asshole Abbot had swarmed you as soon as you walked towards the entrance. Only causing a slight stumble before catching your balance and regaining a shred of your already paper thin confidence.
“Well I thought it was going to be a peaceful day, but I guess the powers that be said no.” you attempted a joking insult so that it seemed like nothing about this was getting to you.
But deep and gravelly laughs followed your statement, the kind that had your thighs tightening and heat creeping up your neck. A focus that you were ripped out of at the feeling of a hand on your lower back, which made you halt in your steps. Looking over you spotted Abbot positioning himself against your side before a long arm from the other man in your presence shot out and opened the door allowing you to walk in first.
It was odd, not in an uncomfortable way but mostly because you hadn’t often taken them on at the same time so to speak. Usually choosing to focus on one or the other unless you had back up like Trinity. But here with both of them crowding your space made you feel out of control and dizzy.
Squeaking out a thank you before rushing through the doors trying to get some type of distance, you were stopped short when it came to the security door where they wasted no time in crowding into your space again. Their scents filling your nose as the hairs at the back of your neck stood on edge.
You tried to start this shift with an attempt at the normal teasing and flirtations with the usual confidence you normally had, but as time went on you found yourself becoming increasingly overwhelmed with their constant presence. Mostly because there was something different about them today, they were less playful and dismissive with your advances. Instead it was more intentional, they doubled down on their own flirtations back and almost tag teaming you from each side. Rarely was there a time that one of them wasn’t around you, whenever you picked up a patient they were right there behind you asking for an immediate presentation, or about differentials and possible diagnoses.
They were also more physical as well, a hand at the lower part of your back or on your shoulder when passing by, or even if they were standing near you talking to others. And they were always standing much too close to you when looking at the charts and labs, you couldn’t seem to scramble together more than two words every time they asked you a question because of how overbearing their presence was today. It got to the point where Samira had asked if you were okay since you had seemed so distracted, you did your best to reassure her you were okay but that didn’t seem to ease much of her worry. And unfortunately for you she decided to talk to the worst two people possible about your behavior.
“Im just concerned you know she seems distracted”
“No worries Mohan we’ll check up on her” Abbot tried his own reassurance hoping that he convinced her better than you did.
“I appreciate you bringing this to us. We will do our best to see what's going on”
Robby figured that adding a second statement would distract her from lingering on one or the other for too long. And it seemed to work as she nodded her thanks before walking off. It wasn’t until the last three hours of the shift they decided to finally run their intervention.
“Hey kid do me a favor and walk with me” Robby approaches you from behind as you try and think of every possible way to get out of it.
“Oh I’m sorry, I can’t. Patient in south 5 needs me” you take one step away before a large hand wraps around your bicep as he begins talking above your head.
“Hey Mel do me a favor take her patients for a bit” She nods her agreement before walking off to finish whatever task she was in the middle of, “See no biggie, c’mon”
He guided you into the hallway quite a distance away from the ED, right up until you saw ON CALL ROOM 3 plastered beside a door. Knocking three times seemed to be the password as the door opened to show Jack Abbot, the only other man you absolutely didn’t trust yourself to be around today.
Before you could protest and make an argument for being too busy to talk once more, a small tap on your left ass cheek had you taking shocked stumbling steps into the room. The door was closed and a lock clicked as you stood as far back as you could from the two men. You weren’t scared of them per say, but you were scared that they were about to tell you they were reporting you for inappropriate questioning over the last few weeks.
“I uhm-”
“Ah ah ah, sweetheart this isn’t your turn to talk” Jack spoke first, moving so that he was directly beside Robby where he stood but two feet in front of you, which also meant they were effectively blocking your way at a quick exit.
“Look kid you aren’t getting out of this, better to come clean now” Robby crossed his arms over his chest the movement somehow making him seem even broader.
“I don’t- I don’t know what you're talking about” You were on the verge of tears, mind running rampant with the thoughts of losing your residency and possibly your career.
“Aww look at the poor thing Mike, I think we’ve scared her”
“Nah Jack I think she's right where she wants to be,”
“Dr. Abbot, Dr. Robby I’m sorr-”
“Shhh, no doctor. Just Michael and Jack right now”
Jack is the first to take yet another step closer to you with Robby following suit. But as you attempt to find any semblance of distance you feel your knees hit the edge of the chair that had been sitting in the corner of the room. The motion caused you to fall to the seat, eyes drifting to the front of their pants that lined up with your new view. Both seams were pulled tight in an intimidating tent from each man.
“I don’t understand wh-whats going on?”
“Dont play coy now,” Jack grabbed your chin between his thumb and forefinger, “secrets and bets aren’t kept quiet for long in this hospital,”
He traced your bottom lip with the same thumb, pulling it down slightly. Robby groaned at the sight before he reached a hand similar to Jack, but instead of going for your face he gripped a handful of your ponytail and slightly yanked back so your throat stretched upwards.
“Well, you wanted to see so badly, so look” giving another tug to your hair.
With shaky hands you start with Robby's zipper pulling it down slowly before moving onto his boxers. His heavy length bobbed out, skin taught and flushed as his tip was already leaking, and he was long at least 8 inches. And right at the base was even better than you could’ve predicted, a full smattering of unruly dark curls that trailed down from the happy trail peaking out from his rising scrub top. But before you could get too carried away that warm hand on your chin gave it a small tap reminding you there were two, as if you could forget.
You were a bit more impatient with Jack’s pants already feeling the pulse of your own arousal beginning at the most menial of touches from them. Pulling his pants and boxers down his cock was just as impressive in its own way. While it wasn’t as long as Robby's it was definitely girthier, almost scarily so. Skin just as flushed and leaking with a prominent vein along the underside and of course to none of your surprise he was neatly trimmed, nothing too short but just enough to shape it into manageable.
Without allowing yourself to get too lost in thought reaching up with both hands you gripped each of their respective cocks and began stroking up and down their lengths spreading their arousal with your fingers. Sharp hisses left their lips at the contact.
“Aww come on now kid you didn’t harass us for weeks just to use your hands did you?” Robby chastises with a strained voice.
“Yeah come on sweetheart put that dirty mouth to better use than you have been” This time its Jack that puts a hand in your hair pushing you towards where they wanted you most. At first you went to focus on just one at a time before you heard Jack’s tsk start to correct you.
“You’ve talked such a big game so you can take both”
“Wh-what Jack, I don't think I can.” Your eyes widened at the prospect of two of the biggest cocks you’d seen.
“You can do it kid, open up and say ahh” Robby’s lips morphed into a smirk.
And you did opening as wide as you could, realistically you could only really fit the first inch of each of them at the same time while pumping the rest of their length with your hands. However, you settled into a rhythm of running your mouth up and down Robby’s then Jack’s cock and finally taking both as far as you could at one time. It only took a few minutes before your eyes were spilling with tears and spit dripped from your lips.
“That’a girl, fuck feels so good! Doesn’t she feel good Mike?”
“God yes, so fucking warm. But I wanna taste her Jack.” Robby lets out a deep moan as you deliver a particularly harsh suck to his cockhead.
“Yes please, I want that” pulling back with a slight pop as their cocks fall from your mouth, the idea of their mouths on you sent goosebumps flowing down your spine.
“Alrighty kid strip before getting on the bed, then put your hips at the edge” Robby ordered with a strong tone.
Hurriedly removing your scrubs, you position yourself as directed. Before noticing how both men chose to keep their clothes on, leaving their pants just tucked below their hips. A realization that had you instinctively trying to cover yourself.
As your arms went to cover your breasts, larger ones gripped your wrists and moved to hold them above your head. Looking to your side you were met with Jack's hazel eyes as he held yours with a hard gaze.
“Don’t you dare cover yourself, I’ve waited years for this,” Jack's lips came crashing onto yours, messily filled with teeth and tongue before moving down the column of your throat, “I’ve had to guess what these perfect tits looked like with my hand wrapped around my cock way too often. And they’re even better than anything I could’ve imagined”
Your eyes were screwed shut as your teeth sunk into your lip trying hard to keep your noises down. But a startled gasp broke through as Robby’s hands caressed your thighs, where once again you tried to cover yourself by squeezing them shut. But he was quicker moving his shoulders between so there was no chance of hiding.
“Who’d have thought you’d be so shy kid? You’re all talk and no bite aren’t you?” Robby teased as he gently ran a finger through your own soft curls pressing farther into your slit, collecting the leaking arousal, “but you’ve never had a real man take care of you have you? Let alone two”
“N-no, never” your voice was a breathy whisper in your attempt to respond.
All chances of being silent went out the window as Jack wrapped his lips around a nipple while Robby buried his face deep into your cunt.
“Oh fuck Michael!” That had Jack shoving two fingers in your mouth to keep the noise at bay.
“Fucking hell kid,” his deep growl vibrated against your sensitive flesh, “as much as I love hearing you call my name, gonna need you to be quiet for us, can you be a good girl and do that?”
Lips still wrapped around Jack's fingers you managed a nod. With one mouth expertly buried at your sensitive core shoving his nose into you and inhaling deep and the other sucking on your breasts you could feel that dull pulse pull tighter on that string.
That feeling only built as Jack pulled away from your chest removing the fingers from your mouth and moving down to where Robby was.
Those spit slick fingers moved around the back of your thigh and pressed in right below Robby’s chin. The instant stretch had you biting on your knuckles and he scissors his fingers in a smooth rhythmic manner.
“Bet Mike's mouth feels real good doesn’t it, sweetheart?” His question wasn’t one he needed answered with words as your face and moans said it all, but lord did you try. Nothing but babbles came out as he flipped between harsh sucks and using his tongue to inscribe his name over your clit.
“Yeah he does,” Jack continued, “I can feel you squeezing my fingers real good. I’ll tell you what, be a good girl and let go for us just once before we fuck you”
“Yes, ohmygod pl-please!”
With toes curled and back arched the string snapped as Robby nipped at your clit and Jack hooked his fingers to press into that soft spot that had you gushing and your vision going white. Pleasure shot through your body as your orgasm contracted every lower muscle you had. Squeezing Jack fingers so hard he almost came at the thought of it being on his cock next.
Your mind was floating as you barely registered how Jack spread your arousal down to your puckered hole. Nor did you fully realize you were being manhandled until the world spun around you and you found yourself face to face with Jack's black t-shirt covered chest.
“Okay sweetheart gonna take this nice and slow, big breath for me” The man beneath you whispered into your ear.
Confusion muddled your brain as it was still slow to recover from the mind numbing orgasm, but it all made sense as you felt his cock being pushed into your cunt. Slow and steady as he gave you little moments to adjust. All the while Robby had opened the lube that he came prepared with as he slathered his length in it with a few jerks watching as Jack's cock disappeared into your sweet cunt. The stretch was almost too much compared to his fingers earlier.
As he finally bottomed out he held your hips down onto him only allowing small grinding movements of your pelvis against his. You were desperate for more and your poor mind was lost three ways to Sunday as his thick cock filled you up more than you had ever been. Little whines were released as you attempted to move but the grip Jack had was tight and immovable. However, both your movements and noises died down as Robby’s hand settled between your shoulder blades pushing you further into Jack as he also maneuvered your hips down and back so that he could reach his destination. You felt cold liquid spread between your cheeks before you heard his voice call out.
“Be real still f’me” that baritone of Robby’s voice was like an electric shock to your nerves. And the small praises that came from Jack in your ear were enough to make you cum again.
“Fuck, so fucking tight baby hold on” strain crept its way into Robby’s words as he slowly pushed in trying to be gentle as he passed through the tight rings of muscle.
“Doing so good sweetheart, taking us both so well” small kisses and marks were littered between sentences Jack was whispering. “Oh Fuck Mike, can feel your cock pressing against her”
“Ugghh s’big,” wiggling your hips to stuff more of both inside, eyes all but rolling to the back of your head “feels s’good”
Another minute went by before Robby was able to get himself fully seated inside your ass, and Jack in the same position with your sensitive cunt. While they took their time stuffing you full beyond belief it only took seconds for them to start moving, and in perfect time as well. When Robby stayed put Jack pulled out, and when Jack pushed back in Robby pulled out. Both coming out just until the tip was left before thrusting back in with such force that had the air pushed from your lungs.
If they were worried about you being loud before that was not the problem any more. The constant push and pull of the two men had your mouth hanging open in a silent O. The feel of their bruising grips on your waist and hips only added to the blinding arousal that filled your body.
“Such a good girl sweetheart, letting us fuck you dumb in the middle of your shift” Jacks degrading words only had you whimpering in agreement.
“No words for us kid, was this more than you thought you could handle?” Robby spreads your ass so that he can see himself slide in and out better, a view that had him groaning as he felt his own orgasm building.
And almost as if their minds and bodies were melded into one, as Robby thought it Jack voiced it.
“Fuck don’t know how much longer I can last brother. Plus i think our break is coming to an end”
“I-I’m s-so” That competent mind that they loved so much had turned off, a sight they knew they shouldn’t love as much as they do but they couldn’t help it.
The look of pure bliss on your face combined with tears flowing down your cheeks and their marks across your body was something they were going to make sure happened on a regular basis. This was their way into your life and they weren't about to let it happen just once. That tell tale fluttering of your cunt and tightening of your ass on the two men told them you were just as close as they were.
And they were correct, the immense pressure of both of them rubbing against each other inside and the friction of movement on your clit had you barreling into your second orgasm. They quickened their pace chasing their own highs, rhythm being slightly lost as they stopped trying to time it. This had you losing yourself even more as you stopped being able to tell where one ended and the other began. And whatever lucidity you had faded as your orgasm all but paralyzed you.
“Fuckfuckfuckkk!” You gritted out through clenched teeth, body locking up as you gripped Jack's hair with one hand and the other gripping Robby's wrist on your hip.
“C’mon sweetheart take it!” Jack grunted out himself as both he and Robby shoved themselves as deep as they could, reaching parts of your body you didn’t even know existed.
“Take it all kid just like that” Robby’s grip becoming impossibly harder
Grunts and moans flew from the two men as they emptied themselves into your body, warmth bloomed from their cum filling up you to what felt like your chest. Shallow movement from both had you squeaking out with overstimulation at each thrust. You could feel them soften slightly before they pull out. Grabbing the wipes from the bedside table and lightly cleaning you up.
Your body was still limp as they slid your underwear and scrubs back on,and your body moved into a sitting position. Light taps to your cheek had your eyes drooping open just slightly. Feeling the water bottle set against your bottom lip your mouth opened instinctively as a hand gripped your chin in place.
“Look at that, don’t even need to ask her before she does what we want now” Jack stroked your hair so that it looked more presentable.
“Gonna need you to walk out of her kid, think you can do that” Robby moved the bottle from your mouth and moved your chin with his hand to look him in his eyes.
You begin to nod before he cuts off your movements.
“Nope gotta use your words like a big girl”
“Y-yes Michael” breaths coming out deep and heavy.
“Alrighty lets get you up,” Jack's hands lifted you from your position under your arms to stand on your own two feet. “Woah there bambi take a minute”
His words rushed out as your knees instantly buckled and both him and Robby moved to catch you.
“I can do it,” taking a deep breath, you all but stumbled to the door. But before you could open it you heard Robby call out.
“Just so you know we’re taking you home with us tonight and we’re gonna talk this thing through, got it?”
“This wasn’t just a one time thing sweetheart, this was four years in the making. We know you take the bus so you’ll hitch a ride with us.” Jack then nodded for you to leave first.
"Oh one more thing," you called out before leaving, "the second part of the bet?"
A chuckle left both the men as they each lifted their shirts up to their necks confirming exactly what you knew. But the new peek at their bodies had your own gearing up for another round already, so with a small giggle and thanks you tucked your head down and exited the room.
With every wobbly step you could feel their cum slightly leak out and pool into your underwear, and you were extremely grateful the shift was almost over. Making your way to where most everyone was gathered at the nurses station, they all watched as you headed towards them with a noticeable limp in your gait and an absentminded smile across your face.
“Time to pay up, I was correct” leaning your exhausted body on the counter top.
“And what is that supposed to mean?” Trinity knew what it meant but part of her didn’t believe you while Samira, Mel, and Dennis made questioning glances between you two.
At least that was until they saw both of their attendings talking in hushed whispers coming from the exact hallway you had. Jack or Robby didn't bother to fix their hair as they had done yours. And much to your embarrassment you could faintly see a you-sized handprint on Robby's forearm where his sleeves were pushed up, and Jack's neck had a you-sized bite mark where you must’ve chomped down without thinking. Heat flushed through your body as they walked past where you and the group huddled, nodding to you in unison as you nearly sank to your knees once more. But a teeny bit of pride that filled your chest kept you upright with just enough left over confidence to turn back to the four that went from confused to shocked.
And without another word Mel reached into her bag grabbing the envelope that held what was now your water and electricity bill payment. Shoving it into your pocket before moving away to very carefully sit on one of the stools to finish charting before you head out.
“So do we get half?” Jacks question had you scoffing
“Absolutely not this is my utilities bill” you shot him a look at the audacity of his words. But that look morphed into confusion when your phone chimed and a banking notification of 1,600$ being sent chimed on your phone. “Wait what the fuck?”
“You put in good work for that money, use it for something other than utilities,” Robby’s voice joined in, “Plus you’re not going to have to worry about bills anymore”
And before you could protest another notification of 1,600$ went through, this time with Jack's name.
“Just a little something for rent” he casually stated, “meet us by the black Chevy after you clock out”
Jack patted your shoulder before they both walked off, as if they just had been going over patient information with you and not sending you 3,200$ for ‘bills’. Which had you giggling because they both knew you lived in a shitty studio in the not great part of town, so they were very much aware of the fact they sent you at least triple your rent. Except instead of feeling embarrassment or shy, you felt cared for. And it had you excited for later tonight, wondering about all the plans they could have.
Never did you think Dennis and his lack of body hair would’ve been the push the three of you needed to finally break the years of building tension. But here you were with that silly little thought in your head as you made your way towards the truck where both men were waiting for you.
𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ 18+ Mdni.. Frat!gojo.. P in V.. finishing inside.. manipulation?? (kinda)
“C’mon, sweet girl, gimme what I want,” the campus’s frat cooed in your ear, his words almost sounding degrading.
The way he has your legs spread open, hand on the back of your thighs, pressing them to your chest in a mating press.
A couple of weeks back, you let him have your virginity that he begged for, and now he wants to be the first person to cum inside of you.
To say he was obsessed with your pussy was an understatement. He couldn’t get enough. Each time he saw your pretty ass walking around campus, he’d find a way to get in your pants. Whether it be sneaking into your lectures and slipping his hand under your skirt or fucking you in the staff bathroom.
The man didn’t care.
“Sa–toruu–”
“Yes, baby,'m right here,” he grunts in your ear, snapping his hips against yours. Obscene and wet sounds echo in the dimly lit room. He wasn’t gentle, no. Once he heard you beg to be rougher, and since that day, he hasn’t been sweet or soft with you. You weren’t complaining, you loved the back pain that came alongside his fat cock being inside of you.
Satoru’s eyes track the bounce of your tits, being hypnotized by the round, soft anatomy.
“‘T-toru–” your words broke, face heating up under his lustful leer.
“My love,” he matches your tone, smirking at your reaction, “shy?”
You nod, making him chuckle, “No need to be shy, pretty girl, you look gorgeous struggling to take my cock.”
This pervert and his perverted mouth, he always said things to make you crumble. He pistons his hips against your swollen pussy. Pulling out and slamming back in, not caring for the poor people a room over who will have to hear this.
Sweat glistens on his body, trailing down his neck, your nails digging into his back, arms tightly wrapped around those broad shoulders .
The man’s white hair stuck to his forehead from the vigorous cardio of pounding you into the mattress until you were nothing but a mess for him.
“Is my baby close? I can feel your pussy clenching,” he says against your ear, licking down your neck to your collarbones before burying his face in your tits.
Knuckles flexing over your trembling thighs, similar to his biceps that flexed with each brutal thrust, bringing you closer to the edge.
“Close– I-I’m close toru!”
“Fucking knew it,” he grins, “I know your body like the back of my hand,” he mumbled against your skin. Your thighs and legs shook, placing them on his shoulders, for him to ram himself deeper and harder inside of you. You can feel him inside your heart. Was that a stretch? Not with his monstrous size, no.
“Look at how you adapt to my size, look at your pretty pussy, baby.” His lips hover over yours, drinking in each filthy sound that leaves your mouth, chasing after more.
He sped up, nearly folding your body in half, hand reaching down to rub your clit, not that you couldn’t cum hands free, but the extra pleasure made the orgasm much more rewarding.
“Can I cum inside you, baby?” he asks, breathing heavy.
“N-noo, Satoru! Don’t cum in–”
“Please, only this once, pleasepleasepleaseee, I’ll fuck you whenever you want, I’ll do whatever, just let me fill your pussy up with my cum,” he whined like a child begging for candy, “It’ll feel really good, baby, I promiseeee, you’ll feel soo good and full and–”
“Fine! Fine– just hurry, please, wanna cum-” you choke on your words, making him grin.
“Thank you, baby,” he wasn’t expecting a reply, nor did he get one, not when the man sped up, almost knocking you into your next life. “That’s it, that’s it, almost there,” the raspy voice was back in your ear, talking you through it, just like you liked it.
Your pussy clamps and tightens around him like a noose, sucking his cock in, “there we go, cum for me, pretty girl, make a mess for the only guy who knows the way around your body,” he says, thumb rubbing large circles around your wet and sensitive clit.
Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, legs wrapping around his head, fingers clawing at his chest, he held your tightly, watching as your body spasmed, a loud cry for his name leaving your mouth as you finished, legs trembling on his shoulders.
He didn’t stop, only continued thrusting into your pussy like a madman, burying his face in your neck, inhaling your scent.
“Fuck, baby,” he grunted, his movements stuttering, filling your sweet pussy up with his release. The warm, thick sensation inside of you was too overwhelming, too much, making you weakly moan his name once again.
He drops down onto you, not pulling out, but you could feel as the semen slowly dripping out of you, making you shift and turn uncomfortably. “Feel full, baby?” the fucker asks, his lips curling up into a smirk against your body.
“Feels… weird.”
“Your cunt’s gonna feel me for the next week.”
A/N: woke up at 4am to write this while working on another fic, thank me ;-;
ꨄ︎Anglbunny | Do not copy, steal or translate my work and pngs. you'll be blocked.
synopsis: you think you have to be “sexy” all the time for your boyfriend. he tells you exactly why you shouldn’t worry about that.
warnings: f!reader, soft!rafe, cussing, they’re in a fairly new relationship
a/n: based off real events bc i was sleeping at my guy friend’s place, wearing silky pjs and i had an allergic reaction to the fabric and had to wear his shirt to sleep (yeah eventually i started crushing on him LOLLLLL) UGHHHH also i may delete this
The entire bathroom smells burnt from the amount of times you’ve carded your flat iron through your hair. Even though the strands look silky smooth, you can still notice some light frizz at the top of your head, right along your hairline. Shit.
“Yo baby, you done in there? Can I brush my teeth?” The door handle rattles from the other side, where Rafe stands, impatiently waiting for you to come out.
“One second!” You yell back. Your hands shake slightly when you roll up the black cable of your flat iron. The metal is still scorching hot, but you need to think fast. Don’t get it twisted— you’re starting to get used to being with Rafe like this. You’ve never expected his love to be like this: comfortable, easygoing, secure.
Everybody knows Rafe is the easiest person to tick off, and always stressed when it comes to appeasing his father. But the thing is, Rafe doesn’t mind you. With you, he’s more… himself. He doesn’t mind that awkward squeaky sound your throat makes when you yawn, or when there’s an angry red pimple on the tip of your nose. He doesn’t mind when you smell of sweat after you come back from a run, and he absolutely doesn’t mind when there’s a streak of red hot sauce on your chin after you ate a sandwich.
He loves it all, actually. He loves you, in all your forms. He always wipes the sauce off your face with his thumb, never fails to mention how you look like a cute clown with that embarrassing pimple on your nose. You don’t understand it at all because you don’t love yourself in those moments. You wish you were prettier, sexier, better. Less embarrassing. For him. Because that’s what he deserves.
You open the door of the bathroom with a small creak. The air is still damp from your everything shower, and you swear you forgot to shave a specific spot on your leg. You hope Rafe won’t notice. Your pink silk pajama shorts and camisole are wrapped neatly around your frame, but fuck, do they itch your skin every time you move.
Rafe stands on the other side, one hand in the pocket of his shorts, the other rubbing over his chin. His eyes scan over your figure in admiration and wonder. It’s unfair, how good he can look without having to worry about perturbing things like flat irons and sexy pajama sets.
“You look…” He mumbles, apparently at a loss for words. “Incredible, even when you go to sleep, baby.” He passes by you, sliding an arm over your waist in assurance, giving you a quick, soft kiss on your forehead.
Later, you two are settled in bed. Your boyfriend smells fresh, his aftershave heavy in your nose as he absentmindedly scrolls on his phone. You’re in his arms, a flimsy paperback in your hands. You occasionally wiggle against him in discomfort, because the soft silky fabric bunches up in all the wrong places and leaves an itchy sensation in its wake along your thighs.
“Y’got this new?” Rafe asks, thumbing the spaghetti strap of your camisole. You shiver against him, his touch sometimes still feels foreign. “Yes. New collection, saw it at the mall last week. Do you like it?”
He breathes out a sharp chucke at your question, shutting down his phone to fully settle his attention on you. His cerulean eyes find your face. “Baby, you could wear a trash bag and you’d still be the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”
You snort indignantly, trying to crawl out of his iron grip, but he doesn’t budge. “Yeah, Rafe, sure.” Rafe curls his hand around your shoulder tighter, as if to prove a point. “I’m serious. You could wear anything. Literally anything—”
“Yeah, you’d love that, wouldn’t you? Me in that beautiful grey plastic-y material,” you retort, breathy chuckles escaping your lips. Your head lolls against his bicep from laughter. “I’m supposed to look cute for you, y’know. Sexy.”
His heart stops momentarily at your admission. Of course Rafe had his suspicions you always tried to go out of your way to be as polished, as perfect as possible. But now that you downright admitted it, he knows he has to do something about it.
“Don’t say that,” Rafe mumbles, his big hands finding purchase on your waist to pull you up and turn you toward him. “You are cute. And sexy. And beautiful. In these silky sets, in a trash bag. In your oversized sweaters. With your hair up, when it’s messy from working out. Hell, you can even wear those bright yellow Snoopy pajamas I know you’ve been hiding in your suitcase.” His voice adds the last part in a teasing lilt.
You swallow hard at the mention of your favourite Snoopy pajamas you’ve abandoned the entire week in order to look a bit more of a… woman. “How do you know about my Snoo—”
“You’re telling me you wear this shit for me?” Rafe rubs the silky material between his fingers. He sounds incredulous, surprised. His other hand tugs a lost strand of hair behind your flushed ear. His voice sinks to something more vulnerable. “You know I love you no matter what you wear or look like, baby. You look perfect for me, just being you.” He presses a delicate kiss to your shoulder, and his thigh feels like an anchor under you, grounding you.
And that’s the thing. You’re in love with Rafe. You yearn to confide in him, to show him all of you. Everything. All the doubts you’ve been having the past few weeks sizzle away in your brain. You hate always having to tame your hair every night before bed, the frilly babydoll tops you’ve been forcing yourself to wear. Having to touch up your lip gloss every twenty minutes when you’re out. You just want to be you.
You release a tense sigh. Not in defeat, but in satisfaction. You really needed to hear this. “Great, ‘cause this shit’s been itching like hell.”
Rafe’s gaze softens, all happy you’re finally honest with him. Happy you’re finally, fully yourself with him, letting your guard down and all. “Say less, sweets.”
He kicks the duvet off of him, and walks over to his closet. He fishes those soft, worn out shorts you love on him from underneath a pile of other clothes, and finds an oversized shirt of his he throws on the bed with emphasis, a silent hint to put the clothes on.
“I bet you look even better in my clothes, baby.”
a/n: eegwtwtsrtw i lowkey don’t like the ending bye btw i love to chat to you guys, so my inbox is WIDE OPEN for thirsts and thoughts!
𓏲 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖ 18+ mdni.. sugardaddy!satoru.. p in v.. private jet..
“You ready for Bali, sweetheart?” Your sugar daddy asked you, but you couldn’t answer. Not when his cock was kissing your diaphragm.
You became Satoru Gojo’s sugar baby by accident. Not that you were complaining. He wasn’t too old, looked fucking great, had money, and a cock that actually knew how to satisfy you.
He was taking you to Bali on his private jet because, why not.
The man had you lying out on the bed in one of the rooms on the plane.
Your fingers pulling at the sheets, legs on his shoulder. He plunged deep; the thick girth of his cock left no room to even breathe. The tight fit had him groaning.
“Daddy–! Hngg- fuck, ohmygodohmygo–” you gasped when he placed his palm on your stomach, pushing down to make you feel him.
You could feel him moving inside you. The way he was rearranging you. You could feel it. The veins on his cock, tracing up to his lower abdomen.
“That’s my girl, that’s it,” he cooed, watching your eyes roll back, watching the bulge in your stomach from his cock match his pace.
A cruel smirk plastered over his face, he knows what he’s doing.
“You gonna–fuck–you gonna buy a bunch of bikinis for me, yeah? Won’t you? And you’ll wear them all for me, right? Gonna let me fuck you in each of them?” he laughed. You couldn’t respond—you couldn’t even speak. The feel of him inside you was enough to turn you into a bimbo.
You nodded to everything he said, pulling at the sheets, abdomen tightening alongside your pussy around him. He grunted. Snapping his hips faster against you. The sloppy, wet sounds echoed in the room, driving you nuts. “So wet, mess maker.” He groaned. Your voice growing louder, orgasm nearing.
He leaned down, kissing your tits and down. Eye fucking the way each pump made your tits jump and bounce, begging for the white-haired man’s attention.
Gojo leaned in to whisper against your ear, licking the shell, “call me daddy, and I’ll let you cum,” you whimpered, the improper position of your body being in half really drove him deeper inside. You swore you could feel him in your throat. Wet lips parted, but no words came out. “C’mon, sweetheart, I’ll buy you a new Chanel purse, now say it.”
“Daddy! Fuck– daddy let me cum already!” you groaned in frustration, making him grin victoriously.
“Such a good girl,” He sped up, dropping his head, white, damp hair falling over his eyes. You saw the way his abs contracted. He was close, too.
“Fuck– My God, sweetheart–” His words broke apart, pussy clamping around him, choking his cock until you were seeing stars.
You screamed his name that the people on the ground level of Earth could probably hear. Back arching of the bed, gripping his shoulders for support. He held your hips, chasing after his orgasm, which soon crashed over him in waves. He didn’t bother pulling out. Cream pie-ing your pretty pussy full. Till your body slumped down, legs dropping down his shoulders, hitting the bed.
He pulled out, watching the aftermath leak out of you with pure amusement in his eyes.
“A round two would be nice,” he said, a large smirk on his face, chest heaving. He pushed his hair back, admiring you, and your heavy eyelids blinked more slowly with each blink.
A/N: im so fucking tired while writing this, its 4am guys, i also kept seeing fuckass epstein whenever i mentioned private jet, it was so scary
ꨄ︎Anglbunny | Do not copy, steal or translate my work and pngs. you'll be blocked.
Pairings: jack abbot x reader (other pittlings/pitt-crew mentioned)
Summary: After joining in on the bet on Westbridge, you find an old bet on your relationship with Jack.
Warnings: age-gap relationship, mentions of mental health, explicit language, angst with a happy ending.
Word Count: 4k+
Author’s Note: A little spin on that one iconic scene from ‘10 Things I Hate About You’ but make it Jack.
Your mouth tastes like poor coffee and the leftover bagels in the break room. A tiny hint of mint from the gum you incessantly chewed on. The shift was already hazy, too many traumas had the ambulance bay doors swinging open and close like a pendulum. A bunch of patient’s from Westbridge being shut down were coming through at a steady flow. The ED hadn’t seemed this busy since Pittfest.
Dana was behind you shouting orders, cursing at the damn fax machine like it stole her money. The sound of her hand smacking the side of it echoes through the hub.
“Jesus fucking—anyone know how to fix this godforsaken piece of shit?”
Jack—your Jack—was already sliding in next to her, ever the handyman. Muscles pulled tight under his black t-shirt, camo pants hanging from his hips. An easy half smile tugging at his lips.
“Calm down, I got it”, Jack tells her, hands up in defense; “Robby’s right, you’re awfully punchy today.”
“And I’ll get punchy right between your eyes if you don’t show me how to fix this damn thing.”
Jack’s laughing—hands up in defense again—the sound floating to your ears and making your heart thrum in your chest. A little pitter patter against your ribs that only Jack could cause you.
You quickly did another round, checking on your patients; the kid in seven with a broken arm, the woman in twelve with a rash, the two men in ten and thirteen who’d both been playing too close with fireworks and alcohol. It all felt like a blur by the time you found yourself back at the hub.
Jack was just finishing up whatever he was doing to the fax machine, Dana’s hand patting him on the shoulder as it started working again. You didn’t miss the way he winced—or the way his jaw ticked as he turned his head—trying to keep his reaction inside. You saw it though, you saw everything about him, even when he was stubborn and tried to hide it.
You saw him earlier, sneaking into an empty room, saw the bruise on his back from the bullet that barely swiped him. Seeing him fine now still did little to lessen your worry. The need to tell him to take a moment and sit, to slow down.
You caught his eye from behind the hub, quickly mouthing a quiet ‘Are you ok?’ He offered a nod in return, adverting his gaze to find something else to do before you came over to check him over again. He made himself busy, and so did you.
You wanted to scold him, tell him to go home and get some fucking sleep like he should have hours ago, but he was already being pulled into another room by Robby.
A half an hour later you see him wheeling out a patient on a bed towards the ambulance bay, stopping Robby as he passes by you.
“Where’s Abbot going?”, You try to be nonchalant.
Even if Robby knew about your relationship to some extent, you didn’t want to give anyone else any bait to ask more questions by using his first name so casually.
“Presby. Their machines over there can hold more weight than ours. Safer for the patient. I’m sure he’ll be back”, Robby tells you, that look in his eye that tells you he knows you’re worried.
“Right”, You nod, looking down at the chart in your hands; “Cause why go home and sleep before your shift instead? Who does that?”
Robby’s eyebrows go to his hairline; “You been spending too much time with Dana? Awfully punchy.”
You sigh, pinching between your brows; “No—sorry—I just- I’m worried about him.”
You lower your voice at the last part.
Robby nods, leaning his elbows against the counter of the hub.
“Have you told him this?”
You huff a laugh out before you can stop it; “He knows how I feel about the SWAT thing. I don’t want to take his freedom away from him…not like anything I say would get through that thick skull of his anyways.”
Robby’s smiling now, tapping the counter as he shifts; “He listens to you more than you think.”
You open your mouth to ask what he means, but he’s already winking at you and disappearing down the hall, deeper into the ED.
You sigh, pinching your brows together; “Men.”
─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─
It’s an hour later when your phone buzzes, pulling it out of your pocket when you have a free moment. You already know it’s Jack.
Jack: Almost done at Presby. Should be back within the hour.
You: Ok, be safe.
You slide your phone back in your pocket before you decide to type anything more, to tell him to go home and sleep after. To slow down. You know it wouldn’t be the best place to bring it up.
You’re tired, you know he’s tired, and you want more than anything to be curled up in his arms, safe with him in his bed. But that’s hours away, you know that’s not realistic. Especially when you hear McKay calling out for your help with a patient in room three.
Time seems to flow by in different spurts of slow motion and a speed so fast it has your head spinning. A MVC, a kid from the campus library that police brought in, a few burns and cuts, one man in his twenties with a mild concussion after wrecking his four-wheeler. A handful of heat exhaustions set up in cool rooms thanks to Langdon and Mel. By the time you found Dana again your feet were begging to stop moving for even just for a second.
You plopped yourself down into one of the chairs by the hub, sipping at your water and letting the chair turn automatically, sighing when the cool liquid hits your mouth.
“Jesus, it always been this busy on the fourth?”, You ask.
Dana looks at you like you’ve got four heads; “Hon, you should’ve been here for the fourth of ‘06. Today’s still tame.”
You laugh; “Do I even wanna know?”
Dana looks over her glasses at you with a look that says you don’t, before passing you a chart on a clipboard.
“Got Mel’s sister in a room with Langdon. Make sure you get this to her when she comes back downstairs.”
You take the chart, setting it in front of you and frowning at it like it took your last dollar; “She ok?”
“Which one?”, Dana asks, a soft snort escaping her.
“Well, both I guess.”
She sighs, removing her glasses; “Kid’s just nervous, Ellis talked to her. Sister on the other hand has a UTI. We’ll send her home with some antibiotics and she’ll be good as new.”
“That’s good to hear.”
Becca and Mel had become your friends since first arriving at the Pitt. Mel’s quirks caught your attention, and soon your hangouts and conversations involved Becca as well. You were protective of them, no doubt. So hearing they were both going to be better off soon made you relax a little bit.
“What’s your bet on Westbridge, Huckleberry?”
“Oh uh…I’m not really sure.”
You turn your head to the pair behind you, Trinity hovering next to Dennis and giving him a quizzing look that has him fidgeting in her gaze.
You scoff; “Geez, are there already bets on that?”
Trinity’s eyes light up; “Oh yeah! You should see the board. Everything from water damage to an inside job to get the Fourth off.”
You roll your eyes at how unlikely that is.
“Are you gonna bet?”, Dennis asks.
Normally, you wouldn’t take part in it. But after the crazy shift you’d already had and how the day seemed to just stretch further on, you figured why the hell not?
Making your way over to Ahmad’s corner you passed Langdon with a group of intoxicated girls—one of them with a nasty lac to the tongue—you grimaced at the thought of it being your own. You could hear a few complaints about wait times drifting out from somewhere in the waiting room. McKay walked by with Robby, discussing more morphine for a patient. All sounds that were way too common to your ears.
Ellis was leaning against the wall talking to Ahmad when you arrived, tossing you a small wave.
“Hey, you here to bet?”, Ahmad was already on it.
You chuckled; “Depends, what’ve you got already?”
“Oh wouldn’t you like to know.”
He rattles off a list of all kinds of things that could possibly have happened; water damage, power outage, inside job, fire in the hub, tactical threat, nurse shortages and/or strike, and a cyber attack. That one seems a little intentional.
“Damn, you’ve got everything on there”, You muse, eyes flicking over the wall of sticky notes.
“I’ve got $40 for nurses strike”, Ellis says from beside you, sipping on a red bull.
You nod; “Shouldn’t you be at home sleeping?”, You ask, eyebrow raised.
“And miss this? Nah, I’ll sleep when I’m dead. Break room is calling my name though.”
You scoff again, shaking your head; “You sound just like Abbot.”
“I’ll try not to take that as an insult.”
Your gaze flicks back to the wall of sticky notes as Ellis walks away, contemplating which bet would be your best choice. Tapping a finger against your bottom lip you fish your wallet out of your scrubs.
“Alright Ahmed, put me down as $50 for cyber attack, I’m feeling adventurous today.”
He’s already nodding, scribbling your bet down on a sticky note and happily taking your money.
A voice calling out his name rings out from behind you, it sounds like Robby. Probably an uncooperative patient. He slips past you, a hand on your shoulder as he does and shoots you a smile.
“Good luck, miss adventurous.”
Your eyes flick back to the board when he’s gone, old bets still shoved into the furthest corner of the white board. There’s ones about Garcia and Santos, the broken coffee machine in the break room, Dana’s hair clip and how long it takes until she stabs someone with it. There’s even one or two about whatever’s going on with Robby and Whittaker. One in particular however, catches your eye.
It’s slightly faded, a simple ‘Jack Abbot and who?’ written at the top. Your name is under there a few times, Robby’s, hell even Princess’ with her flirty nature. The last name makes your skin run cold. Mohan. The most amount of bets are circled around her name.
The ED was betting on not only your and Jack’s relationship, but apparently was convinced that he had something with Samira too. You liked Samira, she was nice—headstrong and good at what she does—gentle with patients. The bottom line of a sticky note made you choke on air.
‘Empty exam room. Shirtless with Samira, 4th of July.’
What the fuck?
You knew Jack had been injured earlier, he told you himself. But when had he been with Samira?
Princess passing behind you caught your attention.
“Hey”, You call, pointing to the sticky note; “What do you know about this bet?”
Princess glances past you, before leaning in closer.
“Oh that one? That’s older! Hasn’t really been getting bet on much. Lack of evidence lately”, She tells you.
She looks around to make sure no one is looking before speaking again; “Between you and me? I saw Abbot and Samira in one of the exam rooms earlier. He was shirtless—whew he’s built—but they were whispering something about ‘our little secret.’ Abbot pretty much ignores the bets though.”
Your head whips around; “What?”
Princess shrugs; “That’s all I know.”
Jack knew about the bet? You want to ask more, but Perlah pulls her away, leaving you with the aching heaviness in your chest. Did Jack have feelings for Samira?
You knew he loved you, hell that man would move an ocean for you if you needed him too, but your anxiety and self depreciation were creeping up your spine, feeding you lies and making you doubt everything you knew.
Of course he’d like Samira. She’s pretty, headstrong, capable. All the things you compare yourself to. Why wouldn’t he like her more?
A hand on your shoulder snaps you out of it, making you jump.
“Placing bets, huh?”
It’s Jack. Voice warm but tired around the edges.
You shrug out from under his hand; “Yeah. Something like that.”
You say it short, clipped and emotionless. You don’t miss the immediate furrow in his brow at your movement.
“Hey, what’s?-“
“I’ve gotta go help Dana in the hub, sorry!” You blurt out, already turning.
You feel his hand on your wrist.
“Are we still on for breakfast?”, He asks.
You swallow hard; “Uh, yeah I’m gonna need a rain check for that. Sorry.”
Then you’re wiggling your wrist out of his soft grip and disappearing down the hall, leaving all the heaviness you felt to now settle in Jack’s chest.
─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─
Jack couldn’t figure it out, had he done something wrong? You’d been avoiding him since he got back from Westbridge. You’d cancelled breakfast, you never did that. He couldn’t sleep even when he went home to nap before his shift. All he could think about was you.
You avoided him during shift change, barely mumbled a goodbye as you snuck around him. No sneaky kiss in the staff room before parting for the night. His head was spinning.
All he could see was your face earlier that day as he placed a hand on your shoulder. The way you practically recoiled at his touch, the hurt in your eyes masked with something else he couldn’t place. He felt like he was losing you.
You didn’t call him after his shift like you normally did. Weren’t asleep in his bed when he got home the next morning. All the texts he’d sent had been stuck on delivered or read for hours now. He didn’t know what he did wrong. He desperately wanted to see you, wanted to fix whatever this was, but he knew you needed your space, and he’d give you that.
You expected him to keep trying to reach you all day, but instead only found one missed call from him and a few text messages.
Jack: I’m sorry for whatever I did. I’m here whenever you want to talk.
Jack: Remember to eat something before your shift. Take care of yourself first. <3
The texts made tears sting your eyes. Even when you were shutting him out he was still incredibly sweet. He still cared. You hated that you were icing him out, but you couldn’t bare seeing him yet. Not with so many questions swirling through your head.
You moved on autopilot through your next shift, ignoring the occasional text from Jack, asking if you were ok. You were off, people clocked it. Robby noticed it immediately, especially when Jack texted him to see if you were ok. Dana noticed too—but stayed quiet and comforted you in the only way she knew how—keeping you busy and making you laugh, an arm around your shoulder when you looked especially beat.
The one time you’d want a steady flow of patients they just didn’t seem to come. You found your mind wandering to Jack, losing count of how many times you had to shake your head to will the tears in your eyes from falling.
You sat alone when you finally got a break, eating the sandwich that had been left for you in the fridge of the break room—you knew it was from Jack—your name scribbled across it in his messy yet perfect handwriting. You’d slept in his t-shirt the night before, curled up in a ball so the collar was lying over your nose; it still smelled like him. The bed felt cold and empty without him lying next to you, it felt wrong.
You stayed professional with Samira, but you’d be lying if you said there wasn’t a very specific ache in your chest each time you saw her. It was driving you mad.
When your shift finally ended, you snuck out as fast as you could. Not lingering to say goodbye, hoping to avoid seeing him. Luck wasn’t on your side, however. An all too familiar voice rang out behind you as you approached your car.
You froze, sighing before turning to look at him.
“Hey”, His voice was quiet; “Can we talk?”
You go to shake your head, staring at the keys in your hands; “There’s nothing to talk about, Jack.”
Even he knew that was a lie.
“Sweetheart, you can’t just push me out when something happens. Did I do something wrong? Please tell me what I did so I can fix it-“
“Do you like Samira?”
Jack froze, eyes wide and mouth still slightly parted.
“What?”
“Do you have feelings for Samira?”
“Dr. Mohan? Honey, no. Why would you think-“
“I saw the bet. In Ahmad’s office, about you and who you might be dating. Princess said you knew about it.”
Jack’s face falls, a deep sigh leaving his nose; “Oh.”
You cross your arms; “Really? All you can say is oh?”
Jack shifts his weight on his feet, his prosthetic clearly already bothering him.
“Alright yes, I knew about the bets.”
You scoff, tears pricking your eyes.
“But they meant nothing to me. I know who I’m with. That’s you, not Samira.”
You shake your head, tears falling.
“I hate you”, You mumble, no heat behind it but it still hits him in the chest just as hard.
“…What?” His eyes are wide, searching your face.
“I said”, You swallow hard, “I hate you.”
He doesn’t move.
You laugh wetly, tears running freely now.
“I hate the way you talk to me, and the way you play with my hair when we’re alone. I hate the way you touch my leg when you drive, and the way you stare”, You swallow thickly.
Jack’s still watching you, looking like he wants to reach out but is too scared to touch you.
“I hate your stupid combat boots and black t-shirts, and the way you always read my mind. I hate that you can make me cry. I hate that you’re always right or when you lie to keep me safe. I hate the way you always know how to make me laugh, and when you’re so patient it makes me cry.”
His hands are on both of your arms now, wind tossing his curls in the nighttime air.
“I hate it that I can’t function when you’re not around, or how I smile every time you call. But I mostly hate the way I can’t and don’t hate you, not even close to it, not even a little bit; not even at all.”
You’re sobbing now, fists in Jack’s shirt as you smack him softly against the chest, like you’re trying to push him away but don’t actually want to. You let him pull you a little closer.
“Sweetheart, hey…it’s alright.”
There’s that stupid nickname that never fails to make you crumble into him.
His hand is on the back of your head, lips ghosting over your hair. It sends shivers down your spine. You let him hold you, but only for a moment.
After a beat you force yourself back, pushing him back slightly enough to make him stumble just a bit. You turn towards your car, climbing in and shutting the door behind you. He watches you sit there for a moment—before your window rolls down.
You look up at him through wet lashes; “Mostly, I hate that I love you so much, Jack. So much that there’s never going to be anyone else.”
He opens his mouth, searching for a reply—but you’re already pulling out of the hospital parking lot—leaving him standing with pink cheeks and the glow of the ER sign illuminating behind him.
─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─
You have the next two days off, thankful to be away from the hospital. Tear tracks have become a constant down your face—no point in trying to wipe them away if more are just going to come. You force yourself to eat at least a little, knowing how much Jack would scold you and worry if you didn’t.
You let his spare sneakers take up space by your front door. His extra hoodie hang from the hooks on your wall. The stupid plush blanket on the couch that smells like him remains wrapped around your head. You hate how lonely it is.
Eventually, you run out of food in your fridge, just enough there to last two days. You force yourself to get dressed, ignoring how your phone lights up with a notification from Jack every hour or so.
Still—it’s his shirt you pull over your head—soft sweatpants over your legs. You fix your ponytail, desperately needing to wash your hair. Try your best to remove the tears stains on your cheeks. You take a deep breath before opening your front door and leaving your apartment.
It’s around noon, the Pittsburgh sky shining bright and blue above you, spring on its way. A few birds chirp, allowing a small tug at the corners of your lips. Your shoes crunch on the gravel below you. You reach for the driver’s side door of your car, freezing when your eyes finally land on it.
A small, yet pretty bouquet is tucked into the door handle, all your favorite flowers and colors. A small note is tucked in between a few petals. You pick it up.
‘I’m sorry for everything. Please call me, I miss you. I hope you’re safe. I need you. Everything is better with you. Everything has been better since you. - J. <3’
You feel the tears pricking your eyes again, cursing yourself at the idea of crying again when a voice from behind calls out.
“Pretty huh? Guess that person knows what they’re doing.”
Jack’s standing behind you, hands stuffed in his camo pants, black shirt still tight around his biceps. His eyes a little sunken and dark, like he hasn’t changed or slept in days. Hazel eyes stormy and wet, rimmed with red. He’s been crying too. He looks the same way you’re sure you do. You see the attempt at a smile on his face, trying to lighten the mood.
“What’re you doing here?”, You ask.
He inhales; “I needed to see you, just- let me explain, please?”
You cross your arms, nodding at him to continue.
He shifts on his feet.
“There’s never been anything with Samira. Ever. She’s a colleague, yes we work together sometimes but that’s all it is, work.”
“What about ‘our little secret’?” You ask.
“She patched up my wound. I told her I wanted to keep it off the books. Less paperwork from the hospital and the police. She was just agreeing to keep it between us, that’s all.”
Oh. You feel dumb now. Putting him through all this.
He steps closer, hands hesitating before coming down on both your arms.
“Sweetheart, I love you. Only you. You’re it for me, kid. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the bet, I just figured it was stupid, we both know who I’m with, who I want to be with. That’s not gonna change. Especially not because of a stupid little sticky note.”
You huff a laugh at the last part, finally making eye contact with him.
“Promise?”, You ask.
He smiles, holding up his pinky finger; “Swear on my last good leg.”
You laugh for real this time, linking your pinky together with his, letting him rest his forehead against yours. Then he’s pressing his lips against yours, soft but firm enough to mean it. He melts into it, like you’re what he’s been missing, like he needs you to breathe. When he pulls back he lets your foreheads touch again, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.
You pull back to look up at him, running your fingers through his curls, shining silver as the sunlight passes through them. He still looks tired, but he’s never looked more relieved, happy. Never looked more Jack than he does when he’s with you.
“You know”, you start, glancing at the bouquet in your hands; “You can’t just buy me flowers every time you fuck up.”
Jack laughs; “Oh I know. There’s always plants, seeds, bushes, trees…”
You smack his chest lightly; “Only if you’re gonna remember to water them all.”
He sighs happily, kissing your forehead; “Anything for you, sweetheart.”
And shit, you knew he was being honest. Knew you were fucked. Knew you were so deeply in love with Jack Abbot that it changed your very soul.
“How about that breakfast date, now? Or brunch?”, He asks, checking his watch.
You nod; “I’d love that.”
As you stand on your tiptoes to kiss him again, pulling him down by the curls at his nape, you realize you can breathe again. Your shoulders are light, no fog in your head. Just his warmth. His scent. His presence. Just Jack. Just the way it’s always been meant to be. Even if you swore up and down you hated him, you both knew you really meant you loved him.
“Oh and by the way”, Jack stops on the other side of your car, smiling mischievously over at you; “You won the Westbridge bet.”
