I just can't stop thinking about Jack(i know daddy)😣 just imagine sucking on his thumb while he fucks into you in mating press. Jack is gonna make sure his cum takes and fills his girl tummy full!!
ohhh my god breeding kink with jack abbot... this got out of hand a little bit 😵💫
jack abbot x controversially young gf!reader.
18+ MDNI | cw: daddy kink, breeding kink, age difference
there aren't many things that jack holds back from his sweet, perfect girl, but he's had the desire to breed you for a few months now, and it might be the hardest thing he's ever had to keep to himself. he just aches to plant a little piece of himself deep inside of you, to claim you in the most primal, possessive way possible.
he doesn't tell you when he starts tracking your cycle. peepaw's not using any of those fancy apps, he keeps a physical, literal calendar that he scribbles notes on. back in his day, that's how a real man took care of his woman— he took the time to memorise her sweet body, to prove he had the necessary devotion to get her pregnant. and that's why jack knows what hormonal phase you're in from how your pussy tastes on his tongue.
so when you find the calendar one night, and ask about why he's so feverishly keeping track of your periods and the flavour of your cunt, he explains it to you as you lay in his lap, voice feather-soft and hypnotic:
"it gets worse as i get older, sweetheart," he whispers, thick fingers drawing circles on your knees. "it gets worse because my body is desperate to spread my seed like any man should at my age. and you, little girl? you're so perfect, so healthy and young that it hurts me to think of your fertile body going to waste..."
he sighs heavily, shaking his head. "the fact that i might not get to see you grow big and round with my baby while i'm here… it feels like a punishment."
so you agree to start trying for a baby with jack, and you just KNOW once you start ovulating, and your cunt's all sweet and creamy, he's not letting you leave the bed until you're full of his cum.
jack's pressing your legs into your chest with all of his weight, pinning your hips down so you have no room to squirm. the softness of his tummy taps against your lower stomach with each thrust.
he groans, looking down at where his cock is disappearing into your wet pussy, pearly slick stringing onto the mattress every time he pulls out: "fuck, look at how good she takes her daddy, she really wants his cum that bad, doesn't she? that is a good fucking girl right there, sweetheart..."
your thighs tremble with the strain of the position, and you whimper, your eyes falling shut. "look at me, baby," his hand brushes your cheek, patting softly to get your attention. and when you turn your head, lips parting to take his calloused thumb between them, your eyes fluttering innocently up at him, he almost blows his load right then.
"... you really are my baby, aren't you? suckin' on daddy's thumb while he's balls deep?" he grunts as his hips speed up, his thumb pressing down harshly against your wet little tongue. "gonna pump my cum right into this pretty, young cunt of yours. fill my baby up with babies, 's what i'm gonna do."
Statistically Speaking - Brendon “The Shark” Park x Reader
Chapter Three: Dana Evans
Series Summary: After completing your residency, you join the staff at the Pitt, the hospital where your husband of nearly ten years (who you already have five kids with) works. With a common last name and radically different personalities, you make a bet on how long it'll take everyone to figure out that you're married.
Chapter Summary: Dana's the one to catch you in the bathroom when you come down with a stomach bug.
Content: vomiting/emetophobia, discussion of pregnancy
A/N: love this one i fear she's very cute and waaahh to me
Word Count: 3.5k
You make it through two full months with nobody finding out about you and Brendon, everybody in on it keeping their lips zipped and everyone else happily oblivious, but that changes one random day when you wake up feeling like shit.
“You should just stay home, baby,” Brendon murmurs as he watches you slog through getting dressed, clearly exhausted and feeling off. “The ED can survive without you for one day.”
You shake your head and insist, “All I need is breakfast and a coffee and I’ll be all set. Just didn’t sleep well.”
“Alright, I trust you,” he sighs, dropping down so he can tie your shoes the way he has every morning for more than 3,000 days. “Take it easy though. For me. There’s that nasty bug going around and if this is the start of it-”
“I’m fine, Bren,” you assure as he stands up. “You worry too much.”
He kisses your forehead and murmurs, “I know. I’m sorry.”
“You’re sweet,” you reply, nudging up to kiss him softly. You know he only worries about your health so much because he had to watch you nearly lose your life a few years ago; you’re sure you’d be ten times as bad if the roles were reversed. “Let’s go get the kids up, yeah?”
He nods solemnly. “I’ll start pancake duty.”
You pat his ass and push him toward the bedroom door. “Good boy.”
Annoyingly, though, you really aren’t feeling better by the time you’ve had your coffee and breakfast and snuggles with your mama’s boy. Still, you take a deep breath, get the little ones in their car seats, and head to the hospital with a determination to get through the day since you have the next two off.
You don’t even make it to lunch.
Your breakfast decides to make a dramatic reappearance out of nowhere, sending you running to the staff bathroom at code speeds. After puking, your skin is about ten shades grayer than usual while you slide down the wall next to the bathroom trash, head spinning and forehead shining with sweat.
The next person to push inside the bathroom is Dana, having watched you hustle away with an expression every mom recognizes when there’s a bug going around. When she spots you, she immediately drops down and touches the back of your clammy forehead. “You don’t feel feverish, but, Jesus, you look terrible.”
“Thanks for that.” You grimace as she grabs one of the little paper cups and fills it with water for you to sip on.
“You’ve gotta go home; you look like you’re gonna pass out. Can I call someone for you?”
Shit, you left your phone in your locker this morning. You manage to mumble out as much to her and say, “If you have your phone, I can tell you my husband’s number.”
He picks up on the last ring after excusing himself from supervising a more-than-capable resident, knowing an unknown number could easily be the kids’ school or daycare. “Hello?”
Your voice creaks through. “Hi, hon, I left my phone in my locker. Borrowing Dana’s. I think I’ve got the bug that’s going around. I’ve been throwing up for like half an hour.”
“I’m so sorry you’re sick, sweetheart,” he soothes softly. “You need me to come down and take you home?”
Dana’s head cocks to one side. That’s a familiar voice, but she can’t quite place it because she’s never heard it sounding sympathetic before.
“Yeah, I think so,” you reply, feeling defeated and exhausted. “This thing’s really knocked me on my ass. Literally, actually. I’m on the bathroom floor.”
Brendon’s voice gains intensity as it lowers in volume. “Are you okay? How serious is this?”
“I’m alright,” you reassure him, “just needed to sit down somewhere cool and quiet. Dana’s here with me being amazing. You’ll come down soon?”
“Yeah, baby, of course,” he sighs tenderly. You hear him shuffling things around, already reorienting his day at the first sign of you needing him. “I’ve got one more quick post-op and then I’ll grab you, okay? Can you find somewhere to hang tight until then?”
“Mhm,” you offer queasily. “I’ll wait for you in Occupational Health, maybe? I can lay down and get some meds there at least.”
“That’s a good idea. Tell them I want blood and cultures. Don’t forget that you want trimethobenzamide, not Zofran, for the nausea. Zofran always makes you too fatigued.”
“Yes, doctor,” you reply with an eye roll. But when the eye roll makes the world spin which makes your stomach flip, you groan, “Thanks, Bren.”
As she puts all the baffling dots together, Dana steps in and tells him, “I’ll bring her up to OT. She looks like she could go down any second, so I’m gonna stick with her.”
Brendon sighs. You know he’s pinching the bridge of his nose to stop himself from getting too upset that he can’t fix everything right away. “Thanks, Dana, I’ll see you both soon.”
Dana manages to get you to Occupational Health without catching any stray questioning stares. After being briefed on your symptoms, the OT nurse gives you a sympathetic smile as she preps her kit. “It’s probably the flu, but we’re going to draw some blood and take a couple cultures just to be safe, alright?”
Dramatically presenting your arm for the poke, you murmur, “As if my husband would let me leave without a battery of tests for a seasonal virus half a Pittsburgh has.”
She smiles knowingly. “Park definitely seems like the protective type.”
“Park the fuckin’ Shark,” Dana sighs, still disbelieving, as she shakes her head. “So tell me: Was he nice when you first met or were you mean?”
Seeing Brendon’s broad form in the corner of your eye, you turn toward him and sigh romantically, “He’s always nice to me.”
The moment he catches your eye, Brendon’s expression softens. Dana’s never seen that before. He strides quickly to your side and takes your free hand as the nurse does your blood draw. With a quick squeeze to your palm, he asks gently, “How’s the patient feeling?”
You tilt your head back and pout. “Supremely crappy. Sorry, baby, I know you told me to stay home this morning.”
Brendon shakes his head and presses his lips to your hair. “Never apologize for needing my help; that’s the job. You’ve been nauseous half of your adult life and you’re used to pushing through it. Shit happens. Let’s just get you home, baby.”
Dana watches the exchange with befuddled eyebrows. Suddenly the mountain of a frown she’s come to know is a gentle giant, his eyes concerned and his expression tender. He’s had baby blue eyes this whole time? Jesus. She never would’ve guessed after avoiding eye contact so long. She gestures broadly and half-laughs as she asks Brendon, “You’re telling me all those precious angels she’s got covering the inside of her locker belong to you? The meanest man in the hospital?”
“Guilty as charged,” Brendon confirms as he once again kisses the top of your head. He’s rubbing your back, too, unable to stop touching you as a way of grounding himself. “We’ve been together almost ten years now.”
She whistles, impressed. Turning to you while the nurse disappears with your tests, she asks, “Any reason you don’t talk about him at work besides the fact that he’s undeniably awful?”
“I talk plenty about my husband,” you laugh softly, not able to muster much energy to tease, “you all just don’t think my cute stories could be about him.”
Suddenly recontextualizing countless adorable accounts, Dana disbelievingly says, “Brendon Park takes his girls to their father-daughter dances every year in a tie that matches their dress. Brendon Park writes notes for his kids’ lunchboxes and takes them all on dad dates so they don’t miss out on quality time with him.” She shakes her head and laughs, “No wonder he keeps his family a secret; I think you might be the sweetest man in the world, Dr. Park. I’m never gonna look at you the same way again.”
“That’s all hearsay,” Brendon snaps back through a chuckle. Then he sighs and tells her, “Look, surgery may be my life, but those kids are my world. Family’s everything.”
Dana can’t help smiling. “God, now I’m gonna be sick.”
You make kissy lips at Brendon and say, “I tell you guys all the time: My husband’s a huge softie.”
Brendon shakes his head and jokingly covers your ears with his hands. “She’s delirious; don’t listen to a word she says.” Then, while you get cleared to leave, he nudges Dana on the arm and adds, “Hey, don’t tell anyone about us, alright? We’ve got a whole bet going.”
And she gives the only response heard in the Pitt: “Can I get in on the action?”
Just as you’re about to go home after your first shift back a few days later, feeling much better after resting and hydrating as with Brendon’s mom coming over to dote on the kids, Dana touches you on the shoulder. Her eyes are sharp and her voice is low. “Do you have a few minutes?”
You glance at your watch. Brendon’s grabbing the boys from daycare, so you can spare a few minutes. “Now?”
She nods and you can see something serious hiding behind her eyes. Immediately you worry about the particularly fragile patient she assisted you with a few hours ago. “No time like the present.”
“Um, yeah, alright.”
She leads you into a private room and closes the door behind her. Inside, she picks up a chart and a few packets of paper she had waiting.
Swallowing hard as your mind easily supplies all sorts of horrible news, you check, “Is this about a patient?”
“Ah, kind of,” she replies, gesturing for you to sit on the bed. You hop up and she steps closer. After a deep breath, she hands over the clipboard – your chart from your visit to OT last week – and says, “No point beating around the bush, I say. You’re pregnant.”
The floor falls out from under you.
Your ears start to ring. Staring down at the litany of blood tests, your eyes settle on that firm POSITIVE next to a sky-high hCG level.
While your heart thuds its way into your throat, Dana adds softly, “I’m guessing you’re already well into your first trimester based on those numbers. Maybe 10, 12 weeks.”
Not quite processing, you blink fast and ramble out, “I- I’m so good about my birth control pills. Same time every day. Never miss them. With five kids, you don’t miss your birth control.”
“I read over your chart, honey,” she explains, standing next to you now so she can place a hand on your upper back. “One of the medications you’re on – the modafinil, for your sleep issues – reduces the effectiveness of hormonal birth control.”
Tears sting at your eyes as you scoff, feeling stupid and confused and jarred, “How did I not know that? I’m a fucking doctor.”
“You’re not a psychiatrist. If they didn’t tell you that, you should sue as far as I’m concerned.” She hands you a couple stapled packets of paper and a pamphlet. Studies, you realize. “Look, take a day and talk about it with your husband, whatever you need to do, but if you decide to stay pregnant, you’ll need to stop taking it because first trimester exposure can cause some complications and malformations.”
If the floor fell out of you at the first news, it’s the ceiling flying off this time. Your hand goes over your mouth as you choke back a sob. “Oh, god.”
“Don’t go panicking yet,” she soothes, rubbing your back how your mother would when you were little. “The chance is still low and you know as well as I do there are things we can screen for and most of them are fixable, treatable, or manageable even if they’re present. All your numbers look fantastic and you’ve got a nice long history of healthy pregnancies, right?”
You wipe the tears from your cheeks and take a deep breath, steadying yourself as much as you can. “Right. Right, yeah. Okay. Everything’s okay.”
Dana gives you a sympathetic, understanding smile. “Do you want a minute alone? Or I can walk you out to your car?”
You sniffle and try to force your face into a grateful expression, genuinely thankful she’s being so kind and taking the time to be supportive. “That would be nice.”
With her voice low and her arm slung protectively around your shoulder, Dana guided you out of the back entrance and to your waiting car. She says goodbye with a tight hug that lingers, promising you everything will be okay.
Then, alone in your car, your mind finally settled enough to relax, you feel that tiny little spark.
Underneath the shock, underneath the panic, underneath the confusion, peeking out like a sprout growing through a crack in the concrete, there’s that familiar bloom of pure love. That soft, sacred, quiet thing that grows unrelentingly inside of you when everything else threatens to crumble.
Love without boundaries, without conditions, without a name. The same love that has you sewing custom Halloween costumes, baking preschool graduation cakes, and wiping sniffly noses all cold season long. A love made from you and the man who’s rerouted and dedicated his entire life to making sure you and your children are safe and adored.
As you turn over the engine, you touch your lower abdomen and murmur softly, “We’re doing this again, aren’t we?”
You hate to say it, but you’re grateful when Brendon is pulled into an emergency surgery at the end of the day, sending his mom to pick up the boys at daycare. It’s nice to have some time to think while you make dinner and help the older ones with homework.
While everyone settles into the evening, you catch yourself watching the kids playing with each other, leaning in the doorway with a soft, far away expression. You’d felt so finished having kids after Felix, but suddenly you can see another baby to bounce as you chase the others around. You can see it so clearly that your eyes sting with tears. Even when you imagine that baby with any myriad of complications, you love it. You want it.
Late that night, all the kids in bed save your littlest one, Felix is half-asleep on your chest, his thumb in his mouth while you watch the TV on low. You just can’t bear to stop moments like this when you know they’re so fleeting. Running your fingers through his hair, just like Brendon’s downy waves, you murmur, “What do you think about becoming a big brother, little man?”
He stirs slightly and gives you a heavy-lidded smile. With a half-giggle that always melts you, he muses, “Baby sister?”
“Baby something,” you confirm gently. “I just have to tell daddy.”
He nods as if knowingly, nestling his forehead into your side. “Daddy happy.”
“I hope so.”
“Know so.”
You’ve convinced yourself that you’ll manage to wait to tell Brendon until after he’s had a solid night’s sleep. But then he comes home. And, in a matter of minutes, you remember it’s impossible for you to keep a secret from him, especially one this big. That’s the problem with being married to your best friend; he’s the one person you want to talk about everything with, even when it’s not the best time.
“I got my bloodwork back,” you tell him tentatively as you watch him go through his bedtime routine from the bed, “and I don’t have the flu.”
After he finishes flossing, he heads into the closet and asks, “Norovirus?”
Your hands start to sweat. This feels very, very different from your other pregnancies. The shadow of Felix’s birth clouds you both. You swallow hard and squeak out, “Not quite.”
Stepping out in nothing but his boxers, a few droplets of water still on his chest from his recent shower, Brendon sits next to you on the bed and cups your cheek. With a furrowed brow, he urges, “I can read you like a book, angel. Spit it out.”
Searching his blue eyes for any islands to rest away from your anxiety, you whisper, “I’m pregnant.”
Every time you’ve told him before, he’s scooped you up into his arms and spun you around and celebrated. This time, the blood drains from his face. His palms go clammy. The world stills.
After a minute, he asks in a voice that’s jumbled up with fear and grief and love and hope and desperation, “You want us to keep it?”
“I think so,” you reply quietly, “but not if you don’t want another-”
“I’d raise as many kids as you’d give me, baby, that’s not what I’m nervous about.” Brendon turns to you, clutches your hands in his, and shakes his head like he’s trying to clear an Etch-a-Sketch. Through tears that just won’t stop falling, he whispers, “After everything last time, after almost- almost fucking lose you, I don’t know if I can- if I can handle it.”
You rush back, “That won’t happen again, Bren.”
“You can’t know that for sure.”
Brushing his wet cheeks with your thumbs, you remind him, “I can know it to 99.99994 percent based on the latest research. We both know the odds are astronomical that that complication would happen more than once.”
Unable to speak, Brendon buries his face in your shoulder and takes a deep breath. His arms wrap around your waist and he pulls you effortlessly into his lap to hold you as tight to him as possible.
You massage his scalp with your fingertips and soothe, “I’m okay, Bren. I’m just pregnant.”
“I know, baby, I know.” He pulls back and kisses your hand over and over with his eyebrows pinched together. “But you’re older now, and-”
“Sweetheart, I’m not even thirty,” you chuckle and shake your head. “The average woman hasn’t even started having babies by my age.”
“You’re really on one with the statistics tonight,” he half-laughs, wiping his tears and taking a deep breath. After a minute of studying your features the way he always has when he wishes he could read your thoughts, he checks, “Are you sure?”
You nod and give him the first secretive smile. “Completely.”
Brendon hugs you close once again and sighs out all his fears with his next breath. “Then I’m sure with you.” Sliding his strong arms beneath your ass, he offers a mischievous smile and asks, “Feel secure?”
You roll your eyes and grin and nod – and he hoists you up into the air. Letting out a needed laugh, you lock your legs around him and kiss him hard as he spins you around. With your forehead pressed to his, you giggle out, “We’re gonna have a baby.”
“I love you so fucking much,” he says, kissing across your cheeks. Once he’s got you laughing and thrilled, he flops you back on the bed and kisses your stomach. Finally, propped on his elbows next to you, that boyish smile of his blooms in full force. He says seriously, “At least this means we have some wiggle room for our ultimate frisbee lineup. Margot’s not exactly shaping up to be an athlete with all her musical theater.”
You snort run your fingers through Brendon’s hair as he rests his head on your stomach, eyes closed reverently as he once again reimagines his future with another baby. “Hear that, kiddo? Daddy’s gonna teach you to throw as soon as you’re out of there. Work extra hard on building up that right hook.”
“Nah, we need a Southpaw,” he corrects with the most adorable smile you’ve ever seen. Then he just shakes his head happily and snuggles closer to you, the picture of domestic bliss. As he softly kisses anywhere he can, he muses, “We’re gonna have to go ring shopping again.”
You poke him in the pec and balk, “You want me to wear a six carat diamond? My hand will fall off, Bren. We could send one of the kids to college with that.”
He holds up his hand to stop you in your tracks. “One carat per baby; that’s been my rule for a decade and I’m not about to betray my values now.”
With a snicker, you reach back and turn off your bedside lamp, getting cozy under the covers together. “I can’t even wear my ring to work.”
He counters, “But I like when you wear it on dates.”
“Because you like to show me off like some trophy wife.”
Dramatically, he sighs out, “God forbid a man be madly, spectacularly in love with a gorgeous woman and want everyone in a ten-foot radius to know.”
“Fine,” you relent, unable to stop smiling even in the dark, “six carats it is.”
In lieu of my ko-fi, please consider donating to my mother's long-term dementia care fund.
i can’t stop thinking about what sleepy and jacks first time together would be like
i can imagine him trying to go slow but sleepy riling him up or something idkkk
You're right. Don't wanna say much, but Jack would try to savor the moment he's been dreaming of for so long. He'd hover and try to kiss her softly, then fail when his grazing lips turn into full-on mashes.
"Jack..."
"...Just want you to feel every inch of me."
But you know Sleepy wouldn't be in the mood for a slow and soft. Booo. The time between them, everything they've been through, and the anticipation would push her past the point of patience.
She can feel him hard and pressing against her belly, and his restraint might start to drive her crazy.
She probably grinds up into him, probably sticks her tongue in his throat, probably gets a little too sultry in her breath. All tease, but desperation, too.
Jack could lose it when she grips his cock through the fabric, squeezing the pulse of his erection.
"Don't make me beg for it, Daddy."
Ain't no way he's losing the battle with her. "Gentle" Jack vanishes then and there, and Sleepy pays the price with him tearing at her panties.
"You want the real thing? Fine."
Jack grabs her hips as he hauls her toward the edge of the bed. The first time she gets to be his sack of potatoes.
are we awake? am i too old to be this stoned? — j. abbot
summary: in the middle of the pittsburgh heatwave, jack abbot shows you he's not that old.
a/n: based on this and this. the title is from the 1975 song, “a change of heart"; it has NOTHING to do with this fic. also this was supposed to be a blurb.
tags/warnings: mdni!!!, use of kiddo and jackie, dad's best friend!jack abbot, stoner!jack abbot, perv!jack abbot, unprotected pinv, intox kink, weed kink, shotgunning smoke, consensual drug sex, breeding kink, age gap, cockwarming, the usual parade.
w/c: 1.5k
acknowlegement(s): thanks, @wesandresons, for the gif!!!
masterlist ★ taglist ★ blurb asks are open!
“you know, guys your age don’t smoke with girls younger than them.”
jack is lying on your bed in the high summer heat – one arm thrown lazily over his eyes, a meagre attempt to block out the sun spilling from the curtains. you sit cross-legged next to him, an old college shirt hanging off one shoulder, joint in hand.
the ceiling fan hums in the background – the odour of the weed sticking in the air.
“yeah well,” jack starts, flopping his arm on the sheets beneath him before sitting up with a low groan. he turns his face to see yours, his hair unruly as the light catches the silver at his temples. he glances down at your lips as you take another puff of the joint.
“you make me feel years younger, kiddo.”
he leans over, his calloused hand falling onto your knee where your shirt meets your thigh. rubbing small, lazy circles onto your kneecap as jack looks up to you through half-lidded eyes.
“come sit on daddy’s lap,” he murmurs, his voice thick with sleep and heat.
you raise an eyebrow, the joint hanging out of your lips. jack settles back on the bed, patting his thigh with a relaxed smile.
“don’t complain when your back hurts, old man," you giggle, swinging your legs over his lap, straddling his thighs with a slow, practised movement.
once you're settled, jack reaches up and plucks the blunt off your lip, the pad of his thumb pulling down your lower lip. he takes a puff; the cherry end burns orange when he exhales. a plume of smoke escaping his parted lips.
he looks up, taking you in.
the shirt has ridden up – the white of his stolen boxer briefs peeking out. your chest falls and rises in short bursts, nipples hard under the thin fabric. your hips grind instinctively against his clothed bulge as he pinches them through the shirt, his index finger and thumb tugging your nipples as you watch jack swallow around a moan.
his head hits the headboard. “oh, you’re trouble,” jack says, his hand sneaking up the hem of your shirt. his eyes search your bloodshot ones; in a silent agreement, he takes it off in one swoop, fingers deftly unclasping the bra.
he doesn’t take his eyes off the sight. not even to throw the clothes somewhere on the floor.
you, half-naked on his lap, wearing his boxers.
his pretty girl.
“you going to take those boxers off? or are you going to let jackie do everything?”
you hum in faux thought, dragging his free hand down to the waistband, leaning back on the heels of your feet. his fingers skim over the logo before slipping in and tugging them down halfway.
your hands make quick work of his belt, discarding it on the floor whilst he sets the joint on the glass ashtray beside him on the nightstand, hands stumbling when you palm him through his pants again.
with a moan, jack makes quick work of the rest of his clothes. he pushes the rest of the pants with his boxers off his legs in one frantic motion until his cock springs free and his stomach.
“look at what you did to me, kiddo,” he says, his voice hoarse and rough.
he spits in his hand before stroking the length of his cock in long, slow strokes. you bite your lip, beads of blood breaking skin at the intrusion.
“need you so badly, jackie,” you crawl up to his chest, hovering your cunt above him making work of his cock. you whine, your nails digging crescent shapes into his freckled shoulders. “god, jackie, please, fuck me.”
jack stops the pumps of his hand to dip two fingers in your folds, groaning at your wetness – you don’t even know whether it’s from the pot you’ve been smoking for the past ten minutes or sitting on jack’s lap, bare, laid out for him, but that doesn't matter.
not when he's fucking you with reckless abandon. not w
the only thing that crossed your mind was him, tunnel vision and the haze of smoke fogging any rational thinking – the world minimising to jack, your jackie, relieving the coil in your stomach.
“this all for me, kiddo?” he breathes out, bringing his fingers to his mouth. his tongue swirls over the ridges on his fingers, humming lowly under his breath. he smacks his lips, darting his tongue out to catch a stray drop. “god, she’s soaked for me. you want my cock that badly?”
you nod frantically, pawing at his dick helplessly. jack chuckles, his voice dropping with a hint of condescension. “oh, my girl is needy. but that’s okay. that’s what she has me for, doesn’t she?”
he rubs his cock slowly through your folds, his hand catching your body as you collapse further into him.
“jackie, its-”
“i know, jackie’s here,” jack hushes you, rubbing his thumb in circles against your hip bone.
he finally pushes into your entrance with a groan; his eyes squeezing shut as he nudges into you inch by inch. you let out a cry as he bottoms out – jack's lips smash against yours, swallowing your moans as he thrusts his hip up languidly.
you gasp as he moves beneath you, jack using this opportunity to slip his tongue past your mouth; the sticky heat and the faint tangy taste of your pussy on his mouth making your head spin.
you pull back from his lips for a breath of fresh air, leaning your forehead on his.
“god, you feel so fucking good for me, baby,” jack says, his voice husky from desire. with another roll of your hips, he lets out a low, strangled moan as his fingers leave small indents in the flesh of your hip.
“jackie, it feels so good,” you mewl, looking at him through glassy eyes; your jaw is slack as drool collects at the corner of your mouth, dripping down your chin.
“i know, baby, i know.” his calloused hands grab your waist, his grip sure and firm as he stalls your hips, movement coming all down to a halt.
reaching out blindly, jack’s hands feel out for the discarded blunt. once he’s got it, he sits up properly, his cock shifting inside you, causing you to whimper again.
“jackie,” you plead, sniffling. “please don’t stop.”
“shhh,” jack coos, biting your earlobe with a sharp tug; his other hand rubs your back up and down in a soothing motion. “i got you. you trust me don’t you?”
jack takes a massive toke, his chest heaving in as he stubs out the remaining embers into the glass tray. roughly carding through the hair from the nape of your neck, jack pulls you in to meet your lips, blowing the smoke into your lips as he keeps pressing into you.
the room quickly fills up again with moans and grunts, sounds of flesh hitting flesh as jack continues his half-hearted thrusts, chasing the pleasure as if it continues to slip out of his grasp repeatedly.
he lets out another groan at the feeling of your cunt clenching up on him. through the thin veil of smoke, he looks up at your fucked-up gaze, bouncing up and down on your knees as you take pleasure from him.
“baby, i’m going to cum-fuck—" he manages to choke out as you fuck yourself onto him harder. “shit, i’m going to fucking cum in you.”
you moan at his words, nothing he’s saying even registering in your brain. the only thing, at this moment, worth remembering is the feeling of his cock twitching inside you as he hits your g-spot.
“jackie, please i fucking want it!” you babble, the unrelenting heat in your lower back pooling.
“kiddo wants my cum?”
so unfortunate he didn’t record this one, he could listen to that on loop for hours.
“kiddo wants jackie to cum in her?” jack groans, continuing the bucking up of his hips. “jackie will make her all nice and round with his cum, yeah? and then she’ll have to explain to her father why his best friend got her all barefoot and pregnant?”
“you want that, kiddo?”
“god, jesus, fuck my father. shut up and just fucking cum in me.”
at those words, jack hips stutter as he fucks his load into you, feeling the walls of your pussy tightening on his cock – both of you cumming at the same time. once you ride out your wave, you lean fully into him, his softening dick still inside you as he flutters his eyes shut.
a moment passes, the room plunging into silence – the only noise coming from the faint zooming of the cars outside and the heavy inhales and exhales coming from both of you, a tangled mess of limbs, on your bed.
“jesus,” you groan, burrowing your face into his neck as jack puts his face into your hair. “you going to move?”
“well,” he starts, his voice lilted as he takes a large exhale, “you wanted my cum in you so...now we just have to wait until your daddy comes home.”
alpha!jack abbot x omega!fem!reader. a/b/o au and dynamics, references to omega discrimination, scenting, instincts, penetrative sex, fingering, sex at work, power imbalance, brat taming, praise, possessiveness, unprotected sex.
word count: 2.4k
a/n: I dont feel great about this one tbh... i dont think i captured the dynamic quite as well as i'd hoped to. but hopefully ya'll enjoy :')
Jack’s really not sure what your problem is.
You’re stubborn, headstrong, overly ambitious, and oftentimes just shy of rude. All of which are things Jack has come to expect from omegas after years of working with them in such a high-stakes environment— most take on an overly-harsh exterior to counteract the stigma they face. It’s a survival mechanism, a necessary precaution in order to be taken seriously and have any chance of success in a profession that’s dominated by alphas and deals with countless assholes day in and day out.
Jack doesn’t begrudge them. He knows that working in the Pitt— or in emergency medicine, or in any medical setting, for that matter— isn’t easy for omegas. He tries to keep that in mind and act accordingly. He works hard to foster a good work environment for everyone on his crew.
He likes to think he does a halfway decent job. And, seemingly, most of the omegas that have passed through his supervision over the years would agree. Once they see how he runs things they usually start to let their guards down a bit. They stop entering every situation with their teeth bared and hackles raised. They speak their minds with confidence rather than nervous aggression. They accept his teaching without assuming he’s trying to undermine them.
They even start to give in to their instincts a bit, without fear that he’ll think of them as weak or take advantage of their vulnerability. They allow themselves to preen under his praise, submit under his command, and settle under his comfort.
Not you. You’ve been here for 3 months now and he can still feel your eyes tracking him through every room like you’re waiting for him to pounce. You still respond to everything he asks through clenched teeth, like you’re bracing for backlash that never comes. You still roll your eyes at every one of his jokes and question every one of his orders.
Tonight is no different. If Jack took a shot every time you rolled your eyes, scowled, or talked back to him, his name would be up on the patient board.
He should find it infuriating. Part of him— the most basic, primitive part— does. You give him the urge to snap his teeth and growl, make you show him some respect.
The rest of Jack finds you… interesting. Exciting. Jack loves a challenge, and you pose a very fun one. He’s determined to figure you out.
Jack tracks you down after shift change. He finds you in the empty room of the last patient you discharged. You’re hunched over your rolling computer cart, finishing up some charting.
When he walks in you look startled, then cornered, then extremely irritated.
“You know, I came in here for some peace and quiet.”
“Do you have some kind of problem with me?” Jack asks, choosing to ignore your snide greeting. You eye him for a moment, like you’re deciding whether you want to tell the truth or not. He raises a brow and waits.
“You clearly don’t trust me with the patients.” You eventually say, stony. Not true. “You’re always— hovering. Like you’re waiting for me to slip up. But I’m not gonna slip up”
Anxiety and vulnerability roll off you in waves, souring your scent. When Jack smells it he desperately aches to soften. To gather you in his arms and rumble out assurances. I know you won’t, little omega. You do such a good job. You’re so good. It takes everything in him to stifle the urge.
“I’m your attending,” he says calmly, careful to keep his voice even. “It’s kinda my job to keep an eye on you. Y’know, to attend.”
Your eyes narrow. “You’re not my attending.” You grind out the words, and maybe Jack’s reading into it, but you sound… bitter? Jealous? “You and Shen are the attendings. Supervising me isn’t your personal little pet project.”
“You want it to be?”
You look taken aback. Just for a second. Jack can’t help but revel in it– you’re not easy to shake.
“I just want you to fuck off and stop breathing down my neck so I can actually do my job!”
Jack doesn’t respond for a moment. He barely manages to stifle his surprise at the fact that an omega just, essentially, cursed him out and spat in his face. He stares down his nose at you, intentionally allowing the silence to feel thick. Studying you.
He sees you catch on. You straighten up, even puff out your chest a bit, trying to look strong and sure and unbothered.
It’s a good attempt, he’ll give you that. You’d have plenty of alphas fooled.
But Jack catches the way your head tilts back for just an instant like you’re about to bare your throat. Sees the flash of doubt in your eyes, like your instincts are begging you to just give this up already, roll over, and show him your belly. Oh. That’s new. He feels his cock swell.
“Yeah? You want me to fuck off?” He lets his voice drop an octave. You make a choked, barely-there sound that he’d like to call a whimper. Your scent shifts sweeter.
Jack steps towards you, big and slow and imposing, and is surprised again when you don’t back up. Ballsy little thing.
“You know what I think?” His voice is smooth, low, almost a purr. Dripping with alpha condescension.
Jack sees your throat bob as you swallow. You just glare up at him without a word, and he knows it's because you don’t trust your voice not to waver. He smirks.
“I’ll tell you, sweetheart.” He watches you shiver. He’s so close now that he’s almost touching you. “I think you know that I’m good at what I do. I think you respect me. Maybe even like me a little. And all this attitude you give me…” he raises a brow and leans down, letting his breath fan over your face, “Is you trying to overcompensate for the fact that what you really want is to be bent over and put in your place.”
It’s bold, Jack realizes. Might be too much. Could make you turn tail, but he doubts it. You’re braver than that.
He watches you stiffen. There’s a flash of blatant hunger in your eyes— bingo— but it’s quickly snuffed out by stubborn defiance.
“I’m not just some needy ommie who’ll give it up to any alpha with a pulse.” Your voice only wavers a little.
“Oh, I know.” Jack nods. He feels, looks, and smells painfully smug. His voice is like velvet. “But you’ll give it up to me, won’t you?”
That breaks you. You practically collapse in on yourself, all small, and breathe out an involuntary “alpha.”
“There it is.” Jack coos. The praise makes you preen, and you extend your neck, baring your throat for Jack to brush his lips against. You smell fucking delicious. “Sweet little omega. You don’t have to fight it.”
“You’re such a douchebag.” You bite out. Sure, it’s weak and shaky, but it impresses Jack regardless. He has his nose pressed against your gland and you’re still talking back.
“Ooh, you don’t quit.” He rumbles. He pulls back slightly, his big hand coming up to cup the side of your neck. His eyes rake shamelessly down your body, not even trying to hide his desire. He’s sure you can smell it on him anyway. “What’s it gonna take, baby? Do you need my cock inside you to finally start behaving yourself?”
“You tell me, Abbot.” You sneer. “What’s it gonna take, in your professional opinion?”
Jack smiles, challenging and predatory in a way that would make most omegas wither. But not you. Your lip curls up, showing off cute little canines. He can’t help but groan and grind down against your abdomen.
“Fuck, baby.” Jack growls. “So cute when you act all tough.” He grips around your hip with a big hand and backs you up against the hospital bed while the other works hastily at the waistband of your scrubs. Once he has them loosened, he shoves his hand right down the front of your panties.
The second he gets his fingers inside you, you melt. Slick practically pours onto his hand. The strong, heady scent of it is overwhelming. It makes his nostrils flare.
If the way you’re squirming around on the bed and whining incoherently tells him anything, it’s that he’s not gonna need to get his cock involved to make you behave. The realization hits him like a truck, right through to his ego.
“There you go, little omega. You like that?” He taunts.
You nod, finally eager and obedient. It’s like a victory after all the fight you’ve given him. Jack didn’t know that submission from an omega could feel quite this good. It usually comes too easy.
“Yeah. Good girl. I’ve got you, sweetheart. Let me take care of you.”
“D-Dr. Abbot— alpha— please.”
You sound fucking broken and Jack can’t stand it. His instincts whir— make her happy, make her feel good, fill her up.
“I’ve got you.” He repeats in the low, steady voice he reserves for omegas in distress. He pulls his fingers out of you, and it’s only so he can free his cock from his scrubs, but you whine anyway.
“Fuck— hurry up.”
“Shh. Easy.” Jack murmurs. His free hand reaches up, intending to stroke soothingly across your cheek— but he has to yank it away when you turn your head and nip at his fingers like a kitten. Fucking brat.
“Settle down.” He growls. The tone squeezes you tight, wrings out any fight you have left. You’re left lax on the bed below him– boneless, pliant, willing. Good, his alpha purrs. “That’s better. Just take what I give you.”
Jack slides his hard cock through your slit once, coating it in your slick, before he pushes into you.
You feel like heaven— the hottest, wettest, tightest fucking pussy he’s ever had. And the sound you make when he stretches you. That high pitched, keening moan of pleasure. Jack wants to bottle that sound.
“Good omega.” He purrs, leaning down to press hot kisses along the column of your neck. He’s possessed by the need to ensure you smell like him for days.
You arch into it, exposing your throat further, pushing your hips down on his cock. “You feel so fucking good. You were made for this.”
You whine at that, and Jack can see your mind wrestling with the sentiment despite the way it makes your pussy gush and your instincts sing.
Jack hushes you. “It’s okay.” He holds you still by your hip and litters more wet, soothing kisses across your jaw. “There’s nothin’ wrong with it, sweet girl. Let yourself enjoy this.”
“Abbot—“ when you say it, Jack can’t stifle his choked laugh— “feels so good.”
“Call me Jack, baby, my fuckin’ dick’s inside you.” He shakes his head before he briefly connects his lips with yours. “Jesus. I woulda done this ages ago if I knew you wanted it this bad.”
His cock sponges over your g-spot and his tip kisses your cervix with every thrust. He can feel you getting close— your pussy’s clenching, you’re whimpering louder, slick is dripping down your thighs and onto the bed below. Your hands grapple desperately at his freckled sides, arms, and shoulders, nails leaving indented crescents in their wake.
“Come on, sweet omega.” Jack purrs in your ear. His hand finds your breast so he can thumb circles on your nipple as further encouragement. He fucks into you relentlessly. “I want you to cum for me. Milk my cock.”
“Jack— Alpha— fuck.” You sound broken as your orgasm washes over you. You shake below him on the table— lips parted, brows furrowed, eyes locked on his. Jack growls.
“There you go, that’s it. You’re so good.” He means it more than he’s ever meant anything. You’re so fucking good. You look good, you smell good, you feel good, you sound good. Jack’s not gonna last much longer. “You’re such a good omega.”
“Yours,” You keen— and fuck, you’re still cumming. “Your omega.”
“Mine.” Jack nods. His hips falter. “My good girl. Doing so well for your alpha.”
Jack lets his teeth ghost over your mating bond, grazing the tender, unbroken skin there.
The whimpery sound you let out sends him over the edge. His hips snap forward one more time and he spills inside you with a long, low groan. It takes everything in him to hold back and not bite you right then.
“Babygirl,” Jack grits out once he can speak, breathless. Your walls are still fluttering around his softening cock. “You’re fucking incredible.”
You don’t say anything. He lifts his head from the crook of your neck. “Hey. Look at me. You okay?”
“Jack…” you murmur. You’re looking at him like he hung the moon and the stars, and he feels like he could start glowing. Still, your scent sours with uncertainty. “Jesus, this is— we shouldn’t have—“
“Why not?”
“This is completely unprofessional—“
Jack scoffs. “Yeah, doll, we’re well past that.”
“This is exactly what I’ve been trying to avoid!” Your voice is raised. “And you make it very difficult!”
You’re clearly dismayed, and Jack shouldn’t grin, but he does.
“Do I?” Jack leans down to nose against the gland on your neck again. He smells only himself there, mingling with your scent, and goddamn he could get hard again. His tongue darts out to soothe over the area, and you melt. “Do I make it hard for you to conduct yourself?” He lets a mocking lilt bleed into his tone. “Is that why you insist on being such a pain in my ass all the time?”
“Don’t be mean.” You grumble. You're trying, and failing, to maintain your contempt-- the words come out far too pleading.
“Attagirl. Now you’re getting it.” Jack coos. He leans down and gives you a kiss. “If you want me to be sweet on you then all you have to do is ask.”
You scowl at him. You still smell anxious, and that won't do at all.
Jack's expression softens. He deepens his scent to match, radiating protective reassurance. "Everything's gonna be okay, doll. I'll make sure of it."
𑣲⋆｡˚ rabbot love taking you at the same time p link
jack is grasping your hips from below you with an iron rip as your boobs press against his chest, dragging against him with each harsh thrust. he's looking straight up at your face, and you gaze down at him with bleary eyes, already so fucked out :(
he pouts sympathetically at the dumb look on your face and brushes some of the hair that had fallen in front of your eyes when your head lulled forward. you make sensual eye contact while he caresses your face in his big hand, gazing at you adoringly.
it would've been so romantic
if not for the absolute brute robby was, pounding into you from behind, with a harsh grunt from each thurst.
no wonder you were so dumb already, your poor pussy was struggling to fit both of their big cocks at the same time :(
robby readjusts and hikes his leg up to give him more momentum, gripping onto your shoulders to drag you right back down their lengths when you tried to squirm away.
the new angle caused you to let out a shocked squeal and then a defeated whimper when you realised robby wouldn't let up. jack tuts, "aw robby's being mean isn't he baby?"
you let out a dumb nod, making eye contact with jack again while they both plough into you. robby ignores the comment and just keeps going, and jacks hands drag up your body to squeeze the plush planes of your boobs, still holding eye contact while teasing your nipples.
you were a mess, bless your soul, spasming, drooling, your hole leaking. but they loved it. they revel in knowing they ruin you so good your brain can't function anymore and all you can think about is dick.
rabbot love ruining their girl at the same time ᥫ᭡.
part one | part two | part three | part four | masterlist | ao3
michael robinavitch x reader
summary: You're Robby's favorite reward. When his staff earns it, he doesn't hesitate to offer you up. But after you admit to your mistake, you're not entirely sure where you stand with the attending.
|| smut MDNI 18+, please read all kink tags thoroughly, angst, free use kink, upset!robby, injury to reader (minimal), medical jargon, hurt/delayed comfort, possessive behavior, heavy dom & sub dynamics!!!!, if u r not a freak like me do not read, bdsm themes, dom!robby, sub!reader, cuckholding, breath play, bicep choking (light), dirty talk, praise kink, m!receiving oral, sloppy oral, f!recieving oral, dom sub negotiations, obedience, sub space & some intense subspace moments, anal, orgasm denial, edging, aftercare, lifestyle dom/sub dynamic, sugarbaby!reader briefly mentioned, RACK compliant, pet names like honey / sweetheart / baby / pretty girl, one tiny moment of spanking, no use of y/n, descriptions of clothes but no physical descriptions of reader except for enough hair to put up / braid / grab, robby is still a cuck, he also sucks at communicating (canon), I do not condone this dynamic unless spoken between two respectful consenting partners ||
a/n: the crazy thing is im not even that into robby. but this... this was a fun one. links in tags are for info
The closer 7PM rolled around, the more you could barely keep yourself still.
You tried that yoga routine you'd wanted to try a hundred times, but kept missing whatever the instructor was saying. You tried reading but couldn't make any of the words stick to your brain, reading the same sentences three times over before putting it down on the coffee table. You made yourself some tea, took a shower—your everything shower—your entire skin care routine, and did a hair mask. Nothing could keep your mind from running through the guiltiest thoughts, how Robby might react when he got back from the hospital. You couldn't even keep dinner down. The leftovers sat mostly untouched in the bowl beside you, the sauce going cold while the clock on the stove clicked closer and closer toward shift change.
At 7:45PM, the front door opened.
You'd heard his long, tired sigh before you saw him, and placed yourself casually on the couch, flipping a page in the same book you'd barely absorbed earlier that day, legs tucked beneath you.
Robby appeared in the archway a second later, shrugging his backpack off onto the upholstered bench by the door before toeing off his shoes. He peeled the navy Figs top over his head as he walked, leaving himself in his gray long sleeve and those cargo pants he always wore to work. He looked exhausted.
He didn't say anything when he came over to the couch. He just dropped down beside you and pulled you into him immediately, one arm wrapping around your waist before he buried his face against your shoulder and let out another long exhale.
"Hey," you said softly, arms sliding around his shoulders as you leaned into him automatically. You kissed his temple. His hand tightened on you a little before tugging you over fully into his lap.
The position had the nerves in your stomach fluttering, remembering this exact seating in a Ford F-150 less than twelve hours ago.
Your hands moved to Robby’s face, thumbs brushing along his scruffy jaw as you looked down at him. He looked so tired that for a second you considered waiting until tomorrow. Maybe you'd let him shower or eat first. Get a good nights sleep first. But you promised, and you also just knew better.
"Michael…" you whispered, "I have to tell you something."
"So it's Michael today, hm?" he murmured, tilting his head up to kiss you gently on the mouth. One hand moved up your back slowly, resting there.
You sighed into his gentle kiss, hoping to god it wasn't your last. When you pulled away, about to bring your hands off his neck, his own hands reached up quickly, catching your wrists before you could get too far. He held them against his chest, brows pulling together immediately.
"What is it?" he asked very seriously. His brown eyes were fully focused on you now, all the exhaustion from a second ago suddenly honed onto your face, his hands warm around the boney joints of your wrists.
"I—" you started, and then stopped, pushing your lips together, thinking of the right words. "I got a ride home from Jack today…and…we…"
His head flinched back, blinking quickly like his brain was filling in the rest before you could even finish the confession.
"You and Jack what?" he asked, but there was already a steady drip of venom in the words. His jaw clenched hard beneath the beard, mouth pulling tight under his mustache as he stared up at you. You could practically see him piecing it together already, his eyes flicking over your face waiting for you to deny whatever conclusion he'd jumped to.
"I'm sorry, Michael." you said, clenching your fists uselessly, "we were just talking—and then—he kissed me and we—" you shut your eyes tightly, "I slept with him."
Robby slowly released your wrists from his hold, and your hands felt cold from the sudden loss of his touch. He leaned his head back onto the couch, staring at the ceiling. Your hands went to his shoulders, pawing at him, fisting the gray undershirt in your fingers.
"I'm sorry—" you pleaded again, hearing your voice start to shake. "I'm so sorry, I should've asked you, I know but—"
He sat up suddenly, forcing you off his lap in the process. The movement wasn't rough exactly, but there was nothing gentle in it either. Barely any touch at all.
Then he stood, and started pacing the room.
You watched him walk past the coffee table, one hand dragging over his mouth, then the back of his neck, then down to his hip before he turned again. His socks made almost no sound against the hardwood, the TV reflecting every move faintly across the dark windows behind him. He paced around in front of you for a few minutes. You felt helpless, just watching, waiting.
"Michael—"
He shook his head, lifting his finger to silence you, eyes squeezing shut as he kept walking around.
He came to an abrupt halt, finally turning toward you. His hands came together in front of his mouth almost like he was praying, thumbs pressed hard against his lips before he dragged them downward and pointed them vaguely in your direction, like he was trying to force words out in the correct order and couldn't manage it.
"What exactly did you think was gonna happen here?" he asked.
"I—I don't know." you answered honestly, "I thought he was just going to take me home, and then he started talking about the arrangement, why he never gave in and then, it was just a fucking mess and—god, Michael, I'm so—"
"So you fucked him? He started saying sweet words and you slept with him? Where?"
You swallowed dryly. "It wasn't like that—"
"Where?" he snapped.
"Parking lot."
His eyes crinkled in a sort of sarcastic smile as he nodded, bringing his hands up to his face to drag down, sucking in a deep breath.
"Jesus Christ," he muttered under his breath. "Jack."
"I didn't mean for it to happen."
"Not really the point," he snapped.
You flinched at the tone.
He noticed immediately too. You saw it in the way his eyes squeezed shut for a second before he brought his hands to his neck, pulling at his shoulders before dropping them again—restless, agitated.
"Look at me and tell me honestly you thought this was okay."
You opened your mouth, then closed it again.
Robby gave another short nod to himself, humorless. "Yeah."
"I know I crossed a line, and I'm so—"
"A line?" he repeated, finally looking at you fully now. "Honey, this whole thing only works because there are lines. Rules! Trust!"
You could tell he was trying very hard not to let his voice rise in octave, a sharpness to it, a forced quiet.
"I let a lot slide. Probably too much lately." He pointed vaguely toward you, frustrated. "Flirting, teasing, picking favorites. But this arrangement works because I know what's going on. I know who's touching you. I know you're safe. I know nobody's getting weird ideas in their fucking heads."
"He doesn't have weird ideas—"
"How the hell would you know?" he shot back immediately. "You think I haven't watched people in that department getting a little too attached lately?"
Robby laughed once through his nose and shook his head, walking again. "And him. Of all people."
"He was upset."
"Oh, don't do that." Robby pointed at you sharply. "Do not start defending Jack Abbot to me right now, because I swear to god that is gonna make this so much worse."
You looked down at your hands instantly. He stood there staring at you for a long second before speaking again, quieter this time.
"You know what the really shitty part is?" he asked, voice threaded with anguish and almost humor, as if it was laughable. "I came home just wanting you. That's it. Whole fucking day went to hell, a patient died on me because I didn't insist on getting her checked while her husband coded. We had more West Bridge reroutes, one of my interns passed out during a trauma, and all I wanted was to come home and hold onto you for five goddamn minutes, even after the conversation this morning."
Your eyes burned immediately.
"And instead I walk in here and find out you've been sneaking around behind my back."
"Michael—"
"Enough." His jaw tightened again. He looked at you then, tired more than angry now, which somehow hurt worse.
"You are the one good thing I had," he said plainly. "And now I just… how am I supposed to trust you?"
Your tears had begun to fall in earnest streaks down your face now, your voice barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry."
He sighed, shaking his head, before turning away.
And one word rang in your head as the bedroom door slammed shut.
Had.
You were the one good thing he had.
The rest of the night, the following days… were some of your worst in a very long time.
Robby hadn't said much to you at all, his silence unbearable. That night, after the argument, he just said he needed some time to think, and the following days only gave you more time to think too. More time for your brain to chew itself apart.
He even started picking up extra shifts at the hospital, offering to take some of Al-Hashimi's workload, which left you alone in the house most of the time. You didn't go out much either. Part of it was because you barely wanted to be seen. Another part was because every dollar spent felt wrong now. It was Robby's money. Robby's house. Robby's groceries in the fridge. Robby's money that bought the expensive shampoo in the shower that needed a refill.
You felt awful— guilty. You didn't know what to do. You felt like you'd ruined something so good. Something built on the things you'd broken. Trust, understanding, connection. You didn't know what Robby was going to say, if he'd ever say anything, if things would ever go back to normal. If you'd have to move out and find somewhere to live, a job, make new friends. It was so overwhelming.
Your brain just wouldn't stop running.
You'd sit on the couch with an untouched coffee in your hands, staring through the sliding glass doors into the backyard while the steam slowly disappeared from the mug. The TV would be on and you wouldn't realize three episodes had passed because your mind had wandered somewhere else entirely. You'd wonder where you'd even put your clothes if he told you to leave. Whether you'd need boxes. Whether you still had your old suitcase somewhere. You'd wonder if you'd have to call somebody and then remember there really wasn't anybody to call.
Sometimes you thought about what Jack was up to. If maybe you should call him. But you also knew better. You wondered what it was like when the two of them saw each other when the shifts changed at the start and end of the day. Jack was one of Robby's closest people. He often said he didn't have friends, but that was a lie. Because Jack was one of his best friends. And you'd probably ruined that for him.
One morning a week later, you woke up to an empty bed again, and stared at the ceiling for an hour.
Your eyes burned as you thought about what your life had turned into. You'd woven it into Robby's in ways you hadn't even realized until he wasn't here. You used to walk into the kitchen and find him drinking his black coffee out of his I ❤️ Pittsburgh mug, hair a mess and plaid boxers askew as he read the morning paper. And now you'd wake up and reach your hand over the mattress, searching for his warmth before remembering he was sleeping in the guest room. You'd find yourself wanting to text him a funny part of the show you'd been binging, thinking he'd like it, wanting to save an episode til he got home, before remembering he probably didn't want to hear from you.
It hurt so badly.
Robby usually made things feel quieter in your head when things were hard. You never had to wonder where you stood with him before this. You never had to question if he wanted you. And when you weren't sure about something, he'd be there. He'd tell you where to sit for your evening binge of The Office, tell you what to add to the Instacart order while you sat beside him scrolling through recipes for the week, his hand rubbing slow circles against your thigh. Always soothing and sweet.
Half the time you didn't even realize there was anything other than this. You and him. How he was your assurance, your guide. How he knew what you needed even if you didn't. You remembered when he'd wander into the kitchen while you cooked and steal bites from the cutting board before nudging your hip with his and pointing toward the island stools because he'd already decided you'd done enough for the night. He'd slide a glass of water beside you because he'd noticed you hadn't touched yours in hours. He'd hand you one of his coziest, old collegiate sweatshirts before you even registered you were cold. He'd pull you into his lap when your leg started bouncing too much, fingers threading through your hair while he read over charts in the evenings, kissing the top of your head absentmindedly.
Tiny things that built and built until they became routine, until they became normal, until they settled into every corner of your life so completely that you'd stopped noticing them one by one.
And he wasn't even your boyfriend.
You needed to get out of bed. You needed to do something with yourself. All this moping, waiting, hoping, crying— it was getting to be too much. You were a grown fucking woman, after all. You'd made a mistake. You needed to get yourself together.
Because this was getting ridiculous.
You'd spent the last week moving between the bed and the couch and the kitchen and then back again, carrying your sadness around the house so much your body felt sluggish now. Heavy. Your eyes still had that swollen feeling from crying too much, your head dull from sleeping at weird hours and barely eating enough to count as meals.
You sat up and shoved the duvet off of yourself.
Pulling open your dresser and digging out some workout clothes, you threw on your cutest set. One you knew you'd feel good in. Or at least one you'd bought because Robby said you looked good in it and right now that felt close enough. You went into the bathroom, did your skincare, tied your hair back, brushed concealer beneath your eyes because you were tired of looking sad every time you caught yourself in the mirror. You threw on mascara, tinted lip balm, brushed your ornery eyebrows as best you could before heading back into the bedroom.
Looking around, you finally saw it all for what it was.
The water glass still sitting on the nightstand from three nights ago. One of Robby's sweatshirts hanging half off the dresser chair. Clothes piled on the floor. Moisturizer and makeup sitting open on the bedside table with a pile of tissues. The duvet was twisted up from days of crawling back into bed halfway through the afternoon.
You stared for a few seconds, and then turned and grabbed the hamper.
You pulled the sheets off and wrestled the duvet cover from the insert, getting tangled in the stupid thing halfway through and swearing under your breath before finally shoving it all into the washer. Then you got out your basket of cleaning supplies and kept going.
You swept. Scrubbed. Wiped down counters. Lit one of the candles sitting forgotten in the cabinet beneath the sink. You cleaned every inch of the apartment for the next few hours, your playlist blasting from your phone as you moved from room to room. The smell of lemon cleaner and laundry detergent slowly replaced the stale, shut in feeling that had settled over everything this past week.
And it helped.
A lot, actually.
For the first time in days your brain wasn't sprinting ahead of you. It only cared about what was directly in front of you: fold this towel, wipe down this counter, put this away. It felt like one of those corny montages in a movie where the girl finally gets her shit together.
Once the bedroom was looking refreshed with clean sheets and the comforter pulled smooth across the mattress, you blew out the candle you'd lit and headed out of the apartment.
And started to run.
Your lungs were burning by the time you'd made it a few blocks from the house.
God, it had been a while.
Not just the last week while you'd spent your time curled up on couches and under blankets feeling sorry for yourself. A long while. Before the accident, probably. Before your ex had started making little comments like: You really wear that out for a jog? Don't you think those shorts are a little much? You like people looking at you or something? Which then turned into him not wanting you to run at all.
Funny how things happened like that, how things changed so slowly you barely noticed them happening at all. Funny how easy it was to change yourself little by little until you looked up one day and realized you'd stopped doing things you used to love.
Robby had been the opposite.
Hell, the set you had on right now had been his choice. The memory flooded your minds' eye, of you standing in front of one of those giant Lululemon mirrors when he'd taken you shopping for a weekend away. You remembered tugging at the waistband and shifting your weight from foot to foot while you stared at yourself a little too hard. You remembered pulling lightly at the sports bra, uncertain about the way it sat against your chest, turning sideways and then back again.
Robby had been sitting outside the fitting room on one of those little upholstered benches, his arm extended across the back. He'd looked so pleased with himself as you walked out. Blushing and eyes alight with mirth. You missed that look on his face, it made you realize as your chest pulled tight. The way he'd look at you like that, all warm and entertained, like he'd stumbled into something good and still couldn't quite believe it was his. How he'd made you put on a fashion show in the hotel room when you'd gotten back of all the things he'd gotten you that day. The bliss of when all clothes were forgotten for the hours that followed.
Your sneakers slapped the pavement of the sidewalk while the late morning air filled your chest and scraped your throat. Your old running playlist that you never deleted blasted in your ears, the sky a pretty clear blue. Everything was so pretty today, even if you didn't feel the same. You looked around at the tall buildings reflecting the light of the sun, people bustling around on their lunch break, the world moving even if you felt like you'd been motionless for days.
You slowed a little as you approached the crosswalk ahead, coming to a stop at the corner and pressing the little crossing button with the heel of your hand. Your chest rose and fell hard now, sweat gathering beneath the band of your sports bra and sliding slowly down your spine.
You suddenly felt your phone vibrate in a quick, succinct alert in the waistband of your bottoms. With two fingers, you slid it from between your skin and the fabric, pulling it up to your face. You had to lift your other hand to shield the screen from the glare blinding your view.
Your stomach dropped. A text message appeared on your lock screen.
Jack Abbot: I think we should talk.
The little speaker beside you crackled to life. "Grant Street. Walk sign is on to cross Grant Street."
You barely heard it.
You didn't look up from your phone, staring at the text.
What the fuck was he thinking?
Your eyes stayed locked on the message while your brain immediately started spiraling ahead of you again, filling in spaces that didn't have answers yet. Had he talked to Robby? Did something happen?
You stepped out into the street to cross, and heard someone shout behind you through the muffle of your music in your ears. At first, you hardly registered it, filing it away as background noise of the city, until they were really shouting louder, close behind you.
"Watch out!"
Your head jerked up, and for a split second you didn't fully understand what you were looking at, but as you turned to the left, your eyes widened.
A bicyclist was coming straight toward you, moving fast enough that you could hear the tires humming against the pavement. His eyes had gone wide beneath his helmet, panic written all over his face as his hands yanked hard at the handlebars, trying to turn away from you.
Trying and…failing.
Because before you could react, the front tire slammed into your leg with enough force to knock your balance off its axis, something hard—a handlebar—driving sharply into your side and stealing the air from your lungs. Your phone went flying out of your hand as you fell, stomach lurching into your throat.
The sky tilted, world spinning as concrete rushed to meet you.
Fuck, that hurt.
You heard yourself groaning somewhere through the ringing in your ears while the world slowly blinked back into focus, sunlight too bright when your eyes finally cracked open. Your cheek was pressed against rough pavement, tiny grains digging into your skin.
As you brought your hand up to the bump forming on your head, you saw bright red staining your fingertips.
"Miss, are you okay?"
"What?" you murmured thickly.
You blinked hard and looked up. It was a man standing over you in a suit and tie, young, slicked back hair and clean shaved face, his brows pinched together while he crouched beside you.
"Let me take you to the emergency room, we're very close—"
"No—no, I'm fine!" you nearly shouted, syllables jumbling and coming out too fast as his words finally reached you.
But the second you tried sitting up, pain shot through your head so hard your face twisted and you sucked in a breath.
Hands were suddenly under your arms.
"Easy," the man said. "Easy."
Another pedestrian had come over now too, helping pull you up carefully while your feet tried finding solid ground beneath you.
Everything around you felt too loud. You could hear the bicyclist cursing somewhere nearby, people talking over one another, tires hissing over pavement, a car horn farther down the street. The bike itself sat twisted awkwardly near the curb.
As things slowly came back to you, you remembered his face right before impact, eyes wide beneath his helmet. Now he just looked furious. His arms were thrown out while he pointed at somebody nearby, shouting over everyone else.
Your head was splitting.
And suddenly you realized you were being walked quickly down the block by two sets of worried hands, the red Emergency Room looming ahead.
Oh, fuck.
"Promise you won't tell him?" you pleaded, gaze boring into Samira's brown worried eyes.
She was perched on the rolling stool beside you, one foot hooked around its base, hands folded loosely in her lap. The curtain of the triage bay swayed faintly in the draft of someone rushing past outside. Voices overlapped in the hallway: patients, doctors, Lupe's voice on the loudspeaker in the waiting room.
She frowned, clearly debating it over in her head, but nodded anyway. "Yeah, okay. Okay."
She looked over her shoulder toward Santos at the computer as she typed into your chart. Something passed silently between them before she turned back to you.
She slipped back into doctor mode while pulling gloves on. "Let's get neuro checks going. Did you black out at all?"
You frowned.
"I...don't know." you said, memory a little cloudy. "I think so?"
“Okay.” Samira nodded once, calm and focused, her penlight flicking briefly across your pupils again before she instructed you to follow her finger. “Any nausea? Neck pain? Dizziness?”
You shook your head slowly, though even that made your skull ache a little.
“And we’re gonna get a CT just to rule out any bleeding,” she continued. “Probably draw some blood too.”
"Woa, Samira—" your stomach twisted instantly. "I don't need all that, if I go back there he's gonna see I'm here—"
Around your finger, the pulse ox clipped tighter every time your heart rate climbed, the monitor beside you already chirping intermittently over nothing more than nerves. Leads had been stuck to your chest at some point while you'd still been dazed on the way in, wires trailing down beneath the thin blanket over your lap. The whole thing felt wildly overblown now that you were sitting upright in a bed.
Samira's expression softened as she leaned forward. "We'll keep you hidden," she said softly before looking over at Santos again, knowingly. The resident nodded back, and quietly went out into the hall.
Samira rolled the stool closer, sneakers squeaking faintly against the tile. "Do you wanna tell me what's going on?"
You actually didn't.
Your eyes dropped to your hands instead, fingers picking at the edge of the thin hospital blanket spread over your lap. You tried figuring out how to phrase it right, how to explain something so humiliating without sounding ridiculous. Spoiled. Childish. You felt like a little like the dog that bit the hand feeding it.
"He and I are just..." You swallowed. "Having some issues."
Samira's brows pulled together slightly. Her warm brown eyes studied you intently, flickering over your expression that you tried to keep hidden.
"I was..." your voice got smaller, "I was bad."
"Bad?" she echoed carefully.
You shook your head a little, frustrated with yourself already. "No, I just—I did something stupid and now things are weird and—"
The curtain suddenly got yanked open so hard the metal rings shrieked across the track.
Dana stood there holding it wide, chest rising fast like she’d run the whole way from the desk. Behind her, Robby barreled in so quickly he nearly clipped the stainless steel side tray with his hip, already yanking the stethoscope from around his neck as he moved toward you.
"What happened?" he demanded immediately.
"I'm fine—"
"What happened?" he repeated sharply, already reaching for your face. Dana stayed at the mouth of the curtain, a flat look of disappointment written across her features. You knew she was biting her tongue from chirping Thought you could hide or somethin' angel?
"Head strike from bicycle versus pedestrian. Witness said she didn't get up right away." Samira reported, looking at Robby. "CT head's already ordered. Neuro checks too."
"Jesus." He breathed as his hand brushed carefully through your hair near the tender spot along your hairline, fingertips searching around the injury.
"Deep breath for me, honey." he said.
You did, heart skipping at the pet name but as soon as you felt the glimmer of hope, it was wiped away when pain shot through your side, making your face twist in a grimace.
"Okay." His eyes closed briefly. "Okay. Let's add a rib series too."
You felt sick suddenly. Not physically sick—though your stomach was still flipping on itself, your head still throbbed…but…you felt sick like that thick, churning guilt that had been with you all week.
Because he looked so scared.
There were still faint marks pressed into the bridge of his nose from his glasses. His dark hair was flattened in strange directions, probably from one of the scrub caps used in surgical procedures. He smelled like coffee and hospital sanitizer and the stale air of the ED, like he'd probably barely sat down all day before getting called in here to deal with you too.
Samira squeezed your knee once before backing toward the computer. "I'll be back."
Dana gave you one more long look before following her out, and the curtain fell shut again.
The bay got quieter after that. Not quite silent, it was never truly silent in the emergency department.
Robby was still staring at your face, and you realized he had put his gloved hand on yours where it rested on the bed.
You'd missed the simple touch of his hands. When one would rest at the back of your neck steering you through crowded hallways, or when his fingers tapped absentmindedly against your thigh during movies, the way his hand would slip beneath your shirt when he was feeling cheeky. You missed finding him within the walls of this hospital, the strange comfort of him existing in an entirely different world when you came into the orbit of the ED. The way you could pull him out of the darkness for a while.
"I'm sorry," you whispered finally.
His eyes flicked to yours immediately.
"What?"
Your throat burned. Like you'd swallowed a hot coal down it, tightening around the lump. "I'm sorry," you repeated, pulling your hand away and twisting it into the other in your lap now. "I didn't mean to come here and make things worse and I know you're busy and after everything already I just—"
Robby's hands wrapped around yours once again, "Don't be sorry, honey."
You looked up at him, blinking a little, "You're not mad?"
"About you getting hit by a bicycle?" he said, huffing a little disbelieving breath, "Why would I be? I just care that you're safe."
Your chin began to wobble in earnest.
"Oh, honey—"
"I thought you hated me now."
"Honey—"
You couldn't help the wracking sob that came from your chest, his hand reaching for yours again even when you tried to pull away, but he held fast. Your face dropped, chin ducking until it almost hit your chest.
Finally he let go of your hand only to wrap his arms around you, kissing the side of your neck as he held you close, "Why would you ever think that?" he whispered into your hair.
"I was bad. We haven't spoken in days."
It felt so childish, so stupid when you said it. Especially when it came out like that—weak, wobbly and wet with tears.
He pulled away just to look at you.
"You are not a bad person, honey," he murmured softly. "You maybe behaved badly, but that does not make you bad. I'm sorry I haven't been very good at this either." He lifted his hand, and you leaned into it as it cupped your face, brushing beneath your eyes and collecting a tear there before it could run. "Hey, listen to me."
He lifted your face, making you look at him straight on. Your face felt hot and swollen, cheeks wet with streaks. You sniffled as you looked at him now. His eyes were so kind, so worried and sweet. You felt like you didn't deserve any of it.
"You are my best girl, I will never ever think you are a bad person." he said. "Things got confusing, and I've been… avoiding it, avoiding you...and I'm sorry."
Your hands reached for him automatically then, gathering the black sleeve beneath his scrubs in your fists and holding on. You'd spent days sleeping without him, sitting across rooms from him, pretending not to notice every place where he wasn't anymore, and now that he was here your body seemed to remember him before your brain did.
"How is your head, honey?" he asked, tilting his own while he looked at you.
"Hurts." you whined a little, your voice meek and small.
"Yeah?" it came out hoarse and sweet, and so gentle. You'd heard his voice go soft like that before, late at night with his mouth close to your ear, and the memory flushed through you for a second before disappearing again beneath the throbbing ache in your skull and the warmth of his hands still holding your face.
He moved to rest his knuckles against the top of your forehead, sliding down your cheek, feeling your temperature.
"You're alright, honey." he said. He pulled away then and immediately shifted back into work, reaching for his stethoscope and slipping the earpieces in before pressing the bell lightly against your chest, listening to your lungs, your heart, checking you over all over again with that same focus he'd walked in carrying.
When he leaned back again in front of you, he threaded his fingers together in his lap, and looked up at you.
"Stay here for a few tests, okay?"
You nodded.
"Hey."
You looked up.
"You're my best girl. Always. Nothing has changed between you and me. I just... I needed some time, is all."
Your eyes burned all over again. Wiping your face with the back of your hand, your voice came out like a croak: "Promise?"
He came in close then, inches away, and whispered, "Promise."
Then he kissed you gently.
It felt so warm that it almost hurt. Your skin tingled beneath it, his mustache rough against your face, and his breath smelled like coffee, like the coffee from home, like mornings in the kitchen and evenings on the couch and every little thing you'd spent the last week missing.
When he pulled away, there was an odd look on his face. Fluttering your eyes to look at him better, you watched a sad smile pull his lips, his eyes ful of something you weren't quite sure how to read. But before you could try, he was turning away and standing, heading for the curtain opening.
"Dana is going to bring you back here, okay? I'll be close by."
You nodded, your lips still tingling a little from his touch.
Rolling through the ED surrounded by people who recognized you at every turn was a form of torture. Dana did her best to bat people away whenever they'd come jogging up beside the hospital bed she insisted on keeping you in— asking questions, peering over shoulders, trying to get a look at you. She actually let Langdon walk alongside you for a few steps, checking in, fingertips grazing your cheek in a quiet assessment as he asked if you were okay before someone called his name from across the department and he was pulled off toward an incoming trauma. Samira kept a quick pace on the opposite side of Dana, answering for you when others pressed in too close.
Your exam room must have been on the exact opposite side of triage with how long it took to get there, the route stretching on past curtained bays and supply carts and past the central station where screens flickered with patient lists and tracking boards.
“South 7, straight ahead, almost there angel,” Dana said on your right, and you let yourself sink back against the thin mattress, the metal frame cool against your shoulder as the hallway finally began to narrow.
"Woah, woah, woah, what happened here?"
His voice alone was enough to send your heart rate spiking, the monitor clipped to your forefinger breaking into an erratic rhythm that filled the space between you. You saw Samira glance up at the numbers, then back at your face, and then her gaze shifted forward to Jack Abbott standing directly in front of the bed in full camo SWAT gear, vest strapped across his chest, radio at his shoulder.
"Abbot— move it or lose it." Dana barked.
He must've known better than to fight her on it, because he slid to the left of the gurney, holding onto the metal bars as your eyes widened at him.
"What's going on, sweetheart?"
"I—um—well—I—"
“Bicyclist versus pedestrian,” Dana cut in, already steering you through the doorway into South 7. You heard Jack let out a baffled huff of breath.
"I'm fine—really—"
“She hit her head on the way down,” Samira added as she reached for the wall computer and woke the screen with her badge. “Passerby reported she didn’t get up right away. GCS fifteen on arrival here. No active vomiting, no seizure activity, no focal neuro.”
She glanced at Abbott while her fingers moved over the keyboard. “We’ve got a non-contrast CT head ordered. She’s got a frontal scalp laceration at the hairline and localized tenderness.”
You lifted your hand without thought, not even realizing you’d hit your head that hard. Your fingertips pressed into the sore skin and came away tacky, faintly red.
Dana locked the gurney into place while Samira continued, voice clipped and clinical. “However, she had some left lateral chest wall pain with palpation. Robby added a rib series and chest X-ray to rule out nondisplaced fractures or pneumothorax. CBC and CMP are pending. We’ll repeat labs if needed.”
Jack exhaled slowly beside the bed, jaw working before he looked at you again. “You feel okay?”
You nodded, but it was small and unconvincing, your knees drawing up toward your chest.
He glanced back up at the resident. "I want to be updated on every change or test result.”
Samira’s brows lifted slightly. “Robby is already on—”
“Appreciate it,” Jack cut in, voice tight. "Go see if she can skip the line for X-ray."
Samira gave him a flat look that said she understood exactly what he was doing and didn’t approve, but Dana nudged her toward the door anyway, and a second later the room emptied, leaving the hum of the monitor and the faint rattle of the vent overhead.
"You shouldn't be in here, Jack," you started, "this is all so insane, I didn't even mean to come in, I was out for a run and—"
“Is your heart rate always in the one twenties,” he asked lightly, “or is that just when I walk into a room?”
You stared at him. He gave you the smallest tilt of his mouth, trying for easy, trying for normal.
“Sinus tachycardia,” he added, nodding toward the monitor. “Very dramatic. Don't tell me you do it just for the attention."
You rolled your eyes, but couldn't help the little tilt of your mouth. "Why are you here, Jack?"
"I go into the field in case of any injuries."
“You and your weird hobbies.” You shook your head, teeth catching on your lower lip. Then, you asked: “Have you talked to Robby?”
Jack’s hands tightened on the metal guardrails before he clipped them down, the sound loud in the otherwise quieted room. “He doesn’t really seem to want to.”
“I’m not surprised,” you said, voice thinning.
“Are you two—” He stopped himself, cleared his throat and stuffing his hands into his cargo pockets. When he spoke again, his voice was low. “How did the talk go?”
You looked at him then, “How do you think?”
He pressed his lips together, his weight shifting back and forth on his feet.
You sighed, shoulders folding in. “I’m sorry. It’s been… it’s been really hard. Today was the first day he’s even spoken to me since.”
“Jesus,” Jack muttered, eyes flickering to the door for a second. “If I’d known…”
You shook your head again. “It’s what I deserve.”
He looked up sharply at that, anger flickering across his face. “No, it is not. He should talk to you. He should—” He cut himself off, jaw tightening.
“You should go,” you said quietly, not meeting his eyes. “I’ll be here a while. And you shouldn’t be in here with me right now.”
Jack whispered your name.
“It’s okay,” you said gently, even though your fingers were twisting the edge of the blanket. “I’m okay. Just… go, please.”
He nodded, and as if he didn't trust himself to say anything else as back himself away until he was leaning against the door for a second, steadying himself.
Then he pushed back into it to leave, and Robby appeared.
Your stomach twisted on itself.
You watched as the glass exam room door had barely opened halfway before the two of them met eyes. Robby’s expression tightening immediately, brown eyes lifted toward Jack with something flat and hard sitting behind them. Jack, meanwhile, didn't seem bothered at all. He looked up at the other attending and paused.
"Labs back yet?" Jack asked easily.
You wanted the bed to swallow you whole. Heat crawled into your face while your fingers hooked around your legs, palms damp against your shins. You couldn't even bring yourself to look at either of them for long.
Robby nodded only once, stiffly, "Everything is good."
“That was quick,” Jack said.
Robby didn’t answer.
Jack let the silence sit a second before adding, “Glad to see the lab actually listens to some of us.”
Robby just looked at him, expression still flat, then pushed the door the rest of the way open and stepped past him without another word.
He moved automatically, slipping his stethoscope from his neck once again while checking the monitor above your head, fingers brushing your wrist before he listened over your lungs, then your heart. Familiar, routine motions. You lowered your eyes to your lap because Jack was still standing there, still in the doorway, and now he was letting the door swing shut behind him instead of leaving.
Nobody said anything, and it made your heart leap into your throat even harder.
The cool metal of the stethoscope touched your chest and Robby's eyes lifted briefly to your face before he pulled it away.
“Not really helping my exam, Jack,” he said, voice clipped.
From the corner of your eye, you saw Jack shrug.
“Can't help it.” The corner of his mouth lifted. “I'm distractingly handsome.”
Robby scoffed under his breath and shook his head.
"I think the three of us need to talk." Jack said seriously.
“Not now,” Robby snapped immediately. “I've got patients to worry about, and you should go get that looked at. Make yourself a chart.”
Your head turned toward Jack so fast your neck protested.
“Nah, don't need the paperwork,” he said casually. His eyes found yours and softened just a little. “I'm fine,” he said, tilting his head toward his shoulder. “Just a graze, sweetheart.”
He turned a bit so you could see it—the back of his camo jacket at the top of his left shoulder had gone dark red and splotched, fabric torn open in a thin line.
"You were shot?" you gasped.
"Shot at." he corrected, "I'm alright."
Before you could say anything else, Robby's fingers tipped your chin upward.
You knew exactly what he was doing, you knew this routine. Penlight already in his hand, checking your pupils again, watching for nystagmus, for delayed reaction, for anything off.
Still, your body reacted before your brain did.
Maybe it was because he'd barely touched you all week. Or because he'd spent days keeping distance between you like there was a line painted on the floor. Maybe it was because suddenly today he'd touched your face, your wrist, your shoulders, your hair, all under the excuse of medicine, and your stupid brain wasn't separating any of it anymore.
Your heart rate climbed again, the monitor immediately tattling on you. Its beeping rose in rhythm, its oxygen levels warning for over activity.
“And here I thought I was special,” Jack sighed dramatically.
Robby clicked off the penlight, and said flatly: “Go home, Jack. We're good here.”
"Not so fast," Jack said, dragging the syllables.
Both you and Robby paused, looking over at him. His face had gone serious, the graying curls a bit of a mess as he looked between the two of you, swaying on his feet like he always did.
"I have a proposition to make."
Robby stood a little straighter, folding his arms over his chest. "What the hell does that mean?"
"It means… " Jack looked between the two of you, and your eyes were wide, worried, nervous for whatever came next. "I want to make an offer."
"An offer?" Robby echoed flatly.
Jack nodded. Your brows pulled together, uncertainty clouding your brain.
“No,” Robby said immediately.
“You haven't even heard what I have to say." Jack rebutted, "Why don’t we ask her?”
“Because she’s concussed, Jack.”
“Sweetheart—” Jack started, smile sliding back into place like armor as he looked down at you.
Robby moved before he could finish. He stepped up to the foot of your bed, placing himself squarely in front of you, cutting off Jack’s line of sight entirely.
“This is not the god damn time for this, Jack,” Robby said evenly, “Whatever it is you have to offer, it can wait."
The monitor hummed behind you.
“She’s going to X-ray,” Robby continued, thumb hooking over his shoulder at you. “If you want to talk, we can talk outside."
His voice wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be.
You couldn’t see Jack anymore, just Robby’s back, broad and immovable between you. Whatever expression crossed Jack’s face, it was enough that Robby gave a short nod and stepped forward, hand landing briefly on Jack’s shoulder as he guided him toward the door.
Through the glass you watched them, close enough to read the tension in their posture even if you couldn’t hear a word. Robby rigid, jaw tight. Jack leaning in, saying something low and serious. It felt strange watching two grown men argue about you like you weren’t ten feet away. Part of you burned with humiliation, feeling like a child. Another part was too tired to care. Your head throbbed, your ribs ached every time you shifted, the room too bright.
You laid back in the bed, closing your eyes.
Eventually, when the door opened again, it was only Robby. He was pushing a wheelchair through the frame, his expression set into neutral nothingness, but you could see the downturn of his mouth, the frown he wore as he came to the bedside.
"Everything okay?" you murmured as he helped you into the chair.
“Yeah, honey,” he exhaled. “That man’s got some nerve.”
“S’probably why he likes getting shot at on the weekends.”
Robby chuckled a little at that, and your heart warmed as he said: "Yeah, probably."
After all the tests, all the re-checking and the overdramatic X-rays and CT scan, you were finally getting into the car with Robby after what had turned into a very long shift for him and an even longer day for you.
He shut the door of his steel gray BMW with more care than usual. He didn’t often take it to work, preferring the bike whenever he could, but tonight the car felt quieter, contained, easier. The hospital parking lot lights hummed overhead as he started the engine.
“That all felt… kind of silly,” you said gently, trying to keep your tone light, though the thought of going home and slipping back into the routine of the past week made your chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with bruised ribs.
Robby glanced over at you as he pulled out of the lot, the evening sky behind him pale blue, the sun already dropped behind the buildings. In the height of summer the light lingered without color, stretched thin across the horizon. He wore that tired smile he often did after a long shift, soft but worn.
“Just had to make sure you’re okay,” he said quietly, his voice a deep rasp of exhaustion. “What do you want to listen to?”
You reached for the screen and put on one of your favorite playlists, hesitating only a second before you did. It felt like a small olive branch. On any other night it would have meant takeout on the couch, his arms around you while you watched more reruns. It felt almost normal. He drove mostly in silence, eyes forward, one hand resting loose at the bottom of the wheel, deep in thought in that way he often was after work, and you told yourself that this, at least, was something steady.
Halfway home, stopped at a red light, he turned toward you.
“Honey, are you happy?”
You blinked at him and reached up to lower the music until the car fell quiet except for the hum of the engine and the distant sound of another car passing through the intersection.
“What do you mean?” you asked softly.
His eyes shifted back to the light and then to you again, as if he was weighing the words before he let them out. “I want you to be happy.”
You opened your mouth and then closed it again.
What you had with Robby, before the mess of this past week, had been the only steady, good thing in your life. Every road you’d taken had led you here. There had never been a clean formula for you, no simple checklist of school, job, marriage, children. But life had shown that that was never for you, no matter how much people said it like it guaranteed anything. They never talked about this— finding someone who felt like home without needing the rest of it. They never explained the peace of being taken care of and trusted and guided, about wanting the safety of his control and the way he made decisions with you in mind, the way he steadied you without diminishing you. After everything—your parents, the accident, your ex—this had been the thing that made sense. It had been everything.
You let your shoulders sink back into the leather seat, your gaze resting somewhere beyond the windshield, the quiet answering him before you did.
When he looked over again, something vulnerable in his expression forced you to speak.
“Nothing in my life has ever compared to what I have with you,” you said gently. “I’ve been upset this past week because it felt like that was slipping away.”
He nodded once as the light turned green and eased the car forward.
“I am happy with you,” you added after a moment, your voice steadier now. “I’ve never felt so taken care of, so seen and understood. I made a mistake, and I know I’m paying for that. It’s just…”
He leaned over slightly, eyes still on the road, and took your hand in his. His thumb pressed into your knuckles in a slow, grounding squeeze.
“You really scared me this week, Michael,” you said.
He brought your hand up and pressed his mouth to the tops of your knuckles. “I know.”
"You've never been like this before, avoiding me, barely talking. We live in the same house but it felt like… you were… like a ghost."
He looked over at you briefly, "I felt a little like one."
Your brows pulled together at that, a different kind of ache settling in your chest, not biting like your ribs or throbbing like your head, but heavy all the same. Worse than the guilt, the shame of everything. You dipped your head, your voice barely above a whisper when you spoke:
"I'm so sorry I did this to us."
He shook his head, more firmly this time, coming to another red light and finally turning fully toward you.
“We are a team,” he said, his voice low but steady. “As long as you want to be one, it’s you and me. I shouldn’t have shut you out. What happened…it caught me off guard. It made me scared for things I didn't realize I was afraid of. It made me realize how much I’ve invested in you— in us. Made me see how much I care.”
You reached up with your free hand and cupped his face, your fingers sliding into his dark hair, scratching lightly behind his ear the way you knew he liked.
“Me too,” you whispered.
His hand moved up and down your arm slowly, reassuring, until the light turned and he eased the car forward again, the quiet between you no longer sharp but thoughtful, settled, waiting.
When you pulled into the driveway a little while later, neither of you moved right away. The engine hummed beneath you while the headlights washed over the garage door and the shrubs along the front walk, throwing long shadows across the siding of the house.
But when you reached for the door, he stopped you. Your eyes lifted immediately towards him, a question between your brows, but something on his face made your skin rise in goosebumps. The crease that had lived between his brows all week had disappeared. There was no tension pulling at his mouth anymore, none of that exhaustion sitting around his eyes. His face had gone still, settled into something calmer. His arm rested across the center console between you, stopping your movement without effort, his brown eyes holding yours from only a few inches away.
“I want you to go inside and take a shower,” he said quietly, his voice low beneath the softened music and the idle hum of the car.
Your pulse gave a hard thud against your ribcage.
“I want you to use your special body wash. The perfume we picked out together.” His head tilted slightly. “Do you know the one I mean, honey?”
You swallowed. “Yes, Robby.”
His gaze stayed on your face for another moment, watching you carefully, and something curious moved through his expression at your answer, at the way you were already sitting a little straighter without realizing it.
“I’ll be back in about thirty minutes, okay?” he said. “I’m gonna grab us dinner.”
You nodded.
“Give me a kiss.”
The request was gentle, and yet, your stomach dipped.
You leaned over automatically, pressing your mouth to his. He made a soft sound against your lips and his beard brushed warm and prickly against your skin.
“Okay,” he murmured after he pulled back. “Go on.”
You nodded again and reached for the handle, suddenly far too aware of your own body, of your heartbeat, of your hands, hoping desperately that he couldn't see the way nerves had started jittering all through you as you climbed out of the car.
A long, hot shower later with your rose-scented body wash, your Maison Francis perfume misted along your neck and the skin of your inner wrists, you sat very still in the living room.
Your hands worked slowly through your hair, gathering it and plaiting it down your neck before coming to rest against your bare knees. Your brain felt a little fuzzy now, close to the way it felt after sitting in warm water too long, sleepy and a little hazy. It always started like this. The feeling of cotton slowly gathering in your head before you finally stopped fighting it. The smell always started it— pulling at the quiet place inside of your head, unraveling all your busiest thoughts, your deepest worries.
When the front door opened, you didn't even flinch. You just waited, your eyes heavy lidded and chin tilted down. Through your lashes, you saw the tips of his socks appear in front of your knees.
And then a thick, broad hand came down beneath your chin and lifted your face.
His eyes found yours immediately. Deep brown, those little lines around them digging in at the corners--crows feet people called them. You never thought they looked like that. They looked like years of laughing, of smiling, of joy worn into skin.
You smiled up at him.
"Hi, pretty girl." Robby said softly.
"Hi."
"How are you doing?"
You hummed softly. "Really good."
"That's good." He smiled. "I'm gonna go put these away and I'll be back, okay?"
You nodded. His thumb brushed lightly over your cheekbone before he let you go again, and your shoulders lowered with a quiet exhale you hadn't realized you'd been holding.
You watched him from where you sat as he moved into the kitchen and unpacked the reusable grocery bag. You caught a glimpse of jar of pasta sauce, a box of noodles and vegetables laid across the counter one by one. But you didn't move towards him, didn't bother trying to help. You knew what he wanted from you right now, what he needed. And you'd give it to him. Because it felt right-- to be here, to be in your place with your knees buried in the rug, your body bare and exposed for him.
When he finished, he poured himself a glass of scotch and walked over to the couch. He sat with a long exhale sinking from his chest. The coffee table had been moved, just like always on nights like this, pushed off against the wall so he had a clear view of where you sat.
He settled deeper into the cushions, taking a sip of his drink before setting the glass down with a soft click against the coaster.
"Come here, honey."
You crawled, very slowly, until you were just in front of him. No touching, no reaching for him. Just… in wait.
He leaned forward, taking one finger and letting it graze down your face.
"You are so pretty, my best girl." he whispered. You smiled at that, your brain melting down little by little. "Are you going to be good for me?"
"Yes, Robby," you murmured back.
He smiled a little at that, before leaning away again, and taking another sip of his drink.
"Safeword?"
You licked your lips, "Pickleback."
"And when you can't talk?" he asked, voice muffled in the top of his glass.
"Two snaps."
He smiled, exhaling with bared teeth as the drink went down his throat, "That's a good girl."
When he leaned forward again, you could smell the whiskey on his breath as he said: "We have some things to go over, honey."
Your eyes lifted to him, and he nodded reassuringly.
"It's okay, just need to adjust some rules going forward. You know why?"
You nodded.
"Go ahead, tell me."
"Because I was a—" You stopped when his head tilted slightly, that tiny shift enough for you to catch the correction. "I acted badly."
"That's right." he said, and his hand returned to your face, tracing slowly along your cheek, your jaw. It felt good, this touch, this connection, as he drew lines in the sand and on your face.
"We've been a little confused lately, both of us, huh?" he murmured, "we're going to fix that tonight."
"Yes, Robby."
When he leaned away, he tilted his hips up a bit, and you could just make out the bulge within his cargos.
"Show me that you want this—you and me, this thing we've created together. Show me that you want me."
You hesitated.
"You can touch," he murmured, giving a small nod before lifting his glass again.
Your hands lifted to his legs, a little shaky now. You cupped his knees first, almost testing it, feeling the warmth of him beneath the fabric of his cargos. He inhaled deeply, head tipping back against the couch for only a moment, though his eyes never left yours. Slowly, you let your hands slide higher, fingers tracing up his thighs until they reached his lap, and you carefully began undoing his belt, pulling down the zipper before easing the fabric lower.
Your hand slipped beneath the waistband of his briefs, finally cupping his growing length as he shifted beneath your touch. He hissed a breath through his teeth, knees widening slightly to make room for you.
Pulling him from the confines of the briefs, your fingers moved with care, wanting him to feel every gentle tug of your hand, wanting him to understand what you were trying so desperately to say without saying it. You watched his face as you bent down, lips brushing a soft kiss against the tip, and his shoulders lowered with a heavier exhale, though his hips gave the slightest movement toward you.
The hand not holding the scotch lifted and tucked a nonexistent strand of hair behind your ear, fingers settling against your jaw as his thumb brushed your cheek.
“You make me fucking crazy,” he whispered, voice rough around the edges now. “Do you understand?”
You nodded.
His hand tightened slightly against your face and your fingers twitched where they held him. “Words.”
“Yes, Robby,” you murmured. “I understand.”
"Do you understand that I like to share you, but under my terms?" he asked quietly, eyes holding yours. “That you and I—this—we—come first?"
Your hands traveled up and down his cock, feeling it twitch and harden and warm to your touch like velvet.
You nodded again, 'Y-yes, Robby."
"So why did you do it?"
Your brain was a little too foggy to make out a real answer, so all you said was: “He has pretty eyes.”
“Yeah?” Robby chuckled softly, already knowing there was more to that answer. “I’ll bet he was a good kisser too, huh?”
You nodded, "Yes,"
You knew where this was heading, and even though you knew you might not like every part of it, you let him keep leading you forward. Because you trusted him.
"Did he feel good inside you, baby?"
You bit your lip, wriggling as your pulse jumped, but you nodded. Your hands had begun working faster, twisting and reaching down to fondle his heavy balls.
His lip curled, "Words."
“Yes."
And then he moaned a little when you used a little bit of his precome, slathering it over his tip.
"Can I please use my mouth, Robby?"
"Not yet—tell me how he felt—did you come?"
The pulse that had been hammering in your chest was traveling south, blood surging in humiliation, in want, nearly painful between your legs.
“He felt big,” you admitted quietly. “And... yes.”
“How many times?”
“Once.”
He smiled at that. "Aw, only once? So he didn't get to see you whining and begging, did he?" his tone was proud, knowing, even though his voice was threaded with hunger, "When you beg for me to stop making you come over and over?"
"No, Robby."
You were leaning in, mouth agape, nearly drooling at how much you wanted him in your mouth— needed him. Needed to show him how much you wanted him. How it didn't matter what you'd done with Jack, didn't matter right now because all you wanted was him, the man in front of you, who knew you better than any of them. All you wanted was Robby's closeness, his attention, his praise.
"Go on, you can use your mouth now," he said gently, letting go of your face, "good girl answering my questions."
You moved down onto him immediately, your mouth already warm and waiting, and both of you let out helpless sounds at the contact of it around the smooth, velvety tip of his cock. Something rough cracked out of his chest at the feeling of your lips gliding down his member, your own noises swallowed as you glanced up at him through your lashes. He had leaned back into the couch now, mouth parted, eyes closed.
"Oh, fuck," he moaned.
You moved eagerly, bobbing your head to chase more of those sounds, his praise. Your jaw unhinged to accommodate the wide breadth of him, nose never really reaching his belly that was covered in wiry hair where his shirt had ridden up. Your fingers curled into the fabric and pushed it higher. He let out a breathless little laugh at that, understanding immediately before pulling the shirt over his head and tossing it somewhere beside him.
When he looked back down at you, his breathing had gone uneven. He gathered your hair into his fist, just guiding your rhythm. “Easy, easy,” he murmured, steadying your pace. “There you go, honey. There you go. I know you missed me.”
You hummed pleasantly, eyes rolling back at the feeling of the tip of him brushing the back of your throat.
"All the way down now, okay?" he coaxed. Your lashes fluttered a bit, hollowing out your cheeks. "That's it."
You could feel every ridge and vein pushed up against your soft palette, your tongue flat and soothing to the underside as you breathed through your nose.
"Now you listen."
Oh, fuck. You knew that voice. It was like your brain, once ridged with memories and thoughts—wants, needs, fears—had gone smooth and mushy, every sharp edge softening until there was only him. His eyes on you. His voice. His pleasure and wants. When he got like this, voice rough around every syllable, lower and gruffer and cracking just slightly, it fully submerged you into that head space you only ever found with him.
Your eyes, though a little watery, found his as he held you down.
"You are mine." he growled. "I don't care about the title—girlfriend, boyfriend, partner, whatever—you are mine."
His voice was lethal, his lip curling. He held you down on his cock firmly, and you breathed through your nose. This wasn't just bruised pride or irritation from what had happened, but fear, you realized. Fear of losing you, of losing this. And the best way he knew how to face fear was with control. And you'd give him everything every time.
“I’m in charge of who you kiss, who you flirt with, who gets your attention. Who fucks you.”
Your jaw had begun to ache, a deep soreness settling in, but you sat through it, wanted to, welcomed it, because your brain had gone soft and smooth, every thought slipping through your fingers before it could fully form.
"There will be no more playing with anyone else for the next month." he said sternly, pushing you down his cock a little further until your nose pushed into his belly. Your mouth constricted a little at the fat tip of him reaching into your throat now.
"And you will not come for the next month, either." he growled.
Your brows pulled together, and he mirrored the look with a pout, "“Oh, honey.” His thumb traced slowly along your hairline. “I know.”
He gave you a little smile, something gentler finding its way into it. “I know you don’t like hearing that. But it's what you need."
He pulled you up his cock, and when you were free you pulled in a quick breath, chest rising sharply. You felt the spit from your mouth slipping down your chin a little, but then his face lowered, nose brushing against yours before his mouth found you. He kissed you deeply, mouths slotting against one another with growing urgency, both of you breathing unevenly into it as his tongue slid against yours.
When he was done, he used the hand that was in your hair to push you back down into his lap, your lips opening obediently around his cock, pushing it deep into your mouth. He thrusted a few times, letting his balls slap lightly against your chin, and then he was holding you down again. Your mouth watered around him, drool pooling over your tongue, onto your lips as your eyes fluttering shut. The pulse between your legs had climbed to a throbbing, but you did nothing for it. You knew better.
"Everything we have—everything you've let me build with you…" he groaned, and then reached down, fingers brushing your face before his thumb and forefinger found your nose, and held it closed. "…is because of me. Because we chose it."
"Even this—" he breathed, and your eyes widened a bit as your head became fuzzier, your lungs began to beg for release. It only lasted a second before he was pulling his hand away, easing you from his slick coated member. You heaved in deep breaths when he brought his face down to yours, kissing you again before he demanded: "Say thank you—"
"—Thank you—" you gasped.
"Fucking hell that's so good—" he moaned. The kiss was breathless, wet, urgent as you let him have it, your mouth open, tongue awaiting his.
"More—" you moaned the next time he pulled away.
"Yeah?"
You nodded.
"Not too much," he whispered, but there was a smile on his face, so soft and warm you almost could feel tears coming. He obliged your request, pushing you back down onto his throbbing cock, fucking your throat in earnest until he held you down once more, holding your nose for a little longer than the first time, until you were spluttering around him.
"Fuuckkkk," he groaned even louder, and finally pulled you off entirely, his hand cupping your face, your chin held in the crux of his palm as he squeezed your cheeks. Your tongue dipped out to collect the drool that had been slipping from your open mouth, and you could feel your pulse jumping, your inner thighs sliding together with the amount of arousal you'd created for him.
“Okay, okay,” he cooed, petting your head with his other hand, “deep breaths. Deep breaths, honey. How are you doing?”
You hummed, breath still uneven and quick, chest rising against him while you tried pulling air back into your lungs. You nodded.
“Good,” you murmured.
"What a good girl you are," he murmured, pressing a fat, wet peck to your lips before his hands were tucking under your arms, and you rose with him from the couch.
Your legs automatically wrapped around him, and you couldn't help the way your hips undulated against his belly, as your body moved on something like instinct, all want and need and nothing else. The sensitive, slick skin of your core brushed up against the thick tuft of wiry hair at the base of his member, making you moan. Your mouth found his neck, suckling just above the jugular. And your hands felt disconnected from you entirely, wandering over him without thought, fingers curling into his hair and scratching lightly against his scalp as you held onto him. You could hear him chuckling fondly under his breath at your desperation, one arm circled around your middle while the other hand kept smoothing over your hair, down your back, petting and reassuring. He just kept whispering I know, I know.
Soon, you were being laid onto the bed, his groans about his back rumbling warmly against your ear as he lowered you down onto the soft duvet. He stayed over you for a moment, his weight pressing you pleasantly into the mattress, chest warm against yours, the heat of his skin making your limbs feel loose and floaty.
"You with me, huh?" he cooed, smiling down at you. His hand still hadn’t left your hair, fingers combing through it in slow strokes that kept your thoughts soft and drifting like clouds. You nodded, tilting your face to kiss him again, your lips lingering against his while he stayed laid over you.
“Why don't you turn over for me?” he murmured eventually, sitting back.
You obeyed without thought, rolling onto your stomach over the comforter. Your sore muscles pulled as you stretched your arms over your head, a little whine slipping from your throat before you folded your arms beneath your cheek so you could look back at him over your shoulder.
He was looking down at you with open affection, completely bare, peppered hair dusting his chest and stomach, thick around the base of his length. The sight of him sent another pulse of warmth through your body, your hips wiggling restlessly against the mattress before you could stop yourself. As if in answer, his cock jutted out in excitement for you too.
Robby let out a low breath through his nose, gaze dropping to your ass as his hands spread over you, kneading slowly, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh before he pulled you open. Your moans filled the room along with the sticky, embarrassing shlick of your lower folds being spread and opened as he looked at you.
"What a mess you've made, honey," he said softly.
“Please…” you whimpered, pushing your hips back into his palms without thinking.
“Please what?” he asked, and you could hear the smile in his voice even before you looked back at him.
"Touch me, please," you whispered.
"I am touching you." he teased back.
Then, while he held you open, you heard the wet gather of spit in his mouth. Your eyes opened wider just in time to see it fall, warm and thick against your skin above your slit before it slid downward through your folds and over your clit. You mewled at the feeling, your body jerking, the neediness and desperation no longer able to hide. Your mind felt smooth and fuzzy, your body begging for some form of release, hanging onto every brush of his thumb, the feeling of his cock twitching against you too.
"You'll take what I give you, and what will you say?" he asked, and finally, his thumb swept over your pussy, tracing the trail of spit down to your clit.
The sound you let out could've been heard by the neighbors.
"Thank you!" you moaned.
He nodded, his thumb still tracing you, your folds so sensitive it had your hips moving, rolling back, searching for more.
"You're welcome, honey," he said, and then moved off the bed, his hands finding your hips and yanking them up so your face was pushed down into the bed, your knees propping you up.
You gasped at the first feeling of his mouth on you. Flat tongue, prickly beard—it was wet and hungry and needy as he cupped his tongue against your clit, flicking the tip of the wet muscle until he was flattening it again and licking all the way up to the skin between your openings. Every lick and kiss sent shocks through your spine, and you moaned loudly into the duvet, fists clutching at it desperately. Your eyes had rolled to the back of your skull, mouth hanging open at the pleasure of it.
Without thinking, your knees spread wider for him, toes curling at the feeling of his tongue working deeper between your folds, licking until his lips closed around your clit. The gentle suction made your stomach jump violently.
"Taste so fucking good, honey," he murmured against you, voice vibrating directly through your body while his hands spread your ass even wider. “Did Jack eat you out, baby? Did he get a taste?”
Your brain lagged badly behind the question, and all you could do was moan. But a quick whack! to your thigh had you jumping, remembering he had asked a question.
"No!"
He hummed low in satisfaction before diving back in, mouth wrapping around you again while his tongue flattened and dragged upward. You couldn't stop moving against him now. Your hips rolled helplessly into his face, chasing the pressure every time he eased away even a little.
"Oh—oh, fuck—Robby, please—" you begged, hips wildly chasing the friction. His tongue moved with you, moving between long strokes and suckling your clit, his hand coming up to just gently prod into your pussy, the teasing of the pad of his thick finger enough to make that cresting wave of an orgasm roll closer and closer. Your moans had turned into cries, like a cat in heat just mewling his name, begging and begging for more, even if it sounded more like gibberish with the state your hazy brain was in.
"Mmmm—Robbyyy— right there—"
And just as you were about to crash into the wave, orgasm swelling, thighs shaking, ready to scream out in pleasure—
He stopped.
He pulled away, his hands going back to grip your ass. The loss of it had you crying out loudly, hips bucking uselessly while you petulantly kicked at the bed.
He tsk'd his tongue at you, and when you peered over your shoulder, you saw him shaking his head, "Don't you remember what I said, pretty girl?"
You whined miserably, thrashing on the bed, earning another smack high against your thigh that left heat blooming under your skin.
"No coming for a month." he said very sternly.
And then, to your dismay, he went back in. His tongue flattened, tracing over your swollen skin in lazy strokes while he slurped softly at the arousal gathered like a basin of nectar, obscene wet noises filling the room. Your whole body clenched around nothing, orgasm trapped inside you now, throbbing painfully close without ever breaking.
You whined again, but stopped your thrashing, burying your face into the bed.
"Remind me why you're not allowed to come, baby," he said softly, kissing your clit gently.
You jumped at the contact, voice muffled in the bedspread: "M-bad girl."
When you peeked an eye over your shoulder, he was shaking his head gently at that. "Not a bad girl," he said, and licked a stripe up your pussy again, and you felt your walls constrict, begging for something, anything.
The ache inside you deepened. Every slow drag of Robby's tongue pushed you right back toward the edge again until your stomach felt tight and shaky.
And then he pulled away again.
You wailed in protest, dropping your hips to the bed, and kicked your feet. Your body felt tense with the need of release, muscles tightening and loosening and tightening again.
He climbed over you then, mattress dipping and you felt his cock rest in the curve of your ass as his mouth came down to your ear.
"You are not a bad girl, honey," he murmured, nipping at the top of your lobe, "you are my best girl, say it now—"
"Mmm…yr…" you sighed weakly, too distracted by the drag of his cock between your cheeks to force the words out properly. He chuckled a little, and pulled back just to look down at his cock wedging itself into the cleft of your ass.
"I'm going to fuck you now, okay, honey?"
You nodded adamantly, and then realized what he meant as his thumb traced down your vertebrae, lower and lower until it pressed gently against the tight ring of muscle there.
Oh god. Oh god, oh god.
“S'alright,” he murmured as if reading your thoughts. “Remember last time? You were so good. Just gotta relax for me, okay?”
You did remember it, in some distant memory your brain was trying to scrounge up now. He had been so gentle, and you'd promised him he was the only one who could have your tight little hole.
His hands flattened along your back, massaging gently until one wrapped around his cock, the other reaching for the lube in the bedside table. The cool slickness made goosebumps break across your skin immediately, a soft hum slipping from your chest with your next breath.
Robby prepped himself, fisting gently along his cock, and he started by just tracing it along the seam of your folds, collected your slick, pooling arousal, making you let out another simpering sigh at the feeling. You knew better than to beg for him to fuck you there—once Robby had something on his mind, he would take it. And you were always so eager to give whatever he wanted.
When his cock pressed ever so gently into your hole, you squeaked a little.
Immediately, he folded himself over your back, pushing his hands so they could come up under your body and flush your spine to his chest and belly. One of them came up under your chin to hold you even closer.
“Breathe in,” he said softly.
You obeyed automatically, lungs filling deep while his weight pressed you down into the mattress.
"Breathe out."
Again, you did as you were bid. Your breath left you shaky and uneven. He hadn't moved yet.
"One more time, honey, deeeep breath—"
He joined you this time, both of you inhaling, chests expanding together, and then—together again—you both exhaled, and he notched the fat tip of his length into you.
"Ah-ah-ah—" you gasped.
"Keep breathing baby," he cooed, his bicep coming closer to your face, your chin tucked into the crook of his elbow.
“Keep breathing, baby,” he cooed against your temple, arm tightening around you while your body strained around the stretch. Your muscles trembled violently at first, trying to resist before slowly, slowly beginning to give. All you could really focus on was his voice, the warmth of him around you, the deep drag of air into your lungs. By the time his hips settled flush against you, your hands were clutching hard at his forearm.
He kissed the side of your head, his breath a little ragged as he moaned at the tight feeling of your muscle around him.
"S'all mine, huh, honey? My pretty girl, my pussy to play with. My ass to take."
All you could manage was a weak whimper.
"Say: im your best girl, Robby, go on now—" he whispered.
“I—mmm…” you moaned when he pulled out barely an inch before easing back in again. "I'm…"
"Mhm, that's it, use your big girl words now." he softly urged as he pushed back in, only gently beginning to saw his hips. He was hardly moving at all, just a soft lull of movement to ease you into it.
"I'm y-your best girl…" you gasped, mouth hanging open, eyes fluttering as he pulled out even further, and pushed back in again.
"That's it, that's a good girl—" he groaned, and like he couldn't help himself, his next thrust in was rougher, and your eyes bulged a little.
He kissed the corner of your open mouth, "Okay?"
You nodded quickly, one hand reaching back blindly for him until your fingers tangled in his hair. He held you tighter in response, his breathing growing rougher against your cheek while his hips started moving in earnest.
"What a good girl, letting me fuck her little ass, huh? Only mine, this is all mine—"
“Yes—yes, yes—” you tried to answer, but every word dissolved into moans because his thrusts were getting harder now, faster, driving deep enough to make your entire body shake with each one. Soon, the room filled with wet slapping sounds and the strained noise of both your breathing. Heat kept building low in your stomach again, strange and different this time, tingling down your spine and making your thighs tremble uncontrollably.
"Robby—"
"Hmmm?"
"I—mmmm ohhhh I feel—"
"What do you feel, honey? Tell me, tell your old man—"
"Might—might come—like this—"
"Is that so?" he asked.
You nodded desperately, licking at your lips, your eyes squeezing shut at the feeling of the pressure. Your fingers tightened into his hair, nails scraping along his scalp.
“Don't you dare,” he growled into your ear, his breath hot as his teeth bared against your cheek. “Hold it.”
"Noooo—"
"Yes."
The firmness in his voice made your stomach clench hard. Even while he kissed your ear gently afterward, his hips kept snapping faster against you, driving you right up against that unbearable pressure again. It felt so odd—a tingling in your spine, though your pussy pulsed so hard it was nearly painful with neglect.
"Robby!"
“I'm gonna come, baby, fuck—hearing you moan my name like that—Jesus you're so fucking tight—my best girl, my good girl—don't you dare come—”
Tears gathered hot in your eyes from the intensity of it, your whole body wound tight around the orgasm he wouldn't let you have. You weren't upset. You just needed. Needed him. Needed something.
Suddenly, he was pulling out from your ass with a quick dip of his hips, and you let go of his hair to heard him letting out the loudest groan, deep and wrecked from his chest, the sound of his fist against his wet cock, the spluttering of ropes of come up your back.
You laid there, pussy throbbing, your orgasm lost, your muscles tight and loose all at once at the loss of him.
A second later he rolled onto his back and pulled you onto his chest immediately, chest heaving in breaths of relief. His thumb brushed gently beneath your eye where a tear had slipped free.
"I know, I know," he cooed, "C'mere."
You curled into him bonelessly, burying your face against his neck while your body slowly came down from everything. His skin was damp and hot beneath your cheek, your limbs still trembling every now and then. Across him, you could hear the soft rustle of tissues when he reached for the box beside the bed and started carefully cleaning your back.
“Here,” he whispered after he was done. You opened your eyes blearily and tilted your chin down to see him holding your water bottle up toward your mouth, thumb already resting against the straw so it wouldn’t wobble.
You hummed in appreciation and took a few small sips, throat still dry, lips swollen and warm.
“There you go,” he murmured.
When you were done, you sighed and let your cheek settle back against his chest. Your fingers wandered lazily over him, tracing little circles into his skin while his heartbeat knocked steadily beneath your ear.
His arm tightened around your shoulders, pulling you closer still before he pressed a careful kiss to your forehead. “How are you doing, honey?”
You hummed sleepily. “M’good.” Your lashes fluttered against the skin of his throat before you tipped your face up just enough to ask quietly, “How’re you?”
"I'm good."
You kissed into his beard once, then again, little absent-minded presses of your mouth along his jaw until your lips brushed softly against his. “Talk to me,” you murmured.
He sighed. "I missed you."
You smiled faintly, lids feeling heavy, your brain still a little fuzzy, "I missed you more."
He grinned fondly, his hand coming up to brush your hair back from your face. "Why don't we watch something for a bit, I'll go make some dinner."
"Okay,"
“Do you wanna come sit with me in the kitchen, or stay here?”
You shook your head immediately against him. “I’ll come.”
“Okay, honey.”
It took you a minute to convince your body to cooperate enough to climb out of bed. Your legs still felt loose and shaky beneath you, and there was a lingering heaviness between your thighs every time you moved, a pulse that kept reminding you of the events of the night. Robby hooked an arm around your waist to steady you while he dressed you in a pair of his boxers and a big sweatshirt. Eventually, he slid on his own shorts and you followed him out towards the kitchen.
The house felt different now in the aftermath, softer in the evening light, the lamps automatically turning on with the darkening hours. You climbed onto one of the barstools of the kitchen island with your water bottle clutched in both hands while Robby moved around the kitchen barefoot.
Your body still felt warm and heavy in a way that made you want to curl up somewhere close to him and stay there. And every now and then he drifted back toward you without seeming to really thinking about it, leaning in to kiss the top of your head or rubbing your neck gently while the pasta boiled behind him. At one point he'd put the kettle on, and handed you a mug of peppermint tea.
Time passed slowly as you sipped at it while he cooked, watching him take care of you. The windows over the sink had gone completely dark, kitchen lights soft against the granite counter tops. Finally, when everything was done, he plated the food and brought it to the small round dining table.
"C'mere," he said again, beckoning you with his fingers, the other hand patting his thigh.
You climbed onto his lap without hesitation, your spine settling against his chest while his arm wrapped loosely around your middle. He fed you slowly between bites of his own food, twirling pasta against the fork before bringing it to your mouth while you sat warm and pliant against him, sipping peppermint tea between bites.
Neither of you spoke much, but it didn't feel necessary. This was exactly what you needed: him, taking care of you, feeling needed and wanted. You, being taken care of and shown how special you were to him.
By the time you'd wiped your mouth and your tea was empty, the ache of your body had softened low and manageable.
Robby had turned on an episode of The Office, settling the two of you back onto the bed beneath the comforter. You tucked yourself against his side, one of his arms beneath your neck so his hand could stroke through your hair. The television light flickered blue across the room, catching against the planes of his face every time you looked up at him.
"Can I ask you something?" you said quietly.
His fingers paused briefly in your hair before starting again. “Of course.”
"What did Jack say today?" you said carefully.
Robby sighed softly through his nose.
“We don’t have to talk about it,” you assured him quickly. “I was just curious.”
He shifted then, turning toward you more fully so he could dip his chin and look directly into your face. His gaze studied your face, flitting over your eyes, your lips, your hair as he continued pushing his fingers through it. And then, landing his soft brown eyes back on you, he said: "He wants something that's a bit more complicated than he thinks."
Oh?
Your eyes brows threaded together in uncertainty.
Robby leaned down and kissed the tip of your nose gently before pulling back again. “Let me just…” He sighed again, dropping his hand from your hair to rub his thumb along your shoulder beneath the blanket. “I need to talk to him again first. Clarify some things before you and I really get into it. Is that okay?”
You nodded slowly, though your teeth had already found your bottom lip. Your eyes drifted back toward the television, but you weren’t really watching anymore, your thoughts beginning to move in circles.
His finger hooked gently beneath your chin and guided your face back toward him.
“Hey,” he whispered.
You looked up at him again.
“We’re good,” he said softly. “More than good.”
Something in his expression tightened, vulnerable in a way he rarely let himself be around anyone.
“You’ve been really patient with me this week,” he continued quietly. “And I appreciate that more than I think I’ve said. I’m sorry again about all of this. About shutting you out. You mean so much to me, honey. I want this, I want you. More than ever before.”
You cut him off before he could keep spiraling, leaning forward to kiss him softly.
“It’s okay, Robby,” you murmured against his mouth. “I’m sorry too. You and me. Always.”
His eyes closed briefly at that. Then, he smiled and breathed deeply into the kiss. He rolled over you slowly until he was hovering above you again, broad shoulders blocking out most of the television light while the muffled sounds of the episode kept playing somewhere behind him.
Jack doesn't keep these photos in a public album. They are hidden away in a password-protected folder on his phone. His private sanctuary of his obsession with you. He scrolls through them when he's stressed at work or when he's feeling that itch that only you can scratch. Do you feel romantic, Sleepy?
The first favorite is the one that makes the blood in his cock simmer. In it, you're sprawled across his sheets, unconscious, your body surrendered to the exhaustion he forced upon you with a heavy fuck (that hey, you asked for).
You're lying on your stomach with your face smashed into the pillow, with your heavy, perfect ass the star of the show. A picture can say a thousand words, but it doesn't...convey how warm you were.
Well, Jack can't exactly claim your ass was the focus, that would be the stream of his cum seeping out of your gaping cunt. He can't help but think it's the visual receipt of his dominance.
This is his record of how he broke you until you couldn't even keep your eyes open. Sleepy Sleepy.
Jack remembers the way you whimpered and begged for mercy before you finally blacked out, but he wishes he had recorded how he carefully wiped the excess off your skin and tucked you under a blanket after snapping the picture. It adds to you and him. He does enjoy ruining you, kiddo. But he treasures how he does.
It's calming after hard nights. And it's only you.
Jack swipes to the second photo. He smiles.
You're wearing an oversized cowboy hat that flops slightly over your eyes. It's a hat you had no business wearing, but he insisted on buying it for you. It's the Pittsburgh fair.
He had spent most of the date leaning in to lick the sugar off your lips and stealing bites of the cotton candy you're holding.
To anyone else, it's just a cute photo. To Jack, it's a picture of the only toy he needs. The most beautiful girl he'll always take care of.
He just doesn't know which one he's gonna make his wallpaper.
synopsisrobby's going away and he's very worried about his two singular house plants and mail, so he's asked you to house sit. he gave you keys and the lay out of the neighbours, he maybe just forgot to mention one tiny detail. the cameras in almost every room
warnings, perv robby! watching through camera's SMUT MDNI, masturbation (f! and m!) language, dom robby, dirty talk, robby watched reader masturbate through cameras and gets off to her. please do not read if pervy behaviour makes you uncomfortable.
authornote this is super super pervy but listen, it's been in my head for ages. and this gif does things to me!!!!! please don't read if pervy behaviour makes you uncomfortable and remember this is all made up and fictinioal things about fictional characters. That being said, dr robby i am free on thursday, thursday i am free if you want to hook up on thursday, the day im free
pitt masterlist. another robby fic!
Perhaps Robby should've mentioned the camera's he had installed around his house, perhaps it just slipped his mind.
They were security measures, really they were. He'd had a break in a few years back when he had a serious lack of things to steal. Since then he'd collected a few things that he wanted to keep a hold of so he installed some security cameras and had it linked to his phone.
Robby wasn't one for strangers in the house, or co-workers or anything of the sort so he'd almost forgotten they were there.
Until of course he asked you to house sit and suddenly he was painfully aware of every corner he'd installed them in.
It was Trinity Santos's fault, really.
As all things typically were.
Or maybe it was Robby's for taking an interest. He'd asked her about her home stuff, noticing some things he wanted to iron out before he went away for three months.
“Whitakers kind of weird, but you know, she helps iron it out,” said Santos, gesturing behind Robby.
You stood with Mohan, laughing at something she said, neck tilting back, cheeks red. That sort of laugh. Even by noise and without looking, Robby would have known it was you.
He'd memorised the way a room shifted when you entered it, or the soft patter of your steps, the gentle feel of your presence at his side. He hadn't even tried not to. You'd come in, straight out of medical school and Robby was hooked like a fish.
But you were younger than him, ambitious, hopeful in making a change in the world.
Robby kept it professional.
Most of the time.
“That's when she's home, anyway.”
Robby looked back to her. “What's that?”
“Oh she's been seeing this guy for a few months or something,” said Santos off-handily. “He was the brother of a patient that came in with Sepsis, had to lose a portion of his leg. The guy really liked her.”
“The patient?”
“No the patient's brother. She's been seeing him, but...” she trailed off with a sigh, fingers going down harder on the keys of the computer.
Robby edged closer. “But?”
Was something wrong? He had no idea you were seeing someone which made all his advances you hadn't bat away scandalous.
Santos glanced at you. “I dunno, he's a bit older than us and just seems... controlling I guess?”
His jaw ticked. “Controlling?”
“Maybe it's just me, I'm seeing things that aren't there,” she said, dismissing it. But Santos was a keen doctor, or would be. She looked too close and sadly usually got the nail on first go. If she thought something was going on with you then there was something.
“I'll have a word,” said Robby, straightening up and drumming his knuckles on the counter.
“Hey, your call.”
He turned, leaning his back on the counter and stared at you, rather openly.
Dana had moved to your side, ipad at the hip where it usually was glued. She was directing you to a patient and, as usual, you took it with a smile and darted off.
He watched the way you walked, eyes following you and trying to find a tell in the way you moved if there was someone. Did you walk with a limp from how good this guy friend of yours fucked you? Were you trying to hide any part of you?
After the patient Robby found you. He couldn't make himself productive if he tried, not with the nagging feeling that he had to talk to you eating at his vocal chords.
You were in the lounge, stirring away at the coffee you'd just poured. “Hey,” you greeted as the door closed behind him.
It was just you and him. And a dummy to practise CPR on.
He jerked his head up in response as he let the door close behind him.
“Want some coffee?” you offered as he slid into a seat at the table.
“Always.”
You poured him a cup, black, as you knew he liked and slid it over to him.
“Hey, sit down a minute,” said Robby, stretching himself out, legs wide, resting back. Giving to all the world a sense of at ease he did not feel.
Though hesitant, you did. “Okay.”
“You're an empathetic soul,” he said.
“Thank you.”
“I'm not finished.”
“Oh.”
“You're a good doctor,” he continued. “You want to be there for your patients?”
“Don't you.”
“Shhh.”
You blushed. “Sorry.”
Robby didn't mind. A secret part of him loved ordered you around, different than he did the others. He didn't bark orders so much, but told you what to do. He got a kick seeing you carry out those orders so well and got a belt in the stomach when you rewarded him with a smile and thanks.
“So this relationship that you're having with this guy,” he said, looking to you. He realised he hadn't even got the name from Trinity.
You took your turn to speak but you lowered your head down. “Shawn?”
“Yeah, Shawn.”
“Santos talk to you?”
He shrugged. “Well she's worried, I'm worried.”
You sipped your coffee. “There's nothing to worry about. We've just been a couple of dates, you know. His brothers really struggling to come to terms with his new life after losing his leg and he takes it out on Shawn sometimes, and...”
“Does he take it out on you?” asked Robby.
“No, no!” you said at once. “It's nothing like that. He just... I dunno, I'm not that interested anymore but it's like kicking a puppy when he's down, you know.”
“So he's not telling you what to do?” he judged.
You looked up at him, an amused smirk to your lips. “There's only one who can tell me what to do and that's you, boss.”
The words shouldn't have effected him as much as they did. Heat crept into his body, invading his senses. He glanced down and pulled at his scrub pants just to make sure the rush of want that coursed through him didn't manifest in his cock.
Robby didn't know what he was thinking, asking you to house sit. It was going to go to Abbott originally, then he thought Langdon if it weren't for all the shit going on there. Maybe even Whitaker but he was sat in front of you and the words were out before he realised.
“Hey, you want to house sit for me while I'm gone?” he asked.
You straightened up. “What?”
“You'd be doing me a favour. Nobody else is up for it-” lies, he hadn't even asked anyone else. “- save you a bit on rent. Have a place to yourself for a change.”
“Really?”
“No smoking, no parties, no babies, no pets, no boyfriends.”
“I don't- I don't have a boyfriend.”
Good, he thought. “Then the place is yours.... or I can ask around.”
“I'd- yeah- that'd be great,” you said with a smile. “As long as you're sure? I mean I don't smoke and I don't really have time to just have friends around.”
“Santos can come visit if she likes,” suggested Robby. He liked you but he wasn't trying to isolate you. “So long as she doesn't bring Garcia.”
“Deal,” you said.
“Great,” he said.
The two of you sat in the quiet of the lounge a moment longer, the outside world waiting.
Robby pushed himself up, brushing your hand on the table as he did. “I'll find you before you I go, give you the keys and security code.”
“Thanks. Great.”
When he left he realised he'd be travelling for three months, leaving you in an apartment that was him. It was his dream and hell all in one.
The thought of you in Robby's apartment had him contemplating cancelling his trip all together, but that would give you no reason to stay and he did really need a break. Not even seeing you everyday could dampen what the Pitt did to you after a time.
He found you at the end of the day at the lockers, already supporting his bag over his shoulder.
“You ready?” he asked. He could almost imagine this was his life. The two of you working around each other, stealing glances with promises of what time alone would hold. Coming to fetch you at the end of the day, rubbing his hands at the tired spots on your shoulders and coaxing you into his arms.
“Yeah.”
Robby was stealing time, stealing distractions from everything. “I'll give you a ride down.”
“Are you sure?” you asked, fetching your bag from the locker. “Don't you want to get on the road?”
“The road will still be there, besides it's not far, I just wanna show you,” he said, taking your bag from your hand with an almost unconscious mind as he led the way out.
When you were both down the ambulance bay, standing in front of his bike he got busy securing your bags to the back of it.
“Oh,” you uttered.
“What's up?”
“I've never ridden on one before.”
Robby hid himself in his bike a moment longer, banishing the dirty thoughts. He was past a fifty year old man, he didn't need to be hanging on every one of your dirty words like he was sixteen discovering sex for the first time. “I'll do all the work. You just have to sit there and hold on tight.”
“But you only have one helmet?”
“You wear it.”
You frowned. “But isn't that kind of un-safe?”
Yes, it was. But Robby wasn't trying to get himself killed like everyone thought. He just wanted a break. He wanted you in his apartment, knowing you respected him enough to not break the rules and bring a boyfriend you did or didn't have.
“I'm about to be wearing a helmet for thirty six hours. C'mere.” Robby took his helmet and gently propped it on your head. He tightened the straps under your chin and gently brushed back any hair that was peaking out.
You watched him but Robby was concentrating on where his hands your chin.
It was still a little big on you and still had his heart soaring.
“There we go, hop on.”
Robby had a motorbike because it was a hobby. He knew what others thought about middle aged men and motorbikes. He'd never done it to impress before... until now.
He revved the bike at the chances he got and relished in the feel of your arms around his waist. When he took corners or passed by a car your arms squeezed and it went straight down to the place it shouldn't.
At stop signs or lights he checked in with you, getting a glimpse of your wide grin when he did.
By the time he'd pulled up in front of his apartment building, your body was practically buzzing against his and you stood up on shaky legs.
“How does it feel to have your motorcycle virginity taken?” he asked, helping you up and your helmet off.
You shook out your hair, laughing. “I feel like a changed woman.”
Robby chuckled.
He gave you the security code at the door and led you to his place. The building, practically full of old people (he told you as much) was practically dead when he got home from work, only the faint buzzing of TV's through doors could be heard.
He told you there's a good thai place on the corner, some take out menus he had. He told you he didn't have much food in as he was going away so he'd been chucking it out.
When he opened the door to his place he tried picturing it through your eyes. Was it too sparse? Were the walls to plain? Was it clear a sad, old man lived here?
But you didn't say anything other than 'nice place.'
He showed you the kitchen, the living room, all neat and tidy and empty when he looked at it again. He gave you codes that you'd need, a spare set of keys on the table. He showed you the wi-fi.
“This is the spare room,” he said, nudging open a door. “Bathrooms down the hall. It's not so nice in here, I don't have many people around. Usually just Abbott but he doesn't sleep.”
It was al grey walls, heck the bed wasn't even made up. Just sheets piled up, all greys and whites and probably scratchy because he only cared enough to get the cheapest set.
“My room's down here,” he said, leading you down the hall. His room was lived in. Green sheets rumpled and his jacket hanging of the chair at his desk with books and some old framed pictures of his grandparents. “There's an ensuite but the choice is yours.”
He wasn't gonna force you into sleeping in his bedroom. But he was going to hope you did.
“Thanks, Robby, I promise the place will still be standing by the time you get back,” you said, now walking him out his place like you lived there.
“I'll hold you to that.”
Robby fished out his wallet and left some cash on the table. He'd taken some out to help him on his travels but he couldn't leave you with no food.
“Oh, Robby, you don't have to-”
“I am,” he said. “Get some food in, order some take out, I don't want a dollar left on my counter by the time I get back.”
You were resigned to argue but you always did what Robby said. “You got it, boss.”
The first time Robby checked the camera's was when he remembered he had them. And it wasn't his fault.
If anything it was yours.
He'd already made his home at his first stop, trying his best to think good things and not text Dana to see how it was all going. He was pushing himself to find the beauty of the mountains and the lakes.
That was when his phone alerted him. An odd notification he didn't have the words for.
He checked in while on a walk and was met by the sight of his apartment.
Fuck, the cameras!
He really had forgotten all about them.
Through the cameras he saw the kitchen and you frantically waving a tea towel up high at the smoke alarm.
At first Robby was worried but then the alarm stopped and he focused enough to see you. It had only been a week and he hadn't gone a day without thinking of you but this was different.
This was you, in his kitchen, wearing only a baggy shirt and panties.
Any other time the shirt would have been too long to see anything but you were jumping around, waving away the smoke and even through the camera Robby could see the panties.
His body went rigid.
He turned channel on the camera. It was wrong to watch but so far... he hadn't, right? He hadn't watched. He'd seen you in a 'delicate' state and switched.
The living room was pretty much the same. An extra med text book on the side and his blanket scrunched up.
Then, just to check, he went into the other room. The spare room. The same as he left it with the bedding piled up.
So that meant.
“Jesus,” he mumbled to himself, feeling the tightness of his pants as they pulled over his crotch.
Your overnight bad and suitcase was in his room, pressed up against the wall. His green sheets were a mess and there was a pile of discarded scrubs on the floor.
You were sleeping in his bed.
Robby didn't mean to- really, his finger slipped- but he checked in on the kitchen again. You were back to bustling around, taking whatever you'd burnt out the oven and moving around quickly, trying to salvage what you could of your food.
You bent over to the oven and though the island blocked most of it he got a grainy and all too far away shot of your backside.
He turned his phone off and hid his face in his hands.
He wished he could say that was the only time.
It wasn't.
At first he told himself it was just to check in. Knowing when your shift ended he'd log into his phone, checking the app connected to his cameras and making sure you got in safe. Of course there was never an issue. Sometimes you were home later, so exhausted you fell asleep on the sofa.
It was like falling asleep on call to someone, except, he fell asleep with the sight of you sleeping soundly. It calmed him, in a way. He told himself it was nice to see his place so looked after, lived in. He didn't question if that was the real reason why.
Robby was almost tempted to text at times, asking if you were sleeping well, asking if the place hadn't burnt down, or when he saw you do something he just wanted you to know he was there.
But wouldn't it be creepy?
You'd shared texts, sent him pictures of envelopes that you deemed looked important. Sometimes he text random things like 'sometimes the wi-fi plays up, let me know if it does,' or 'hope the neighbours aren't being too loud' (which was stupid considering half of them were deaf)
You were so polite and quick in your responses.
Robby never knew how to keep the conversation flowing. Not over text. Not when all he wanted to say was how pretty you looked in the mornings, rolling out of his bed and stretching like you'd had the best sleep.
Somewhere in his head he knew it wasn't right but maybe he'd been so de-censored to everything that nothing felt like crossing the line.
There weren't camera's in the bathroom, obviously but it didn't matter.
You changed in his room.
When Robby could spot you were about to change he forced the phone down. He didn't log out the app but he at least stepped away to give you some privacy. Privacy you didn't know he was invading.
This was wrong, so wrong.
Only once he caught a glimpse or your skin and curves of your body. Your back was to the camera but he saw the towel drop, saw the flex of your body as you pulled on scrubs for the day.
Robby had dragged his hand down his face and ignored the desperate ache in his cock. The want had made its home in his pants and hardly ever left him.
He remembered Jack telling him to call if it ever got dark but this, Robby was sure, wasn't the sort of darkness he was talking about.
In two weeks on his trip Robby had spent more time watching you then anything else.
It was a random Tuesday when he got another notification- having turned them on for any goings on alerted in his apartment.
He was out in a diner he found on the side of the road, dragging himself out of the hut and his up building un-healthy habits. His phone buzzed next to him and he logged into the cameras as if logging into emails.
You and Santos were in his place. You held open the door for her, leading here in. “Home sweet home.”
Robby tried to imagine it again, if that really was your home. If he was.
Coming home together at the end of the day, Robby could use you for all his pleasures and frustrations. He could have you on his island counter, on his sofa, on the rug, in his room and the spare room. He could spread you out and love you right, have you wake up sleepy in the mornings. He could turn up to work late with you on his arm and everyone would share a sly smirk, knowing just why they were late.
He watched, and imagined while he was thousands of miles away.
Robby watched as you showed Trinity around, marvelling as you laid out his apartment and everything you knew.
“He left me some cash if you want to order a pizza,” you said.
“God, he's so whipped,” Santos chuckled.
“Stop it.”
He figured what 'whipped' meant and you were trying to defend him when there was really no point. He was whipped. He was wrapped around your finger and you didn't even know.
“Is this his room?”
Robby didn't know if he liked Santos in his room but he liked that you showed it to her, liked that you moved around it like you'd always slept there.
“The spare room is colder and his room has the ensuite.”
Santos sat on the edge of his bed. “I can't believe you're sleeping in our bosses bed.”
You groaned, falling next to her. “Don't, I feel so bad. I'll get the sheets washed and everything before he's back.”
No. He didn't want the sheets washed. He wanted to be able to smell you on him when he returned, sleeping in your ghost.
You guys chatted some more and Robby finished his dinner, ordering himself a scotch as he kept his phone low, hoping it looked like he was just checking in on some reality show to anyone that looked hard enough.
“You know, bedside draws can tell a lot about a person,” he heard Santos say.
When he checked back on his phone you were scrabbling on the bed after her as Santos opened the top draw of his bedside table.
Robby wasn't ashamed. Sure, maybe he was angry that Santos thought she had the right to look through his things but then you were at her side, not encouraging the behaviour but not slamming them shut either.
Had you not snooped before? If he was in your shoes it would be the first thing he did. You were so good, so polite.
He didn't want you to be.
There was a couple medical articles he knew shoved in there, the sort he always said he'd get around to and never did. There was an old pack of contact lenses he never used and a broken pair of glasses too.
“Someone's been getting lu-cky,” said Santos in a teasing voice as she pulled out a scatter of lose condoms.
“Trin, c'mon, this is private.”
Santos gasped as she looked at them. “Large, large, large, extra large.”
You finally chuckled and Robby peered closer. There was a faint dusting of pink at your cheeks.
Robby was big, as a young man he liked to brag but as he got older he didn't feel there was that much to brag about. Did you like to think of him big? Did you like the idea that he was large?
Fuck the very idea of you rolling a condom onto him had his abused cock aching again under the table of the grotty diner.
He imagined you sliding the condom on before looming over him, holding him steady as you teased your entrance that would be so wet for him. Your hand would wrap around the base, maybe teasing his balls as you slowly sank down-
He downed the last of his scotch, readying himself to make a quick escape to his cabin.
Robby knew this was wrong to watch but so far he hadn't touched himself to the sights of you, he thought that was something he had to give himself credit for because he was so, so, so desperate.
And he was being so good not touching himself to the thought of you.
“Robby is freak-y,” said Santos, next finding his lube and the little pills he kept when he needed a hand.
“How the hell are you going to look him in the eyes after this?” you asked Santos.
“How are you? You're the one who's been sleeping next to this.”
Robby placed a couple bills on the table bidding night to those working before slipping through the door.
It was then that you started to strip out your scrubs in his room with Trinity still rummaging through his stuff. Clearly you had no problem with changing in front of her, you were housemates after all.
It was at that moment, just as he watched you pull your top off that his phone decided to die.
He pressed down on the black screen of his phone furiously. “Fuck.”
By the time Robby got back to his place and got his phone on charge Trinity had left you alone in his place and all the lights were off in his house.
You were readying yourself for bed.
As if this was a shared routine Robby did the same. He left his phone charging as he changed out of his clothes, leaving himself in his boxers. He ran cold water down his face, let the droplets roll down his neck and chest to cool the heat that lived in him.
By the time he got back to bed, leaving the curtains open for the sun to wake him early, you were in bed too.
Robby tried to read, really he did. He'd brought a book with him that had been sitting on his shelf abandoned for months. He'd managed a total fifty pages before he looked back at you.
You slept in the over sized night shirt, flicking through your phone.
Robby wasn't sure when it started but at some point your knees pulled up, taking his covers with you and your hand disappeared under his covers.
He sat up, alert.
This was where lines were drawn. Where he went from curious to damned old man.
But he was damned a long time ago.
You watched your phone closely, your hand undoubtably moving under his covers between your thighs.
“Oh,” Robby muttered to himself.
You, in his sheets, getting yourself off.
He could just about hear the pornographic moans coming from your phone when he turned the volume up. His sheets twisted and moved as you enjoyed yourself, slowly.
“Oh my god.” His hand crept his his boxers.
He just needed a small release. Just a squeeze, just a little bit of relief.
If you were doing so in his bed surely he was allowed to in return.
His cock answered his squeeze, swelling in his hand.
Robby imagined himself there, sitting on the edge of your bed and asking you to 'show me how you like it.' Your fingers would work inside of yourself, slow. You'd drag out your wetness to your bundle of nerves.
Were you relishing it in his sheets? Did they smell of him and was that helping you?
Robby had no choice- really no choice- as he freed himself from his boxers. He was leaking profusely. Wrapping his fingers around himself, he watched your next move.
You moaned through the camera. It came out crackled.
Robby's eyes were glued onto you.
Your eyes were fluttering shut, bottom lip tucked between your teeth as your back arched, body moving in waves as you tried to focus on your phone.
What porn were you watching? Was it hard? Was it soft? Was it an older man? Did you want a younger?
Were you dreaming of that fucking Shawn?
You kicked the sheets back and Robby could see where your fingers disappeared in your panties.
Robby licked his lips and spat into the palm of his hand. There was no denying it, he was hard watching you get off, in his bed, in his room. He worked his palm up and down slowly, wanting to last as long as you did.
“Moan,” he uttered to himself. “Moan baby.”
If he were there he'd push you into his sheets, make you turn your head and smell him there. You wouldn't have to work for anything. He'd have his fingers filling you up, have you wither on his tongue before he even thought about his cock.
Would he come back with his sheets smelling of you?
God, he hoped so. He hoped you never washed the sheets.
A noise slipped from you and Robby stilled, squeezing his cock again.
He sunk into the sofa. “Again.”
You ditched your phone at the side of you, some porn video playing as your other hand wound under you shirt.
You quickly discarded in and Robby got a eyeful of your chest.
“Oh my god,” Robby worked himself up and down.
He'd imagined your body before but never like this, laid out for him.
What he would do to smother himself in your breasts.
“So beautiful,” he said, sweeping his thumb over the head of himself. “Fuck.” He worked himself faster as you pushed yourself into your own hand.
“Please,” he heard you utter.
“Yeah, baby, yeah.”
Your mouth was agape in silent moans.
Robby wondered if anyone let you moan allowed, if living with Santos and Whitaker you had to be quiet.
You were alone, he wanted to tell you. He wanted you to be as loud as possible.
“C'mon... c'mon...” he mumbled working himself harder.
You gasped, legs moving around under his sheets and twisting them up. You were trembling, making a mess of the place he slept with no shame. The hand that wasn't working yourself into pleasure grasped in his sheets.
“Robby...”
He stilled, his hand flying away from his cock and eyes widening.
Did the camera work both ways? Could you hear him? Did you know he was there?
A thousand panic thoughts ran through his mind before he realised none of that was right.
You were just moaning out his name while touching yourself.
“Robby,” you gasped, body withering. “Fuck, Robby.”
He smirked to himself. “Oh, baby girl, moaning for me.”
You moaned, head thrown back onto his cushion.
“Say it again,” he begged, pumping himself as fast as he saw the imprint of your own hand move. “Say it.”
You kicked off the sheets as your legs moved, unable to stay still in fits of pleasure. “Oh my god.”
“Yeah, yeah you like that.” He didn't know what you liked but he'd try and give you anything.
“Miss you Robby, miss you so much.”
Robby groaned low he might've growled. What a fool he was for waiting so long, for running away. He'd left you in such a state. “Jesus, baby, this is torture.”
He stroked himself hard, squeezing till his tip was read and leaking over his hand.
“Robby please.” He watched one of your hands come up and wrap around your neck.
Robby smirked. “Dirty girl.”
Your legs began to shake and you couldn't even gasp out his name.
“Robby... Robby... please.”
He groaned and moaned with you, turning up the volume blindly as he heard your high pitched moan
He didn't know which one of you finished first. He burst all over his hand, his release spilling over in white ropes over his hand. He groaned out your name, jerking himself till he got every last drop and couldn't move his hand anymore.
When he looked back at the camera you were still,, only the rise and fall of your chest letting him into your climax. You turned off your phone, lying there.
With the hand that had your fingers inside you he watched as you ran your hands over his sheets, as if you wanted to mark your spot in his bed.
“Yeah, it's all yours baby girl.”
The next day, Robby was filling up his tank and coming home to you.
Hi James I think that Park is your icky step dad who starts by telling you to stop vaping and eat well and sleep 8 hours a night. Obvs he a surgeon he’s in the know! He then gets more and more controlling eventually telling you what you should and shouldn’t do for you sexual health wink wink
"Take Care & Listen" - Brendon Park x Reader
Summary: When you go back home to your stepdad, he guides you through taking better care of yourself.
A/N: good anon have a full fic you did a good job also WAY TMI HERE but i actually made myself like properly for real squirt a few days ago after thinking i had before (i was just pissing turns out but god bless) but now my eyes are Open To The Real Thing and now im just gonna have to put it in every fic bc its fucking crazy iykyk sorry guys use an air pulse to get yourself off once then turn it to the lowest setting and force yourself into overstim <3
Word Count: 4.9k
You show up back at home a few months after your mom dies, knocking on the door in the middle of the night during a rainstorm after finally leaving your shit boyfriend. It’s just Brendon in that big old house now. When he answers the door, eyes heavy with exhaustion, wearing only gray sweatpants, you half expect him to turn you away. It’s not like you’re his real kid; he doesn’t have any real obligation to you without your mom in his life.
But he just sighs.
Shakes his head.
Opens the door.
He takes you by the hand and pulls you into the house, not saying anything about how you drip water on the floor or how you can’t stop crying. “Come on, princess, let’s get you into some dry clothes.”
He stands dutifully outside of the bathroom while you shower and emerge wrapped in a fluffy white towel that you know his housekeeper washes and folds. He’s never been good at the homemaking side of things; that was all your mom’s job.
Holding out a pair of his boxers, sweats, and a tee, Brendon tells you, “Sorry I don’t have any of your mom’s old clothes to give you.”
“That’s alright,” you reply, voice bashful and innocent as you take the clothes from him. “I wasn’t sure you’d even let me in, so this is better than I expected.”
His face falls at that. “Why wouldn’t I let you in?”
“Well, I dunno, mom’s not around anymore,” you reason, sounding so pathetic it takes you by surprise, “so I figured you’d just want to move on with your life or something.”
Brendon’s heart breaks and he immediately pulls you into a tight hug. He kisses your temple and tells you seriously, “Sweetheart, be serious now. I’ve been in your life since you were little, even if I’m not your sperm donor. You’re my kid, plain and simple. I’m never gonna let you stay out in the cold.”
Your lip wobbles as you search his devastatingly blue eyes. “But I’ve been so bad.”
“What, because you disappeared before your frontal lobe developed? Because you shacked up with some shithead who didn’t deserve you?” Brendon shakes his head and shrugs. “None of that matters. You’ll always be my baby girl. Get changed and get some sleep; we can talk tomorrow.”
–
“If you’re going to stay here with me, there have to be some rules,” Brendon starts as he cooks you breakfast. He took the day off work to reconnect with you, which you know is a big deal for someone with an important job like him.
You nod seriously, hoping he understands just how much this means to you. “I know I’ll need to pay rent and buy my own groceries and-”
“What? Rent?” Like the idea’s ridiculous, Brendon scoffs, “No, you don’t have to pay rent, angel. You don’t have to pay for anything. The asshole made you quit your job anyway, didn’t he?”
You can’t bear to look at him as you admit it with a nod. He pushes a plate of eggs, sausage, biscuits, and fruit in front of you before pouring a tall glass of orange juice as well. Beginning to pick around the plate, you ask, “So what are the rules, then?”
“You have to fix your lifestyle,” he replies, vague but firm. Then he clarifies some, “You can’t go partying like you have been. You’re getting eye bags from drinking and caffeine and sleep deprivation and you’re way too young for that.”
Your fingers fly up to your cheeks. “Am I really?”
“Yeah, you are,” he sighs, reaching out to cup your face, brushing his thumb over your skin. “You’re a beautiful girl; you shouldn’t be wasting your youth and your mind and your beauty on the bullshit you have been. If you’re in my house, you take care of yourself. And you listen to me. Got it?”
Biting your lip, you nod gently. “I can try.”
He touches your chin affectionately and says, “Good girl.”
Something deep inside of you stirs when he says that. And he notices. Your pupils dilate slightly, your lips part a bit, and you draw in a tiny sharp breath. He withdraws his hand, painfully aware of whatever’s just passed between you.
“We’ll eat breakfast and dinner together every day. I’m not a great cook, but I can make do or we can order in.”
“I can cook,” you tell him, perking up a bit at the idea that there’s something you can do to be helpful. “You have such a nice kitchen here – way better than the one I had with Tyler – it’d be a shame to let it go to waste. Let me make us meals; you’re way too busy to worry about that. It’ll give me something to do.”
“Great. You can take the Audi for grocery runs; I’ll leave my card here for you. Or you can use one of those delivery services, whatever.” He starts in on his own breakfast and smiles. “See? We’ll figure this thing out in no time.”
–
Brendon’s heart nearly stops when he gets home from work his first day back. You’re in the kitchen, barefoot, fresh-faced from the shower, wearing nothing but panties and one of his shirts; he’s promised to go to your ex’s place to collect your things this weekend, but the sight of you like that makes him reluctant. For a second, he’s so happy that his heart could burst. He knows how gross it sounds, but he’s missed having a woman in the kitchen, some pretty thing swaying along to music while stirring a pot on the stove.
There’s a sudden flash in his mind of you standing there with a heavy baby bump, humming, happy and held and perfectly safe under his protection. He can’t shake it from his head as he kicks off his shoes, quickly showers, and changes.
Then, as he heads to the kitchen but before you notice his presence, you take out a slim vape pen and take a long breath, blowing out the cloud with an ease that makes it clear this is a long-term habit for you. Before you can take another hit, Brendon storms forward and snatches it from your hand. You stare at him, wide-eyed like a caught toddler, as he hisses, “Do you have any idea how bad for you these things are?”
You throw your hands up and reply defensively, “I’m using it to quit smoking!”
“Swapping one addiction for another,” he sighs as he slips the pen into his back pocket. “Just because it’s not as bad for you doesn’t mean it’s good. You don’t need nicotine – you need a healthy diet, sleep, exercise, and routine. I’m a doctor, sweetheart, you can talk to me about things like quitting smoking.”
You nod and sigh, “I know, daddy. You’re right.”
It slips from your lips so effortlessly that it’s like syrup running down his spine. God, he loves how it sounds in your honey-smooth voice, tumbling from your sweet lips,
When you see how his eyes widen, you immediately turn back to the stove and stammer, “Sorry, I- I’m too old to call you that. It won’t happen again.”
“No, no, c’mon,” he coos. He stands behind you and wraps you in a hug. You swear you can feel the outline of his cock pressing against your ass, but you write it off as nothing. “I don’t mind at all. You don’t care if I call you princess or sweetheart or angel, right?”
“Of course not,” you giggle, all sweet and feminine. “It’s nice.”
“That’s how I feel, too,” he assures you. The way his rough, masculine voice breathes down your neck makes you a little dizzy. “Just because you’re grown up doesn’t mean you can’t be my little girl; why shouldn’t you call me what you want?”
You turn around and plant a warm kiss on his cheek. “Thanks, daddy. I’m gonna work on the vaping, okay? I really want you to be proud of me. To show you how good I can be.”
He kisses your forehead. “You’re so special, baby. I just want to make sure you’re treating yourself as well as you should be.”
–
After you’ve cleaned up dinner side by side, you put on a movie and convince Brendon to watch it with you even though he insists he has paperwork to do for the hospital. You have your feet in his lap and he rubs them absently, no thought behind his touch, more like he’s using you as a stressball.
When the credits roll and you go to search for something else to watch, Brendon clicks his tongue, takes the remote from you, and turns the TV off. “You should get to bed, sweetheart.”
“What?” You almost laugh as your eyes flick over to the clock on the wall. “It’s not even ten.”
He gives you a stern, knowing look. One of those looks where you always fold to whatever he wants you to do. He explains, “I don’t want you going back to bed after breakfast and sleeping until noon just because you aren’t working or in school. You need to get out of the cycle of being reliant on coffee to wake up; that means you need to get enough sleep to start with.”
You pout and reply, “But I’m not tired.”
He stands up and helps you to your feet, slinging an arm around your waist and guiding you toward the stairs. “You will be if you relax in bed for a while – no TV, no distractions. Just quiet and dark. You have to retrain your body with a good schedule.”
You walk up the steps ahead of him, fully aware that your ass is bouncing in his face in your tiny panties. Teasing him is just a part of your fun these days. You love to catch him staring and making him blush when you make fun of him.
In your childhood bedroom, which he’s promised to let you remodel however you want once you have your things again, Brendon watches as you wash your face and brush your face in the en suite bathroom. He likes to watch you. Likes having your pretty form filling his house with your light and life.
After you slip beneath the covers, he plugs your phone in across the room so you won’t reach for it while you’re trying to sleep, kisses you tenderly on the forehead, and shuts your light off. “Goodnight, princess. I’ll see you in the morning.”
You lean up again and go to kiss him on the cheek, half-missing and catching the corner of his lips. “Night, daddy. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
–
The more comfortable you get living at home with Brendon, the more reliant you are on him. It feels so natural to you both. He’s big and strong and successful; you’re sweet and needy and helpful. You want to make him happy however you can and he wants to keep you safe and healthy the same way.
For a while, you can both write it off as finding a father/daughter relationship again in adulthood. But it’s becoming increasingly obvious that there’s more. When you go shopping on his credit card, you send him pictures of the cute little outfits you buy and he jerks off to them late at night, his hand made of white-hot shame and pleasure mixing in equal parts. When he rearranges furniture for you while shirtless, taking orders to make sure you’re happy with your space, you can’t help staring at his biceps, his back, and his chest, pathetically whimpering and trying to get yourself off but not quite able to after.
You just can’t take it anymore one night after spending a full hour trying to hit that spot in your pussy by yourself, your much shorter fingers not able to reach it. So you stand up in a huff, don’t bother tugging your underwear back on, and stomp down the hall to the room Brendon once slept in with your mother.”
Taking a deep breath, you knock tentatively and crack the door open. You’re a mix of giddy and nervous when you see he’s still awake, leaning back on the headboard with a thick hook in his lap.
When he hears the door squeak open, he looks up, slips the ribbon bookmark back in place, and asks with such a tender concern in his voice that you feel loved right away, “You alright, sweetheart?”
“I can’t sleep, daddy,” you reply, a bit of a bratty, desperate whine in your tone that makes his cock chub up. Padding into the room, he realizes you aren’t wearing bottoms and sits up straighter as you go on needle, “You’ve been so smart with everything since I’ve been here; I think I need your help.”
He pats the spot on the bed next to him. Setting his book down and shifting to the side as you crawl into his bed, Brendon prods, “Tell me what’s going on.”
When he lifts his arm, you snuggle underneath it and bury your face in his softly worn tee. “It’s kind of embarrassing.”
“C’mon, do you have any reason to be embarrassed with me ever?” Brendon lifts your chin with his thumb and forefinger, forcing you to make eye contact. All lilting and teasing, he nudges, “I’m a doctor. I’m your dad.”
“That’s the problem,” you groan, eyes flicking away from his once more. “I don’t think I’m supposed to talk to you about stuff like this.”
He chuckles now, clearly amused by your bashfulness, “What stuff would that be? Baby, you know as well as I do that you can talk to me about anything in the whole world that you need.”
You nod and quickly whine out, “I haven’t been able to make myself cum since the breakup and it’s driving me crazy.”
Brendon swallows thickly, his mouth going dry at just how pathetically needy you look right now, eyes watery, thighs pinched together, teeth pushing into your soft lower lip. He knows this is a crossroads for both of you. A moment where boundaries will blur or harden, where trust will be built or broken, based on how he responds.
So he’s careful at first. With blue eyes that brim with love, he cups your cheek and confirms, “Most importantly, that’s definitely nothing to be embarrassed about, honey, and you can always talk to me about your sexual health – whether that’s birth control or relationships or whatever. You’re safe with me.”
You melt under his touch. “Thank you, daddy.”
“Here, let’s get you comfy,” Brendon murmurs, maneuvering you onto your back, head on his pillow, legs spread just a bit. With his heart hammering in his throat, he does his best to keep his voice level as he offers, “Why don’t you show me what you do when you’re alone? Maybe that’ll help me figure out what you can be doing better. Does that sound okay?”
“Mhmm,” you reply, a little too eager, spreading your legs apart and squirming in a way that drives him clinically insane.
You go to put your hand between your legs the way you usually do, but Brendon catches your wrist and asks, “First of all, why are you still wearing your shirt? You usually stay partly clothed when you touch yourself?”
“Yeah, usually.”
“Why?”
“I dunno.” You shrug as your cheeks burn from a mix of nerves and arousal. “Just easier, I guess.”
“Well, you don’t want to rush things, even with yourself. Going slow and not skipping any steps just to get there faster will help,” he says. His fingers go to the hem of your small tee and he starts to lift it, ordering quietly, “Sit up a little for a second, princess.”
You help him shimmy your top off, leaving you completely naked save your frilled socks. He can see your breaths coming faster now as you feel exposed in front of him for the first time. With your breasts out on full display, Brendon can feel himself starting to lose control. You’re just so fucking perfect, every inch of you, and he has to let out a slow, controlled breath to avoid moaning and taking you the way he wants.
With a mix of eagerness and innocence, you check, “You’re sure it’s okay for you to help with this?”
“It’s my job to help you with this,” he clarifies, serious, like a teacher giving an important lesson. “Clearly, you’ve wasted time with stupid boys who didn’t do a good job and now you can’t even help yourself. All I want is to make sure you’re happy and healthy. This is another part of that. I’ve helped you make your tummy feel better with your diet and your skin get better with your sleep and your water. Why shouldn’t I make your little pussy feel better, too?”
“That makes sense, daddy,” you coo, on the verge of giggling from the way your brain is buzzing. “Okay, so I usually start by just kinda rubbing circles on my clit.”
He orders firmly, “Show me.”
You lick your two middle fingers and snake them between your legs, parting your lips a bit and finding your clit. Brendon sits back on the bed and watches you collect wetness from lower down before spreading it over your clit. He tsks sympathetically and asks, “You were trying for a while, huh? All wet and swollen.”
With a sad nod, you reply, “I just can’t read that special place inside me.”
“You try to just use your fingers? How?”
Easily obeying as your brain starts to go fuzzy, you reach your other hand down and curl the fingertips of your middle two fingers inside your needy hole.
Eyes trained on your perfect cunt he asks roughly, “You don’t use a toy or anything? A dildo?”
You protest right away, “Ew, no, of course not!”
Brendon smacks your thigh – the gesture shocks you to your core, even the lightest slightest pain making your nerves sing – and reprimands, “Who made you think it’s not okay to use toys?”
“Well, I dunno, my ex, I guess,” you explain. Your voice is getting breathier now as your fingers speed up. Brendon’s attention is a lot hotter than any of the thoughts you can conjure up behind your eyelids. “I thought- thought that made me slutty. If I needed something like that.”
“God, that boy,” Brendon nearly growls. “Honey, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with using the things that were designed to make your pussy feel good. Boys say that when they don’t want their girl to know what ‘good’ is because if you can get yourself off with a vibrator, why would you keep a shitty boyfriend around?”
A conspiratorial giggle escapes your lips. “Will you get me some toys daddy?”
“Of course I will, angel,” he assures. “You should have whatever you need to feel good. I’ll show you how to use them and everything, make sure you know what you’re doing.”
Suddenly, your eyes sting with tears, lip wobbling as you look up at this man who’s made your life so much better for no reason except how he loves you. “You’re so good to me.”
“That’s because you’re mine,” he soothes, rubbing his hand over your calf. Then his hand moves – slowly, like he’s trying not to spook you – up your inner thigh. He carefully removes the hand that’s desperately trying to get deeper into your pussy and squeezes it a couple times. “For now, though, you definitely need something nice and thick in there to hit that special spot. You really want me to help?”
Your eyes snap up to his and you nod. “Please, daddy, I’m so achy. I need it really bad.”
“Good girl. I’m so proud of you for telling me that,” he praises as two of his fingertips brush your pussy’s entrance. You suck in a sharp breath at the feeling and then stop breathing altogether when he begins to push them inside. The stretch is so good, stingy and bright, and you already know he’s gonna be able to help exactly how you need. Once you’ve taken him to the second knuckle, feeling like you couldn’t possibly be stretched any more, Brendon reminds you with a hand on your lower tummy, “Breathe, honey. You’ve gotta breathe.”
Your mouth falls open and a breath rattles in. Your back arches and you let out an angelic moan.
At your intense reaction, Brendon pushes his fingers the rest of the way in and asks you quietly, “Has anyone ever touched you like this?”
Shaking your head as he begins to move his fingers inside of your cunt, you admit, “My ex only ever- Fuck, daddy, that’s the spot right there.”
“I know, sweet girl, I can feel it,” he says. He curls his fingers back toward himself, right against that perfect textured spot that makes your toes tense. “What were you saying?”
Trying hard to focus, you tell him, “He only ever put his dick down there.”
Brendon groans, almost like a growl, as if that response causes him physical pain. “Did he ever eat you out?”
Your face wrinkles up and you look down at him, giving up rubbing your clit because you’re so distracted. “Like use his mouth on me? Why would he do that?”
“Alright, this is officially fucking unacceptable,” Brendon announces. He pulls his fingers from your pussy despite your pathetic, begging whines and stands up. You watch with a curious expression as he strips his own clothes off. You’ve never seen his cock before and your eyes widen; it’s gotta be twice the size of the only other one you’ve ever seen in person. Brendon climbs on top of you, caging you between his strong arms, and says, “I’m gonna show you how a man is supposed to treat his woman. You can’t go out in the world thinking it’s okay for a guy to just get his dick wet and move on. If you’re gonna be someone’s girl, they need to treat you right in life and in bed.”
Tentatively, you reach up and touch his harsh jawline. Your voice is an anxious whisper as you ask him, “What if I don’t wanna go back out in the world?”
Hopeful but not quite ready to let himself think it, Brendon pushes, “What do you mean, princess?”
“Maybe I just wanna be your girl now,” you say softly. Eyes averted, you murmur quickly, “I like being home with you. Like when you come home and tell me about your day while I make you dinner. Like when we go shopping together and when you make sure I brushed my teeth good enough. I wanna be yours. I don’t wanna go back out there and try to be with anyone else.”
He can tell it’s taking all your bravery to say it and you’re terrified of being rejected by him, so he doesn’t bother with collecting his thoughts. He crushes you into a kiss that’s claiming and rough and so much more intense than any you’ve felt before. You whimper into it and he swallows the sound down, cupping the back of your head and grabbing your waist and grinding down against your thigh.
When he pulls back, your pupils are blown wide and your breaths are fast. He drags his lips up your neck and purrs against your ear, “Then I’m gonna show you how I treat my woman so you never want anyone else again.”
You’re totally unable to speak as he trails kisses down your body, between your breasts, over your stomach, along your hips, up your thighs. Worshipping every inch he can reach without getting out of the position he needs to be in. As he bends to hover his lips above your clit, he looks up at you and orders, “Now I’m gonna eat you out and I want you to play with your nipples, baby. Just figure out how you like it. I want you to have fun with them because sex is supposed to be fun, not some chore. I’ll take care of this pretty pussy. That sound good?”
You squirm, skeptical, and ask, “You’re really gonna put your mouth on me? What if it tastes bad? What if-”
“Good girls don’t argue with their daddies,” he cuts you off, shoving his two fingers back into your cunt without preamble, stealing your breath away as he does. It reminds you how much pleasure you think Brendon could give you that nobody else could. “Are you going to be good or are you going to be a brat?”
“Good,” you squeak out, suddenly desperate to know what he wants to show you. “I trust you, daddy, I promise.”
“That’s my girl. You just keep on trusting me and you’re gonna have the best life in the world. Gonna make you feel so good. Treat you like the princess you are every fucking day.”
Then he descends on your clit. He’s slow and purposeful at first, letting you get used to the new sensation, which is soft and wet and nice, even if it’s a little strange at first. Combined with his fingers inside of you, it definitely feels good. When his tongue gets firmer and more urgent, almost mimicking the way you play with your clit, a moan like you’ve never heard from yourself busts out of your throat. He groans in response and the vibration makes your head spin.
Because you promised to be good and listen to him, your hands travel up to cup your breasts. You try out massaging them, rubbing your nipples, rolling them, whatever you can think of that might feel good. Having that to focus on lets you completely relax, not in your head with Brendon between your legs. He’s so smart; he must’ve known you’d be nervous to have him down there, smelling you and tasting you and seeing everything from that angle. He gave you something else to toy with so you wouldn’t get insecure.
With gratitude bubbling up, you start to moan more and more. You’ve never liked your own sounds during sex, but that’s because they’ve always been forced to some degree. These ones just tumble out constantly, breathless and sing-song and honest. He seems to like them, too, because he’s rutting down against the mattress like a teen humping the pillow. The sight makes you burn down to the wick with lust because you realize he wants you bad.
Suddenly you start to feel a tingly, bright sparkly something in your lower stomach, connected to your pussy by a thread that’s being wound tighter and tighter by Brendon’s fingers inside of you. He doesn’t rush you through the feeling, lets it grow and build, setting a steady course that you know you can trust completely.
When you cum, it’s with a loud cry and shaking legs. You’ve never felt something so strong; your own fingers could never make you feel this good. You feel a flood of your wetness pulsing from your cunt and you feel so fucking embarrassed at the idea that you’re going pee on Brendon’s face that you try to wriggle away.
But he won’t let you. He growls and shoves you into overstimulation, lapping up your juices, not relenting until you’re crying and thrashing. His hands keep you tight against his face even as he lightens up, kissing your clit, sweetly nibbling your thighs, letting you come back down to earth.
“I’m sorry, daddy,” you whimper as you start to catch your breath. “I don’t know what happened. I’ve never peed like that before and I couldn’t control it and-”
“What?” Brendon laughs hard as he pulls back to look at you incredulously. “Baby girl, you did so good. Sometimes when a girl cums extra hard, she does that. There can be a whole rush of liquid; it’s not the same thing as peeing.”
“It’s not?” You tilt your head to the side, relief filling your shaky body as Brendon grabs a towel from his en suite bathroom and starts to clean you and the sheet up. “What is it then?”
“Well, the research isn’t great right now because we’ve always under-studied women’s bodies,” he explains as he tenderly rubs the towel over your pussy and your thighs, “but most people think it’s a mix of liquids. Some of it comes from the bladder, yes, but it’s diluted by fluids from this special gland you have called the Skene’s gland, which is sort of like a man’s prostate.” Then he chuckles and shakes his head, cheeks a bit pink, as he adds, “Trust me: I’ve tasted both, and they’re not the same thing.”
You smack him on the arm and fall into a fit of laughter. “Ew, daddy, gross!”
Brendon shakes his head and gets into the bed next to you, holding you close. “It’s easy to think that, but I promise that all sorts of stuff you think is weird or gross can actually feel really, really good when you’re with the right person.”
You nuzzle into his chest and say dreamily, “And I’m with the right person now.”
Summary: After an unexpected visit to the ER, you and Dr. Jack Abbot begin a mutual attraction to each other that involves flirty and poorly-concealed innuendos. Will things progress for the two of you, or will you find out that it's better to stay friends? Stay tuned to watch these two idiots in love.
Part 1: The Meeting
Part 2: Showing up to the Night Shift
Part 3: Showing up to the Day Shift
Part 4: First Dates
Part 5: Thirsty for Jack
Part 6: Jacks Wants to Spoil His Girl
Part 7: Jack is Dodging Intimacy (18+)
Part 8: Jack Helps out with Your Hair
Part 9: Main Hoes..and Side Pieces
Part 10: You and Jack Traumatize Dennis (18+)
Part 11: Jack Takes Care of His Sick Baby
Part 12: You Take Care of Jack (18+)
Part 13: Jack tells his Therapist About You
Part 14: Happy Birthday, Jack
Part 15: Jack’s Neigbor Has Beef with You
Part 16: The Pregnancy Scare
Part 17: Jack’s New Music Taste
Part 18: Jack Meets Your Parents
Part 19: Jack Comes to the Cookout
Part 20: The PTMC Crew Meet Your Sisters
Part 21: You’re Being a Brat so Jack Handles It (18+)
Part 22: Jack Can’t Reach You During PittFest
Part 23: You Celebrate Jack’s Wife Birthday
Part 24: Jack Goes Ring Shopping
Part 25: You Get Insecure about Jack and Samira
Part 26: Jack Abbot is so Freaked Out (18+)
Part 27: The One with the Proposal
Part 28: House Hunting with Jack
Part 29: The Ménage-à-trois (ft. Michael Robinavitch) (18+)
So what if Michael keeps dirty photos of you in his wallet?
warnings: established relationship. taking photos of each other. smut. blowjobs. creampie. obscene amount of the word 'baby' used. male masturbation in the workplace. in this household we believe that robby babbles when he's about to cum and we believe in praise kink for reader and robby <3 minors dni. as always, let me know what you think!
word count: 2.5k+
robinavitch masterlist | masterlist | ask
Michael Robinavitch will never admit it but he was a romantic. A man straight out of the old black and white movies. He would never admit it but he’s always wanted to keep a photo of someone special in his wallet. It always felt wrong to put someone there. His past girlfriends never being allowed the place. His seven week flings, as many people called it, never even got close to having the honour.
Until you.
It was a beautiful photo. He remembers it well. It was taken at his height, aiming down at you, a big cheesy grin on your face as he took the photo. On the days where the ER was more than he could handle, he often took it out, just admiring you and feeling the weight of your relationship ground him.
It was well known within the ER that he’d happily take out his wallet and show it to anyone that asked about you. He puffed up his chest as he talked about you, your job, your relationship, everything and anything. He was proud of you, proud of himself to be able to called yours.
It was sweet, and everyone thought it. From the gushing of the older ladies that came in, to the incessant gossip fodder that Robby gave the pitt, everyone loved it.
And so what if behind the innocent photo of you he has two worn and well loved photos that aren’t so innocent? What if he happened to take them out during the brief breaks that he gets when he’s at work - when the ER was weighing him down in a different way and he needed an outlet?
-
“Michael,” you panted, fingers tightening on his chest, you leaned your body reaching for something.
“What’re you doing, baby?” Michael watched, as best as he could as he saw you grab your phone.
“Memento,” you clenched, as you shakily opened up your camera. Focusing as best you could while swivelling your hips, you focused on his chest, your hand in the frame softly clutching his stomach.
Grinning when he realised you were doing, you aimed your photo up, trying to capture the look on his face. Balancing yourself, you placed your other hand on his face, softly caressing his face, moaning lowly when he began kissing up your hand. Taking a couple of photos, you threw your phone somewhere on the bed and planted your hands on his chest.
“You’re dirty,” he grinned as he wrapped his arms around you, bringing you down flush to his chest. Placing his feet on the mattress, he thrusted up earning a particularly loud moan out of you. “That’s it, baby.”
Feeling your panting on his neck, Michael moved his lips until he could reach you. Messily placing his tongue in your mouth, he could feel the combination of your drool slowly slithering down his neck.
He could feel you getting close, your walls clenching around his cock and your mouth falling from his, his name coming out in pants. Rolling your hips, you dragged your nails down Michael’s chest, squeezing until your felt release come.
“Fuck, I love you,” Michael grunted into your ear. “Love you, love your fucking pussy, love my girl,” he choked out the praises as he finished in you. Wrapping you in his embrace tighter, you couldn’t help but whimper as you felt his cum flood inside your pussy.
“You okay?” He gently moved the hair stuck to your face, placing a gentle kiss on your lips.
“Can I see?” Michael kissed your cheek as you laid on his chest, the heat and sweat a bit uncomfortable but you both couldn’t bear to leave each other.
Finding your phone, you accessed your photos, tapping on the first one. It was blurry, as you expected. You could barely make out that there was a person in the photo. Frowning, you swiped to the next photo which was better.
“Look at that,” you said in appreciation, eyes roaming the photo, landing on the glisten of his chest and soft swell of his stomach. “Fuck, Michael, you’re beautiful.”
You turned your phone to show the man below you, watching as a bashful flush creeped up to his cheeks.
“Are you going to be pissed if I have this as my background?”
Ever since then Michael’s been quite a bit obsessed with the thought of taking photos of the two of you together. But he was always too enthralled with whatever you were doing that he forgets to pick up his phone and take a photo.
The first one was an accident.
It was an off day for Michael, you were both lazily laying on the couch. You turned to him, and you were a bit awestruck at just how handsome he was. Sure, he was just sitting on the couch, with his reading glasses on and wearing a t-shirt but you were sure that there wasn’t a man who was more handsome than Michael Robinavitch.
Gazing downwards you bit your lip as you saw the grey sweats that he was wearing, and if you squinted your eyes right, you swear you could see a bulge. Fidgeting in your seat, you somehow managed to turn yourself on, sliding down to the ground, you placed yourself in front Michael. Placing your hands on his knees you slid your hands up until his waistband.
Pawing at the band of his sweats, Michael looked down at you in amusement, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. “What are you doing?”
“I’m bored,” you whined, as you began tugging down his pants. “And you look beautiful.”
“Oh?” Michael leaned back, paper forgotten as he tossed it to the other side of the couch. You could see the cocky smirk on his face but beneath that the small red flush that your compliment brought on.
“Don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so handsome,” you nodded, tugging his waistband down. You watched as his cock came to view, half-hard but still always so impressive. Michael’s cock flopped to his left thigh as you continued to push his pants down. Peppering kisses from his knees to his inner thigh, you smirked as you saw his cock twitch and begin leaking.
Placing one hand on one knee, you began leaving little bites, occasionally flicking your eyes to Michael whose chest was now heaving, his hands clenched on the cushions. Finally reaching your prize, you didn’t hesitate to start kissing the side of his cock with an open mouth, your tongue trailing the multiple veins.
Kissing his tip, you looked back up at him. “So pretty,” tapping the head a few times on your tongue, you languidly licked him from base to tip. “Love you,” you muttered against his cock before parting your lips and taking him down your throat. Gagging as you pushed him down slowly, you felt his cock fully harden as you reached the back of your throat.
Putting his hand on the back of your head, Michael watched as his length disappeared in your mouth, your nose brushing against his pubic hair before going back up, sucking in your cheeks when you hit his tip. Then repeating the actions, each time more hurried than the last. He felt his balls tighten and willed himself to just hold out a little bit longer.
Wrapping his hands around your hair, Michael regretfully pulled you away from his cock, a sympathetic smile on his face as he heard your whine. “Beautiful,” Michael praised as he saw you; face flushed, teary eyes and a mixture of his precum and your saliva. Caressing your cheek, you automatically leaned into his touch, a soft and adoring look on your face.
Feeling around for his phone, Michael shakily opened the camera. You moved slightly, trying to see what he was doing, “Stay still, baby,” Michael warned, pulling your hair a bit. “Look at me,” aiming the camera, you smiled as you grasped his cock.
Showing off to the camera, you placed the head of his cock back on your tongue, a cheeky grin on your face as you heard the shutter.
“Wait,” Michael rasped, his hands gently tugging on your hair. “Can you hold my cock against your face?”
You chuckled fondly and followed his instructions. Placing his cock against the side of your face, you smiled dazedly at the camera. Taking multiple photos, Michael began to tremble as you tightened your grip and began stroking him. “Fuck,” he breathed out, “so beautiful.”
“Show me how to print it out later,” Michael groaned as he felt you swallow around him. At his statement you couldn’t help chuckle around his cock. “Shit, you okay?”
Pulling away from him, “You’re such an old man.”
“Well this old man just has a photo of you with his cock on his phone,” Michael twisted his phone before throwing it somewhere on the couch. “Now come on, baby, come up, want to cum in your pussy.”
You rolled your eyes but nonetheless stood up and placed yourself on his lap. “Such a romantic.”
The second was more intentional. Michael felt insatiable that night, asking you if he could just use you, and of course you said yes.
“Best girl,” Michael thrusted, “best fucking pussy,” this time he manhandled your legs so they were over his shoulders. Leaning over you, you groaned at the full weight on him on top of your body, “Fucking love you,” he panted against your ear, biting across your jaw until he placed an open mouth kiss to your lips.
Wrapping your legs around him, you felt each and every thrust of his cock, your walls tightening with each movement. Slackjawed, all you could do was run your nails down his back, clenching when you heard Michael hiss above you. Nipping your lips, Michael moved down your neck before licking back up to your mouth.
Moving his hand to feel around for his phone, Michael didn’t relent in his frantic thrust, his other hand reaching for his phone. Quickly opening it, he leaned back and you whined at the loss of his weight. Angling his phone down, he couldn’t help but wrap one hand around your neck, gently closing his grip.
“Stay,” and as he began taking photos, his hand drifted down, splaying it across your lower stomach. There was something about watching you through your phone that got Michael heated more than usual. Maybe it was the vulnerability, the trust that you give him.
Leaning back, he felt you slip your legs down, wincing as it reached his thighs. “Stay still, sweetheart,” pulling back a bit, he aimed the photo again. This time his cock in frame, zooming in he couldn’t help but buck his hips, entranced in the way your pussy engulfed him. Tossing his phone by your side, Michael slammed back in, causing you to arch your back, your tits practically jumping in his face.
He increased his pace, his forearms by your neck, mouth on yours. “Gonna cum baby,” he warned against your mouth.
“Inside,” you pleaded, tightening your legs around him. “Please, Michael, fill me up.”
“You first,” reaching down, he balanced on one forearm, one hand reaching to your clit to rub tight little circles, and his mouth finding home on your neck. Feeling him bite down where your neck meets your shoulder, Michael groaned as he felt your walls flutter around his cock. Squeezing once, he felt you pulse your hips as his name came out as a silent scream.
Cursing Michael chased his release, his hips losing any rhythm he had. Knowing that he was closed, you clenched as hard as you could, Michael bit down harder and with one last muffled grunt of your name, you felt him empty inside of you.
Hissing as he removed himself, Michael reached to grab his phone. Aiming it down to your leaking cunt, he snapped a couple of photos. Separating your folds with his fingers, he bit his lip as he saw you clench and pushed out some of his cum. Tutting as he saw some of his release land on the bed, he gave your pussy one last gentle kiss and threw his phone somewhere on the bed.
Laying on top of you, Michael lazily kissed up and down your neck, while you played with the hairs on the base of his neck. Letting out a contended sigh, you felt your heartbeat begin to settle.
“Next time, film yourself cumming side of me.”
-
A particularly loud bang outside of the bathroom brought Michael out of his trance. He looked down, cock in his hand and your photo in the other. Gritting his teeth, he knew that he couldn’t go out with this. Stroking faster, tightening his fist - trying to recreate your wet heat (but failing), Michael thought about you; the way you felt, the sounds that you made. Grunting your name, he threw his head back, his hand squeezing the base of his cock as he pointed his cum to the toilet.
Panting he looked down at his hand and felt a bit of shame run through his veins. But as he looked at what was on his other hand, he could feel the warm thrum up his spine. “Fuck baby, look at what you’ve done to me.”
Leaving the bathroom, he looked at Dana and mouthed ‘taking my five’, and stepped outside into the ambulance bay. Tapping your contact, he placed his phone against his ear.
“Michael? You okay babe?”
“Just missed you,” he silently murmured, leaning against the wall.
“Michael Robinavitch, it’s currently eleven am and you’re jerking off?” You laughed breathily, and he could hear the creak in your chair as you sat back.
He chuckled, feeling hot underneath his scrubs, “I just miss you,” he enunciated. “How the hell did you even get to that conclusion?”
“You get sentimental after you cum, Michael,” you paused and he could practically imagine you connecting the dots. “Did you look at the photos again?”
“They’re very good photos,” he responded instantly and you hummed.
“I think they’re a bit outdated, though, don’t you think?” You teased.
The thrum was back, eagerness filling every crevice of his bones. “What do you have planned, princess?”
Smiling, “I’m thinking that you have two straight days off, and we’ll have plenty of time to update those photos,” you stated coyly. “I have some ideas, if you’re up for it, Robinavitch.”
Michael groaned which caused you to chuckle, “I have eight more hours, you can’t do this,” running a hand down his face, he could feel the telltale sign of his blood rushing to his cock.
“You’re the one who messaged me after you jerked off,” you scoffed. “You started it.”
He rolled his eyes, “Well, I’m sorry for missing the love of my life.”
All he got was a soft cooing noise from you, and a, “Uh-huh, sure. Now go save lives, doc, and when you get home we can replace those very well loved photos with new ones.”
Michael couldn’t help the grin appear on his face, “You’re dirty.”
“And you love me,” you teased, then in a more serious manner, “And I love you.”
“I love you,” Michael replied instantly. “I’ll see you when I get home.”
“Try not to wear yourself out on your breaks Doctor Robinavitch, I’ll need you in tip top shape tonight.”
content. dbf!abbot x reader. pørn w/o plot. age gap. secret relationship.
dbf!abbot who can’t help himself as he pulls your panties aside and drives deep into you moaning in your ear about how warm and tight you feel.
his hands are all over you like he can’t get enough of touching you. his lips pressing soft kisses by your ear as he thrusts slowly and hard. murmuring praises about how good you are. how well you take him.
it doesn’t take much. hardly a few thrusts and your brain is turning into mush. “eyes on me, sweet girl,” he tells you with a lift of his lips on the edge of a teasing smile.
“is my pretty girl going dumb on my cock?” he coos smugly and when you don’t respond with words but whimpers instead his question is answered.
his thumb presses onto your clit. the slick sounds of him fucking into you loud in the room mix in with your moans as you come.
he bites down onto your shoulder as he reaches his own release. he loved leaving marks that you could easily hide. only for him to see and for you to remember. he hums at the teeth marks on your skin and then soothes it with his tongue. sweet kitten licks from this man who was so serious all the time when you caught him in conversations with your dad.
it was all for you. only for you. your jack abbot.
I need to be in a toxic situationship with jack so bad😔 wanna get into a fight and revenge make out with someone at a bar while you know he’s watching. He wouldn’t even get mad though like I’d want, he’d just pull you into the bathrooms later all cocky “You had your fun hm? You know no one touches you like me.”
18+
he’s so mean when he’s fucking you. “that fun, baby? got what you wanted, yeah? my attention? just wanted me to fuck you, baby—coulda just asked nicely.”
you’re moaning against the stall, tits falling out of your top as he gropes em, slapping your ass and thighs in between. “you know no one fucks you as good as me. you only want my cock—don’t be a stupid little girl, goin’ off to random boys.”
“fuck—jack.” you roll your eyes back, turning your neck to see his fat cock pulling out of you, covered in your cream. <333
he slaps your ass hard as he pushes back in, “fuck yeah, baby. say my fucking name. remember who owns this pussy—who fucks you the way you like.”
after he’s had his way with you, you walk out of the bathroom, pulling down your mini dress with your hair all crazy, cum dripping down your legs. jack’s got his hand on your ass, slamming a couple bills on the bar counter, winking at the man standing there who’s face you were just sucking.
jack abbot doing that thing where he’s shushing you even he’s the reason you’re making all that noise. like he’s got you pinned to the bed on your side, curling his body over you to keep reaching that spot. asking “what’s all the fuss about, hm?” and holding your face with fake concern while railing you to literal pleased tears.
you’re grabbing onto whatever part of him you can, tugging the freckled skin as the thick of him splits you open with rough strokes. unraveling you thrust by thrust.
“j…jack,” is all your voice can bunch out of your damp-with-sweat, bouncing figure. the rest of what you say just spills into loud, melty, fucked-out noises.
“that’s my name, don’t wear it out,” he mumbles, lips against your ear. they peck a quick kiss along the shell before he grins at your loud pants—which is exactly how he wants them… wants you. loud and crying (good tears, of course) and stuffed full of him. you cry out his name again, and he just bucks into you harder. feeling a little light headed himself. “shh, baby, i know. we’ll getcha there.”
★ summary: michael robinavitch’s willpower was a force to be reckoned with. god only knows where your former lover went beneath all that restraint and self destruction. It’s a good thing jack abbot’s willpower was never quite that strong
★ pairing: michael robinavitch x reader, & jack abbot x reader
★ warnings: 18+ mdni, smut, angst, cheating, p in v, face sitting, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, oral f receiving, cream pie, public sex, dirty talk, size kink, praise kink, jack abbot talks you through it, aftercare
★ word count: 7.7k
★ notes: hello did you guys miss me 😈
Your relationship with Michael Robinavitch was the worst-kept secret in PTMC’s history, right next to Princess and her affinity for rigging the betting boards. Now it wasn’t just because Dr. Robby loved a hot, young resident; it was just how obvious he was about it, at least in the beginning.
He was clingy, always over your shoulder on cases. His gloved hand grabbing yours to instruct you through a procedure, even when it was entirely uncalled for. He doted on you, and god forbid anyone else look at you for two long. Dana compared him to a rabid dog, claiming his territory whenever a patient got handsy or an intern asked about you.
If you weren’t working together you were on the phone, at his house, on dates. He'd take you out, show you off. A hot, young thing on his arm was just what his ego needed. You were attached at the hip, for the first year anyways.
You weren’t sure when it started to go downhill, it was gradual, like an avalanche starting with the smallest snowball.
You used to start your days rolling around together in his sheets, snoozing the alarm both of you just begging for a few more minutes in his arms.
Now?
He was gone before you woke up, and wasn’t home until you had already gone to bed. You were two ships, barely passing in the night. At work, he only talked to you when it was necessary, gone were the days of teasing each other over the nurses' station or hidden kisses in the break room.
Now you were lucky that he called you anything other than Dr. Y/l/n.
The sex had started off hot and heavy. It was sex in on-call rooms and being bent over whatever surface he could find. Now, you couldn’t remember the last time you had sex, but when you did it was missionary that lasted less than 10 minutes. He’d grunt, kiss your forehead, and roll over. Long gone were the days he’d spend in between your thighs, making sure you came before he did.
Date ideas were shot down, he’d take extra shifts or have ‘meetings’ into late hours of the night. You weren’t dumb, you weren’t oblivious to the signs that were right there, but you were blindly in love. You thought he loved you, thought he still held the same admiration and respect for you as he once did.
When you’d voice your complaints he’d apologize, buy some cheap flowers, and take you out on the way over to your apartment, but lately he hasn’t even done that.
No one really knew, not really. Everyone knew something was up with Robby, but no one was able to get the truth out of him, so why bother?
It felt like you were dating a ghost of the man he used to be, so full of life and passion for his job.
You hadn’t seen him outside of this ED in almost two weeks, he was snappy and dismissive, always droning on and on about this sabbatical he was going to be taking. You couldn’t give less of a shit, it was just another excuse to run away from his problems, and more importantly you.
Which is why when McKay came over, talking about how she needed to get laid, you interrupted.
“Me too, sister.” You sighed, chewing on the straw of your slightly watered-down latte. “It’s been like…..months.”
They all looked at you like you had grown a third head, even Samira’s eyebrows were furrowed.
“Really?” McKay asked, her voice quieting in concern.
You just nodded, “Yup.”
“You and Robby are still?” She trailed off, not wanting to overstep.
“Yup.” You repeated, taking a noiseless sip of your watered-down coffee.
She made a noise, confusion still written all over your face. “I’m sorry to pry, but… why?”
“Yeah, you’re young and hot. Plus you guys used to be all over each other.” Samira joined in.
Another shrug, “Wish I fucking knew. I’ve been trying for weeks. I barely see him anymore, he says he still loves me but he won’t even look at me,” You breathe out, “And he doesn’t touch me. I mean I went out and bought an overpriced slutty little pajama set, practically threw myself at him and you know what he said? That I should probably start sleeping at my apartment again, because he’s gonna have Whittaker house sit for him while he’s gone.”
Charts were long neglected, Samira all but threw her pager down on the desk as they crowded closer.
“Oh, oh no honey.” McKay frowned, “That’s not good.”
“You’re telling me.” Your hands are thrown up, ignoring others' eavesdropping on the conversation. Dana had heard it all before, and you were certain Abbot was too busy trying to figure out how to handle this ED without the man you were all gossiping about.
“I mean, if he’s not getting it from you I mean he’s getting it from somewhere right?” She says, as empathetically as possible.
Samira slaps her arm gently, but she has that knowing empathetic crease in her brow.
“What she means to say,” Samira smiles, “He does seem to be going through something, but I don’t think he’d do anything like that do we?”
You met McKay’s eyes, both of you sharing a knowing look.
“No, he probably would.” You admitted, sounding more deflated than you wanted to.
It had crossed your mind, there was no way it hadn’t. He was just a man at the end of the day. The whispers of the nurse slash case manager slash pain in your ass had found herself in this ED almost every day, attached to the hip of none other than your boyfriend.
“Or, he’s just going through something and he’s too ashamed to confide in you about it? I mean he is about to leave on some spiritual journey.” She offers, with much more optimism than you’ve had in months.
“Yeah, okay,” You laughed, “He’s on his big midlife crisis journey to find a little zest of life, a new sense of purpose. Whatever bullshit he’s convinced himself of, but why?”
Your voice cracked a bit on the last syllable.
“I’m right here, but it’s like I'm invisible. Not since Noelle has been prancing around the ER like a bloodhound.”
The drink in your hand is slammed on the counter, the condensation making it slide over a little as you continue.
“Maybe bankrupting people on the worst day of their lives is a new turn on for him.” You grumbled, watching the man slip out of one of the rooms, avoiding even looking over in your direction. “I mean, he won’t even look at me. It’s like he’s a stranger.”
“I don’t like her, and I don’t like him for treating you like that. He’s a grown man, he needs to at least communicate his feelings to you.” Samira sighed, picking her tablet up again, “I have a patient in south, but call me tonight if you don’t wanna be alone!”
“Thank you.” You frowned, squeezing her arm as she ran off.
You settled back next to McKay, arms brushing.
“Do you think he’s cheating on me?” You ask as soon as Samira is out of earshot.
A noise between a scoff and a cough leaves her mouth, “Fuck, I hope not. Maybe try to just ask him before he leaves tonight. The last thing you need is to waste 3 months waiting for him to come back if he’s already halfway out the door.”
“He’s not even halfway,” You laughed, “There’s one pinkie toe left on the door frame.”
”See, you still have your humor. You’re gonna get through this, promise. Especially if you think it’s worth fighting for, but if not? Fuck him.” She smiled
Every part of you wanted to believe her, but optimism had felt embarrassing lately. Your failing relationship was put on display at work and at home. Sometimes it felt like you were the last person to know that it was over. Maybe you were clinging to the past, to the good parts that were no longer there.
There you stood in silence, trying so desperately to absorb her words. Was it worth fighting for? You couldn’t remember the last time he kissed you slowly. The last time he reached for you first. The last time he looked at you without something heavy sitting behind his eyes.
Dana was yelling about traumas incoming before the silence between you and McKay could grow any heavier.
“There goes our break.” McKay sighed, and your shoulders slumped.
You laughed quietly and tossed your cup into the trash harder than necessary before following her out.
By the time you reached the trauma bay, Robby was already there.
He stood at the foot of the bed pulling gloves onto long fingers, posture rigid with that familiar calm intensity that once made your stomach flutter whenever you watched him work. Even exhausted, even emotionally hollowed out by whatever private war he refused to talk about, the entire room still bent around him effortlessly. Residents straightened when he spoke. Nurses moved faster. Everybody trusted him instinctively. You remember when you used to trust him like that too. You remember envisioning him as a god in this ED.
“What do we got?” You asked, slipping your gloves on.
The kid could not have been older than twenty-six. Blood soaked through the front of his shirt and his skin already carried that terrible gray shade that always made your stomach tighten. What was even harder to miss was the large piece of rebar protruding from his chest.
“High speed rollover MVC into an industrial plant,” the paramedic started rapidly. “Restrained driver. Hypotensive en route. Rebar through the left shoulder and upper chest. Heart rate sustained one-forty. BP eighty over forty and dropping.”
The patient screamed the second they shifted him onto the trauma bed, blood soaking through the towels wrapped around his shoulder. A rusted length of rebar protruded grotesquely through the upper part of his chest near the clavicle, disappearing somewhere behind his shoulder blade. Every movement made fresh blood well up around the metal. The room exploded into movement around him instantly. Trauma shears cut through clothing while the nurses prepped IVs.
”Jesus Christ,” McKay muttered, doing the FAST exam while you tried to get breath sounds.
“Get vascular surgery on standby,” You shouted, pulling your stethoscope down, “Diminished breath sounds on the left, to be expected.”
The patient’s breathing was becoming shallower by the second, panic making his eyes glassy as he looked around the room.
“I can’t breathe,” he gasped.
“Stay with us,” you said quickly, pressing a hand against his good shoulder while assessing the wound. The bleeding had picked up noticeably since transfer and blood was now running steadily down the patient’s side onto the sheets below him.
“Pressure’s dropping,” Princess warned from the monitor. “Seventy-two systolic.”
Robby’s expression hardened immediately. “He’s gonna need an OR now, page surgery, again.”
Ogilvie, the new intern, who was just supposed to be calling surgery again proceeded to spin around too fast bumping the rebar just enough to make the patient scream.
Fresh blood poured out around the wound, spilling on the floor with such quickness it felt like a horror movie.
“Oh my God,” Ogilvie gasped, “Surgery is on the way, O-oh my god.”
And before anybody could stop you, your hands moved.
You grabbed the exposed section of rebar firmly with one hand and shoved your other gloved hand directly into the wound around it, bracing the metal in place while applying pressure internally where the bleeding was coming from.
The patient cried out so loudly that the entire room froze while blood immediately soaked down your wrist. You could feel it dripping onto your legs, but you couldn’t do anything about it.
“What the hell are you doing?” Robby snapped, spinning back toward you.
“He’s bleeding around the entry point,” you shot back through gritted teeth, keeping the rebar stabilized manually while your hand compressed whatever vessel had started hemorrhaging deeper inside. “If this shifts again he’s dead.”
“You do not put your hand inside a penetrating chest wound blindly-“
“He’s fucking crashing!” You nearly yelled, frustration pouring off of you in waves. “I know how to do my fucking job Dr. Robinavitch. Do you?”
As if to prove your point, the monitor alarm changed pitch while the patient’s pressure plummeted again.
“Sixty systolic,” McKay called sharply.
”Do you?” He laughed dryly, “Because he’s still bleeding out while you’re having a fit.”
You adjusted your hand deeper despite the patient’s scream and suddenly felt it, hot blood pulsing hard against your palm before slowing significantly beneath your pressure.
The room went silent around the two of you except for the screaming monitor beside the patient. For one horrible second doubt crept into your chest. Maybe you were wrong. Maybe exhaustion and resentment and weeks of emotional whiplash had clouded your judgment. But, then the bleeding lessened almost immediately.
”There,” You breathed out, finally looking up to see his hardened gaze still on you. “Fuck you.”
If looks could kill, you’d be dead on the floor in this patient's blood.
You ignored the gasps around the room, the heavy slam of his palm against the door after he stormed out. You were only focused on the patient, controlling the bleed while the others worked around you.
Transport unlocked the gurney while blood products were rushed in behind you. Surgery came in not long after that, letting you ride up to the OR with your hand against the artery. As soon as he was stabilized, you were dismissed. Adrenaline crashed through your system all at once afterward, your hands trembling faintly as you stripped bloody gloves from your fingers, shedding off your ruined scrubs.
You barely made it into the hallway of the ED before Robby caught your wrist hard enough to stop you. Like he had been waiting to hear you come down the stairs.
“What the hell was that?” he hissed.
You stared down at his hand around your arm before slowly looking back up at him. “Excuse me?”
“You do not disrespect me in front of residents,” He spat, “Here I am your superior, do you understand that?”
The disbelief that hit you almost outweighed the adrenaline still buzzing through your bloodstream.
“That’s what you’re upset about right now?” You could have laughed in his face.
“You could have torn the subclavian completely,” he hissed. “You could have killed that guy.”
“If I didn’t do something he was going to bleed out before surgery even got down here.” You snapped, “I’m a good fucking doctor Robby, and you know it, yet you seem insistent on making me feel like an idiot.”
His eyes finally locked onto yours then, dark and burning with something that looked dangerously close to humiliation. The station had gone completely silent around you both now. Even the residents nearby were pretending not to stare.
Robby stepped closer suddenly, crowding into your space just enough to make the air around you tense.
“Just because we’re fucking,” he said lowly, bending down toward you, “doesn’t mean you get special treatment.”
The silence afterward was catastrophic. Your face went blank for a second before an incredulous laugh escaped you.
“Oh really?” you asked loudly enough for everybody nearby to hear. “That’s interesting considering we aren’t.”
His jaw flexed hard, and you could see the anger brewing in his eyes. The same ones that used to bring you comfort were now glaring down at you.
You took another step closer anyway, eyes glassy now, and lowered your voice.
“You haven’t touched me in fucking weeks, months even.” You said, your voice steady. “So what is it? Are you fucking her?”
Robby looked genuinely caught off guard for the first time all day.
“What?” he snapped, after wiping the guilty look all over his face.
“Don’t act fucking stupid.” You spat, pointing through the doors to where Noelle was standing around the hub.
He laughed, actually laughing and shaking his head like he was dismissing something unbelievable. “That’s insane, Noelle works here.”
Your expression shifted immediately, “Yeah? So do I.” You laughed humorlessly.
“Nothing is going on.” He said quickly, grabbing your arm to pull you away from the nurses as they hovered around the hub.
“You hesitated when I asked.” You barked back.
“I did not hesitate.”
“You absolutely fucking hesitated.”
”You know,” His voice now boomed, everyone undeniably watching the interaction between you two. “Not everything is all about you. Maybe if you actually did your job instead of gossiping about things you know nothing about-“
“Brother,” Abbott’s voice suddenly cut in as he appeared beside Robby, grabbing his shoulder before the situation could combust any further. “Take a beat.”
You were both so lost in the heat of the argument that neither of you noticed him slipping into the hall.
Robby yanked his arm back immediately. “I’m fine.”
“No,” Abbott replied evenly. “You’re not.”
For a moment you thought Robby might actually explode. His whole body looked wound tight enough to split apart, anger and guilt and exhaustion all fighting for dominance across his face. But then Abbott pulled him back another step, positioning himself between the two of you.
Robby just nodded, Abbot tapped his chest once before the two attendings stepped aside. You shared a look with Abbot for just a brief moment, before they disappeared down the hall. You slumped against the wall, the adrenaline escaping you so fast you felt lightheaded.
Your chest hurt, there was this ugly aching pressure sitting right beneath your ribs, heavy and humiliating and impossible to ignore. The cruelty of his words opened your eyes.
Just because we’re fucking.
Like you were some nurse he fooled around with after conferences. Like the last year of your life together had been reduced to something cheap and transactional the second he got angry enough.
You laughed bitterly under your breath, scrubbing a hand down your face hard enough to hurt.
You pushed off the wall before you could start crying in the middle of the hallway and headed back toward the nurses' station on autopilot. Dana sat behind the desk flipping through charts, reading glasses low on her nose while complete chaos unfolded around her as usual.
She looked up immediately when you approached.
“You okay?”
“Sure,” you said, voice oddly flat even to your own ears. “What did Noelle want?”
Dana hummed distractedly. “Yeah, something about some charts. I got a question for ya.”
You swallowed once, nodding for her to continue.
“Does Robby sleep with his TV on?”
You frowned automatically, caught off guard by the question. “Yeah,” you answered slowly. “Drives me fucking insane, I’ve barely seen him lately. Been glad to sleep in the dark.”
Dana’s face fell immediately. clicking her jaw tight.
Your stomach dropped so violently that it almost hurt.
There was a horrible pause before Dana looked away from you briefly, lips pressing together like she was debating whether or not to continue.
Then quietly, carefully, she said, “Noelle said something weird about him sleeping with his TV on. Asked her how she knew that and she just shrugged, said she had some papers to file.”
Your stomach dropped so hard it felt physical. You stared at Dana blankly, your brain refusing to catch up to what your body already understood. Dana’s expression softened instantly the second she saw your face change.
“Oh honey,” she breathed.
“If he’s not getting it from you, he’s getting it from somewhere. McKay’s words came crashing back so hard that it made your chest cave inward.
Suddenly every little thing replayed itself with brutal clarity. The veil is finally being pulled from your eyes.
“How fucking stupid am I?” you laughed softly, though it came out sounding dangerously close to breaking.
Dana leaned forward immediately. “You are not stupid-‘
You cut her off with a shake of your head, humiliation already swallowing you whole.
“C-can you get someone to cover-“
“Course, course.” She rushes out, and that’s all you need before your feet are moving you to the on-call room. The door is slammed with such violence that the sound makes your ears ring.
You barely made it two steps before your knees weakened and you sank onto the edge of the narrow cot, both hands pressed hard against your mouth while you fought to steady your breathing.
The room smelled faintly like old detergent and stale coffee. Somebody had left a sweatshirt hanging over the back of a chair. The television mounted in the corner sat muted on some daytime court show.
Even now, sitting there piecing together the possibility that he had been sleeping with another woman while coming home to you every night, some horrible part of you still wanted him to walk through the door and explain it all away. You wanted there to be another answer. Another explanation. Anything besides this.
There was a soft knock on the on-call room door, making your heart race. When you took too long to respond, it cracked open just enough for you to see Abbot’s head popping in the doorframe.
You deflated, of course it wouldn’t be Robby coming to look for you. He didn’t care, and he probably hadn’t in a long time.
“You decent in here?” His timber voice asked, making you rub your eyes gently.
“As decent as I can be.” You answered, watching him take a timid step inside.
He shut the door quietly behind himself before leaning back against it with crossed arms.
“You scared the hell outta Dana,” he said gently. “She said you looked about two seconds from passing out.”
You looked down at your hands instead of answering.
Abbot sighed softly after a moment. “Listen,” he started carefully, “Robby’s… not doing well right now. I’ve seen it, I know you’ve seen it. He’s said some stuff to Dana today that’s really concerning.”
A bitter laugh escaped you instantly.
“No kidding.” You whistled, eyes focused on a crack in the tiled floor.
”I also know he’s been using you as his emotional punching bag while he falls apart, instead of getting actual help.”
“You seem to have it all figured out, huh?” You laughed bitterly, pressing your palms against your eyes so hard spots filled your vision. “Did you also know he’s been fucking the new case manager?”
You hear his posture shift as he pushes himself off the wall, “What the fuck?”
A humorless laugh broke out of you again before you could stop it, fraying at the edges as it built into something worse.
“I think I’m probably the last person to know,” You laughed, “S’been going on for months. I just didn’t wanna see it.”
“He cheated on you? Oh, sweetheart-“
You don’t give him any time to start the empathy, the anger boiling up inside of you threatening to tip over.
“Listen, I’m a feminist, but what does that bitch have that I don’t? I’m y-younger, I’m prettier, hell of a lot smarter, I don’t spend my time preying on men with girlfriends.” You cackled, “I’ve done everything for him. I’ve put up with his mood swings, I took care of his house, I attended all of his family bullshit, I put up with him putting work before me, I did everything. For what?”
Abbot was silent, his eyes darkening as he watched you lose your composure.
“I mean,” A crazed laugh sputters out of your mouth, “he never even really took care of me. So I wasted all of that time for what? It was always all about him. Him, him, him-“
“I’d take care of you.”
The words hit the room like something dropped too suddenly into still water.
Your eyes go wide, an anxious laugh escaping your lips. “Is that a joke?” You ask, but your throat is tight and suddenly your hands are damp underneath his attention.
It’s then you realize during your rambling he’s taken purchase in one of the chairs across from the cot you were sitting on. Your feet nearly touching.
“Nah,” His voice was rougher than before, and it made chills run down your spine, “I heard you earlier you know? Talking to McKay. He has a sexy young, incredibly talented doctor in his bed, practically half naked and he’s not taking care of you? That’s a fucking shame darling.”
The room went silent after that except for the distant muffled noise of the ER beyond the door and the sound of your own heartbeat pounding so hard you swore he had to hear it too. You couldn’t speak, you couldn’t do anything but stare into his hardened eyes.
“So I’ll say it again, I’d take good care of you. God, if you were mine….you’d never have to worry about anything. I’d practically worship you.” He whispered, shifting his body closer to yours.
“Is this a trick?” You asked, your voice shaky. So was your breath when his face drifted closer without you even noticing him move. He was close enough now that your words brushed against his lips when you spoke. Close enough to count every faint freckle scattered across his nose, every tired line at the corners of his eyes.
“Not a trick,” He assured.
“Aren’t you two friends?”
“Best,” he whispers, and his lips just barely brush against yours.
“Then why..” Your breath trembles.
”I’ve watched him have everything I’ve ever wanted and he still treats you like you’re disposable,” he said quietly, the words tight with something like anger he’d been holding onto for too long. “And I’ve had to stand there and say nothing about it because he’s my friend. I’ve stood there and defended him, because you said you loved him.”
His gaze flicked to your mouth again, slower this time, deliberate.
When did he get so close?
“That stops being easy after a while.” He said, his eyes back on yours.
You’re practically panting into his open mouth before words manage to form, “How would you take care of me?”
His honey brown eyes glisten, “I could tell you…Or I could show you?”
You should have stood up and walked out. You should have told him this was a mistake and you were emotional and hurt and angry and that this wasn’t how you wanted this to go.
Instead, your body betrayed you completely.
Because for the first time in months, somebody was looking at you like they wanted you. Somebody who always saw you. Every nerve in your body feels like it’s on fire. You haven’t felt this alive in a long time.
Your eyes dropped briefly to his mouth before you could stop yourself. He noticed immediately, letting his hand slowly reach up to cup your cheek. His callused hands held your face in his hands like you were porcelain.
“Tell me to stop,” he said quietly.
The words barely registered through the rush of heat and heartbreak and loneliness colliding inside your chest. Your lips parted, but no words came out. You didn’t want him to stop, the tingle in your fingertips and the heat growing in your stomach wanted the exact opposite.
Abbot exhaled shakily at that, forehead nearly brushing yours now. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered softly, eyes closing for half a second like he hated how much he wanted this too.
Then you kissed him.
It happened all at once and painfully slow somehow, your hand gripping the front of his shirt while your mouth crashed clumsily into his. Abbott made a rough sound low in his throat immediately, one hand holding your jaw while the other reached for your hips.
The cheap cot squealed loudly beneath both your weight when you tugged him down with you, the sound almost drowned out by the chaos still carrying on outside the on-call room.
Every kiss felt like you two were devouring each other. Your fingers pushed into his hair while his mouth moved hot and deep against yours, each breath stolen back only to lose it again seconds later. The tension wound through him was obvious now in the way he held himself over you, like he was trying so hard not to crush you beneath the weight of everything he’d apparently wanted for far too long.
His body was hot and heavy against yours, where you’d settled between his legs. His rough hands moving from your hips to cup your tits through your scrub top. He squeezed harshly, making a pathetic mewl escape your lips.
You pulled back just enough to breathe and that was somehow worse, because his eyes were dark and blown wide with lust his mouth swollen slightly beneath fluorescent lighting.
”Darling,” he breathed warningly, one last final chance to leave this room pretending as if nothing had happened.
All you could do was smirk up at him, “Lock the door.”
In all of his years, Abbot doesn’t think he’s ever moved as fast as he did. He was sprinting to the door, locking it, and pulling the privacy shade down. It wasn’t uncommon for it to be occupied during busy shifts. Dana was covering for you and Abbot wasn’t even supposed to be working today.
By the time he hobbled back, you had slipped your scrub pants off, throwing your shirt to the side. You weren’t wearing any fancy elaborate underwear, a simple sports bra, and cotton panty for work efficiency, but to Abbot, you would have thought you were on the cover of a magazine.
“So fucking gorgeous.” He said, holding his pointer finger up in a little spin, “Let me see you.”
You entertained him, spinning around playfully.
He let out a wolf whistle and lay himself down on the cot.
“Do you need help taking these off?” You asked, your hands reaching to tug at the strings on his pants.
He simply shook his head, patting his chest in a ‘come here’ motion. “You’re gonna pull those little panties to the side and sit on my face,” He said slowly, as if you should have known exactly what he meant when he lay down on the cot.
“W-what?” You laughed shyly, “I’m too heavy for that-“
“That's what that bastard told you?” He scoffed in disgust, “I served years in the military, I can handle it. Come here.”
A shiver ran up your spine as you got on your hands and knees, crawling over to him. His arms gripped your thighs, moving you into position as if you weighed nothing.
You hesitated for a moment, feeling his warm breath hit against the embarrassingly wet spot against your underwear.
“None of that hovering shit,” He whispered against you, “Want you to fuck yourself on my face. And I’m not stopping until you beg me. Gonna make up for every time that bastard mistreated you.”
A gasp tore out of your chest when he helped you pull your underwear aside, his mouth attaching itself to your warm cunt. With the first swipe of his tongue, he was moaning against you, his cock twitching at the taste of you.
Jack Abbot ate pussy like he was a starved man, which in a way he was.
He’d spent the last year pining over you from afar, fisting his cock in the shower after a long shift thinking of you. Now? He was cherishing this as if it was his last meal, because hell it might be.
You stayed still on top of him, too focused on the sensation crawling up your body to realize you weren’t moving.
A small smack echoed through the room, his hand tapping your ass making you cry out.
“I said, fuck my face.”
He could feel you hesitating, could feel the way our hips urged to grind against him on a particular lick.
“F-fuck,” You cried, “I can’t-“
He pulled away again, his eyes pleading with you. “Baby, I only got one good knee but I’ll get down on it and beg if I have to.”
A huff left your mouth as you pressed further into him, letting your cunt drag messily against his mouth. The sensation had you crying out his name. Between the soft stubble of his jaw, the wet heat of his tongue, and his nose nudging against your entrance with each lazy drag you were falling apart against him in no time. He talked you through it, his hands forcing you to keep grinding against him. Urging you to keep going.
“I c-can’t,” You cried out, and in response, all he did was laugh into your heat. The vibration causing your toes to curl.
“M’ you can.” He spoke in between sloppy strokes of his tongue.
It was like he knew your body like the back of his hand, already as he slid his tongue inside of you using his nose to rub against your swollen clit.
You were coming again almost instantly, your hands coming down to run through his short curls. As you came you yanked against the roots, pushing him even further into your heat. All your fears of hurting or suffocating him were out the window, and Jack? Was living his absolute dream.
“Oh, oh god.”
You tried to pull off of him, only to be stopped by his heavy arms curling around your thighs once again. He just chased you, keeping his mouth attached to you.
“F-fuck, I want you to fuck me so bad.” You were nearly sobbing, your legs trembling in his hold as your cunt practically leaked all over his face. He didn’t care, his tongue was still flicking expertly against you. “Baby, let me fuck you.”
“One more time,” His voice was muffled, his eyes glazed over. Drunk on the taste of you and the sounds that were leaving your lips. “Let me taste you one more time and I’ll fuck you real good baby.”
He was addicted, completely addicted to the feeling of you coming apart against him.
“God,” The word ripped from your mouth, your hips betraying you by grinding down on his face yet again. The tip of his nose rubbing messily against your clit with each swipe.
His fingers were digging so deeply into your thighs that you hoped it left bruises. He’s holding you down on him so hard you have no choice but to let him move you, his tongue hits even deeper inside of you.
Then your eyes are rolling back in your head, your fingers tugging at his short locks as you cum around his tongue again. Each wave is more sensitive than the last as he coaxes it out of you.
There are spots in your vision as you come down, watching him kitten lick your throbbing clit by the time you come back to earth. You’re panting against him, and he’s looking up at you like you’re an angel.
“How was that?” He had the nerve to ask, sweat beading on his forehead while your release coated his face and neck.
You swung your shaky legs off of him, plopping down on the couch with a groan. “You promised you’d fuck me.”
At your pathetic little pleas, he smirked, bringing you in for a sweet kiss on the lips. You indulged him, ignoring that you could taste the hot, sweet taste of yourself on his lips. He’s content on kissing you until you’re all but pulling him on top of you.
You’re so desperate for him when he finally stands up, you crawl over to the edge of the bed mouthing over his clothed cock. It sits heavy in his scrub pants, twitching at the slightest pleasure.
“Oh you little minx,” He groans, reaching down to cup the back of your neck. “You wanna take it out?”
You nod, slipping your thumbs into his waistband to pull the fabric down his legs.
You nearly gasp at the sight of his cock springing out of his underwear, the tip slapping against your face. He’s fucking huge, heavy in your hands as it falls to his mid thigh. Your mouth goes dry, eyes wide as you can feel your cunt clenching around nothing just at the sight.
“Fucking knew you’d be bigger than him,” You can’t help but say, your hand unable to wrap around his shaft.
“Yeah? You thought about it?”
You nod, your embarrassment long out the window. “I see the way you walk around here, knew it was heavy.”
A throaty laugh escapes him as you pump him a few times, he lets out a soft hiss when you swipe at the pre-cum leaking from his tip.
“Come on,” He hums, “Hands and knees baby, let me see that ass.”
A schoolgirl giggle escapes you as you comply, getting into the position that’s the easiest for him with his leg.
His hand comes down and slaps your ass gently, just enough to make you cry out as he positions himself at your entrance.
“Look at her,” he whistles, dragging his tip through your soaked folds, “She’s trying to suckle me in, you want this bad don’t you baby?”
Your hands are gripping the sheets so hard already you know they’re going to ache. “P-please.” Your voice is agonized with need.
“You deserve it,” He cooed, slowly pushing inside of you. “I got you, baby. M’always gonna take care of you.”
Tears escape your eyes in relief as he fills you up, each inch he pushes helps relieve the ache. The stretch is painful, but delicious as your cunt molds to accept every inch of him greedily. Your face somehow falls into one of the pillows, muffling your sobs of pleasure.
“T-there you go,” He praises, “Let it out. Taking me so well, almost there baby.”
You feel like you’re being split apart, in the best way possible as his hips finally meet yours.
“Knew you could take it,” he breaths out, his eyes closing for a moment in pleasure as your wet heat clenches around him, “Tightest pussy I’ve ever felt.”
You let out a jumbled moan of incoherent words, begging, but you didn’t even know what for. He’s buried to the hilt, so deep inside of you it takes you a solid minute for your vision to come back to you.
“It’s so- oh- Jack- fuck, yes.”
“That’s my girl.” His hands are rubbing your lower back soothingly, waiting for the perfect moment to begin to move.
His hips snap into yours in deep calculated thrusts, making you drool all over the pillow you’re clutching like a lifeline.
The pace becomes relentless, his hips slapping so harshly into your ass that if it wasn’t for the loud sounds of the ER it would be echoing throughout the whole hospital.
Just a few feet away outside of the on-call room door, Robby’s hands were interlocked behind his head, sweat threatening to slip from his brow.
“Where the hell are Abbot and Y/l/n?” He asked amongst the other doctors all running to their destinations, “We’re drowning here and my senior resident and attending are AWOL.”
He had no idea your hands were twisted in the cheap hospital sheets, your back arched as Abbot was splitting you apart expertly on his cock.
You were so sensitive and fucked out, it was no surprise your fourth orgasm of the night was creeping up.
“I’m gonna-“
Abbot cuts you off, “I know,” His hand reaches around, desperately palming your clit, “You gonna cum for me? Gonna let me take you home and show me those slutty little pajamas?”
You nod wordlessly, feeling that familiar pleasure rushing through your body.
“M’ gonna kiss every inch of your perfect fucking body, then I’m gonna fuck you to sleep and wake you up with my mouth on you. That something you want, baby?”
“J-jack,” You cried out,
“Breathe,” He demanded, his head falling on your shoulder to coo softly in your ear. “Breathe through it baby, s’just feel it. Uh, there you go. Good girl, good fucking girl.”
You came with a shout, one so loud that he had to place his palm over your opened mouth. You bit down on his palm, drool falling messily through his fingers as he never once let up his pace.
“Oh my god,” Your muffled cries only spurred him on, his balls tightening as your body became pliant in his hold.
“Fuck,” He grunted, “S’good right? Just hold on a little bit, baby. You want me to come inside you?”
Nodding limply against him, your eyes fluttered shut. You felt like you were floating, letting him use you to chase his own high.
“M’gonna fill you up, give you everything you fucking want.” His hips stuttered, before he came with a shattered moan.
“Such a good girl.” He whispered, his body heavy against yours. He pressed a sweet kiss to the crook of your neck, slowly laying you down and slipping out of you.
The newfound emptiness made you whine softly despite yourself, the sound catching weakly in your throat as Abbott pulled away just enough to help clean you up. Your eyes stayed closed most of the time, your body heavy and loose against the thin mattress while the adrenaline and emotion finally began draining out of you all at once.
Every nerve ending still buzzed pleasantly beneath your skin, your thoughts drifting in and out like you were barely tethered to the room anymore.
“You alright, sweetheart?” Abbott asked quietly. His voice sounded different now, much different from the voice that was just whispering filth into your ear.
You smiled lazily, “M’so good.”
He grinned at you, helping you slip your clothes back on with such gentleness it made your heart ache.
Then he stood, holding a hand out toward you.
“C’mon.”
You looked up at him tiredly. “Where are we going?”
“You’re coming home with me after shift.”
Your eyebrows lifted, “I am?”
Abbott just shrugged like it was already decided. “I’m gonna take you to your place first so you can grab clothes and whatever else you need,” he said casually while helping pull you gently to your feet. “Then I’m making you dinner.”
You blinked at him. “Dinner?”
“Whatever you want.” His hands settled automatically at your waist once you were standing, steadying you when your knees wobbled slightly. “Pasta. Steak. Pancakes at midnight. I don’t care. You’re not going home alone tonight.”
”But-“
”No buts,” He cut you off, “We can deal with everything else another day. Tonight let me keep taking care of you.”
You nod softly, your heart aching at the care dripping out of his pores. It had been so long since you felt so held by someone.
“I’ll meet you in the parking garage?” You asked, bringing his lips to yours for one more kiss before grabbing the doorknob.
”I’ll be counting down the seconds, sweetheart.”
When you slipped out of the door, it was impossible to hide the flush burning across your cheeks or the awkward unevenness of your steps. Your hair was a mess from Abbot’s hands in it and your scrub top sat crooked on one shoulder no matter how quickly you tried fixing it.
The hallway air felt freezing against your overheated skin. For one brief second, you thought maybe you’d gotten lucky. The corridor outside the on-call rooms sat mostly empty, only the muffled chaos of the ER carrying faintly through the double doors farther down the hall. Your shift was almost up, so you assumed they’d be stuck on handoff.
Then you looked up and saw Robby standing there. You deflated, turning on your feet in an attempt to escape. He had clearly just rounded the corner, chart still loose in one hand, exhaustion etched deep into the lines of his face. But the second his eyes landed on you stepping out of the on-call room alone, something in him visibly stalled.
His brows pulled together slightly while his gaze moved over you automatically, like he was trying to place why something looked wrong before his brain caught up to it. Your flushed face. The way you wouldn’t fully meet his eyes. Your hair slightly disheveled despite your obvious attempt to fix it.
”Hey,” he said finally, voice rough from exhaustion. “You okay?”
The concern in it nearly made you laugh. Where had a fraction of that care been the past year?
Every part of you wanted to yell at him, to scream and punch his chest for making such a fool out of you. But you could still taste his best friend on your lips, so instead you just nodded too quickly and stepped around him before your face betrayed you further. Your shoulder brushed him lightly as you passed, and the second it did you felt him tense.
“Y/n,” he called after you, more confused now, “I wanna talk to you before I leave-“
His words died in his throat when the on-call door, the one you just escaped out of, opened from down the hall.
Abbot had stepped out into the hallway infuriatingly calm, casually shutting the door behind him while his hands were tying his scrub pants together. His hair looked slightly disheveled, and worst of all there was a smug satisfaction written plainly across his face that made your chest tighten in immediate panic.
You kept walking, planning on grabbing your bag and meeting Abbot in the parking garage anyway.
Robby just stared at him.
The confusion on his face had vanished entirely now, replaced slowly by disbelief so stark it almost looked physical. His eyes flicked once toward the closed on-call room door, then down the hallway in the direction you had disappeared, before finally settling back onto Abbot again.
”What the fuck?” Robby whispered, a cruel laugh threatening to slip out.
This only made Abbot’s smile grow wider, as he sauntered down the hall to meet his friend in the middle.
“Listen, man,” Abbott said casually as he strolled closer, clapping Robby once on the shoulder like they were discussing something harmless over beers instead of detonating twenty years of friendship in the middle of a hospital hallway. “Your willpower’s stronger than mine.”
Robby hardly reacted, he couldn’t. His brain wasn't allowing the pieces to slot together.
He just stood there staring ahead while the meaning settled heavier and heavier into his chest by the second. His jaw flexed hard enough to visibly tick beneath his skin, eyes darkening with something that looked dangerously close to panic underneath the anger beginning to rise.
Then Abbot stopped a few feet past him as he had almost forgotten something.
“Oh,” he added lightly over his shoulder, still wearing that same shit-eating grin. “Tell Noelle we said hi.”
Best friends!rabbot x reader where the reader gets insanely jealous after seeing robby and jack so much as even talk to dr al hashimi and she's being a brat they just have to pay little attention to her for her to calm down maybe she marks them up and stakes her claim
If they are they'll text or one of them will come up and take you home before returning for whatever held them back in the first place.
You've called once. Sent three messages.
By the time twenty minutes have gone by without a word, you're frustrated.
You just want to go home, get in a nice warm bath, and sleep.
Well...maybe not just.
There's one more thing you want.
One more thing you need.
But they're not answering their freaking phones!
The coil wraps itself tighter within your stomach.
You're angry now.
You pick up your things and practically storm out of the office, barely saying goodbye to your colleagues before you burst through the elevator into the Pitt.
At first you expect the place to be a spiraling mess. At least that would excuse their absence. But instead you find the place uncharacteristically quiet, calm and organized.
However, the shock quickly clears as red stains your vision.
You spot them across the floor, calm as can be, casual even, bags swung over their shoulders as if ready to leave, talking to the new attending.
She laughs at something Jack said, her hand not so subtly brushing against his arm.
Steam practically shoots out of your ears at the gesture, at how he returns her playful smile, at how Robby follows their lead and leans just a little further into her orbit.
You don't think, you just do.
You're standing beside them in a few powerful strides, arms crossed over your chest.
They don't notice you right away, the subtle sting of rejection only adding to your already boundless rage.
So you clear your throat, bratty and demanding.
It's like time stops in its tracks as the two men stiffen, finally turning to face you.
They don't dare talk, no, they don't have to do anything, because as their eyes darken at the mere sight of you, they've already accomplished what they set out to do.
"Hello," it's her who speaks first. "I'm doctor Al-Hashimi, is there something I can help you with?"
You give her a tight lipped smile, never one to be rude.
"No, I'm sorry," you reply sweetly. "I just need to borrow those two."
Jack smirks to himself, fully aware of just how turbulent your water is beneath that sweet facade. Robby on the other hand, is absolutely gobsmacked.
His brows scrunch in confusion, he honestly expected more from you.
The plan was to rattle you, so why aren't you rattled?
Jack catches his internal turmoil, his grin only widening as he continues with his rehearsed play, looking down at his watch and apologizing to you, time got the better of them and all that bullshit.
He turns to Al-Hashimi and says goodbye before steering you towards the parking lot, knowing Robby will follow behind him obediently, but not before leaning down to whisper in your ear—
"It was Robby's idea."
Robby's entire world is turned upside down as you push him into the back of Jack's truck.
He has no time to process what's happening as you throw yourself over his lap, your legs wrapping around his waist as your mouth attaches itself to his.
Jack chuckles darkly as he settles into the driver's seat, turning the rearview mirror so he can watch the two of you before he starts the engine.
Robby finally reacts as your desperation processes through his brain.
You're jealous.
Their plan has worked marvelously.
His hands eagerly snap up to grab your body, silently thanking Jack for tinting his windows the second he bought the vehicle.
Robby does little to stop the assault of your mouth on his body.
He relishes it even.
The kiss quickly turns more heated as your tongue demands entrance into his mouth and he gladly obliges.
It's a clash of want and need, of desperation and assertion, of finally, letting go after months of them pushing you, molding you, turning you into this.
He can't help but think back to the first time this happened, how shy you'd been, how you thought you were doing something wrong.
Whoever that person was is no longer as you stake claim to what is now yours.
Your teeth nip at his lower lip, pulling it back in tandem with Robby's unashamed touch. Strong hands slide up your back under your shirt, skillful fingers making quick work of your bra to sneak beneath the cup while the other undoes your pants.
You moan into his mouth as his fingers pinch your nipples.
"Oh honey," Robby coos. "Are you angry we left you waiting?"
You don't answer, you simply glare at him, eyes turned obsidian with lust.
Jack chuckles darkly at the display.
"We didn't mean to, kid," he adds fuel to the fire. "It's just— she's new, you know? Didn't want to make her feel bad if we just left after our shift."
You turn to stare daggers at him next.
Your mouth opens to retort, to complain, to let your anger be known. It's then that Robby decides to slide his fingers inside your panties.
Your brow instantly scrunches in pleasure, whatever anger swiftly turning into need.
You moan, hips thrusting into Robby's hand.
Snapping your attention back to the chief attending beneath you, your head falls slack over his shoulder, finally getting what you've been after.
"Aw, is this what you needed, honey?" Robby mocks. "Just wanted our attention all to yourself?"
You manage a nod, your own hands sneaking between your bodies to pull Robby's thick erection out of his scrubs.
"That's it, good girl," Robby continues to roll the pads of his fingers over your clit. "Take what you need."
"No," Jack intervenes sharply, causing the two of you to freeze. "Only she gets to cum."
Robby is about to complain, to fight back but then Jack turns to him, trust me written all over his face.
And so Robby does, with his life.
"You heard the man," Robby confirms and you tentatively remove your hands from his crotch, causing a whine to exhale from his already puffy lips.
Your attention gets brought back to them then, the way they're stained a deep mauve from your lipstick, how they're swollen from the intensity of your kisses, how they part slightly as he pants desperately.
You're both drunk on it already, the world around you zoning out as you crash your mouth with his again.
This time you take it slow. There's no need to rush, no need to prove anything. He's here with you, not out there with her.
Robby matches your pace, letting you think you're the one in control, luring you into a false sense of security, lowering your defenses.
His fingers start moving again, playing with your sensitive nub painstakingly slow, matching the movement of your lips.
You groan into his mouth, frustrated and desperate.
You detach your mouth from his then and latch onto the base of his neck, where you know he can't hide beneath his long sleeve and suck.
Robby sucks in his teeth sharply, the pleasure from knowing you're gonna leave a mark making his head dizzy with a new kind of possessiveness he never thought you'd show them.
In retaliation, he leaves your clit, his fingers instead sliding into you without warning.
You hiss into his neck, your body tensing over his, clenching around his thick fingers.
His other hand grips your hip tightly, his grip sure to leave bruises tomorrow.
He moves your body how he wants, forcing you to roll your hips in tandem with his movements.
Emboldened by his ministrations, you move lower, your lips leaving a trail of crimson marks in their wake.
"Mine," you mumble into his skin.
"What was that, honey?"
You sink your teeth into his pec, deep enough that he can hide it, and suck like your life depends on it.
"Fucking shit, what the fuck?" Robby belts, causing Jack to laugh like this is the funniest joke that has ever been told.
"Good fucking girl," Jack praises. "Don't go too deep, don't want to have to keep an eye on a wound tonight."
You hum against Robby's skin, finally letting go and running your tongue over your teeth marks.
The hand at your hip snakes its way around your neck then, pulling you back to face Robby.
You've never seen his eyes this dark. Maybe it's a trick of the light or something because he looks possessed.
"You happy?" he growls. "Everyone's gonna know I'm taken now, 's that what you wanted?"
You smirk brightly, positively high off your newfound confidence.
"Yes."
Robby chuckles darkly, curling his fingers deep inside of you and practically forcing you to cum out of nowhere.
Your entire body tenses, bursting into an explosion of tingles that only intensify as his grip on your throat tightens ever so slightly. You choke back a sob as your body spasms in his embrace.
"That's it, honey, give me everything."
You're unsure when your orgasm lets up but Jack's parking by the time you come back to yourself.
You're slumped over Robby's broad chest as he strokes down your back, your heartbeat finally not thundering in your ears, your breathing finally settling down.
"What can she give you that I can't?" you pant meekly, pushing back tears that you hadn't noticed were gathered.
Jack parks the car, turning to face the two of you. The men share a look then, eyes sparkling with unbridled hunger, lips curling into broad smirks.
"Well honey," Robby starts. "There is one thing..."
The way your eyes widen lets them know everything they need to.
