synopsis 𓂃 ໒꒱ getting dragged out of bed before sunrise because jack wants you to “keep him company” was never something you agreed to, but somehow it still happens. you end up on the gym floor in his hoodie, half awake and pretending to read while he trains, only to realise he’d much rather bench press you instead of the barbell. (2.7k+)
pairing 𓂃 ໒꒱ jack abbot x fem!reader
content 𓂃 ໒꒱ established relationship, fluff, jack decides you're the workout instead, playful teasing, no reader weight or body type mentioned, not proof read (sorryy).
You don’t remember agreeing to this, though in fairness, Jack has always been annoyingly good at making things sound optional when they very clearly aren’t. Somewhere between him nudging you awake before sunrise and quietly telling you to “come keep me company,” you’d been coaxed out of bed with the promise that you didn’t have to do anything except sit there.
Now you’re cross legged on the rubber flooring with a book balanced across your lap, drowning inside one of his old hoodies while he goes through the last of his workout a few feet away, and you’re beginning to think “keep me company” was just a nicer way of saying watch me work out because I like knowing you’re here.
Not that you’d ever admit he was right.
The page in front of you hasn’t changed in at least five minutes. Every time you start reading, the dull clink of metal meeting metal pulls your attention away again, and before you know it you’re watching Jack instead, following the slow rhythm of another controlled lift before your eyes drift back to the book with all the guilt like a kid who’s just been caught staring out the classroom window.
“You gonna finish that chapter,” Jack asks, easing the bar back onto the rack before reaching for the towel slung over the bench beside him, “or do you plan on giving page twenty three your full attention for the rest of the morning?”
You glance down automatically, almost as though the book might have turned itself while you weren’t looking (it hasn’t)
“I’m reading,” you insist anyway, trying for something convincing and landing somewhere closer to stubborn.
“So I’ve noticed.”
“I am.”
He drags the towel across the back of his neck, the corner of his mouth lifting ever so slightly as he wanders over, looking far too pleased with himself for a man who’s done nothing but catch you in an embarrassingly obvious lie. “Honey,” he says, stopping in front of you, “I’ve watched you look at me more than you’ve looked at that book.”
You felt suddenly hot being in the room with him, “I was observing.”
“Observing.”
“Mhm.” You murmur, pursing your lips together.
“My technique?”
You shrug, making a show of considering it. “Among other things.” That earns you a proper smile, one that always appears when you’ve managed to catch him off guard.
“So,” he says after a moment, folding the towel over one shoulder, “what’s the verdict?”
You let your eyes travel over him with exaggerated seriousness, pretending to assess every possible flaw before giving a thoughtful little hum. “I think your form’s terrible.”
He looks down at himself as though he might actually find something wrong before his eyes settle back on you again, “my form?”
“You keep getting distracted.”
“I do?”
“You’ve looked over here at least six times.”
“I was checking on you.”
“You were absolutely not.”
“I was.”
“You were showing off.”
A laugh escapes him then, low enough that it almost disappears into the room. “I don’t have to show off.”
“Oh?”
“No.” His gaze lingers on you for just a second longer than necessary. “I’ve already got the girl.”
Your stomach betrays you immediately, “that,” you mutter, closing the book before he can see the smile threatening to appear, “was disgustingly smooth.”
Jack’s smile lingers for another second, subtle enough that most people would’ve missed it, but you're not most people, before he reaches for the towel again and drapes it over his shoulder.
“I wasn’t trying to be.”
“Oh, that’s even worse.”
He lets out a quiet laugh, rubbing the towel over the back of his neck before dropping it onto the bench beside him. “How’s that worse?”
“Because if you actually tried, I’d know you were putting it on.” You gesture vaguely in his direction. “When it just happens, it’s unfair.”
“Unfair,” he repeats, like he’s turning the word over in his head.
“You know exactly what I mean.”
“I don’t think I do.”
“You absolutely do.”
His grin grows just enough to tell you he’s enjoying this far more than he should, though he has the decency not to point it out. Instead, he nods toward the bench behind him, his expression settling back into that calm, unreadable look you’ve never quite figured out.
“C’mere for a second.”
“Come here for a second,” you mimic under your breath, lowering your voice in an admittedly terrible impression of him as a reluctant smile tugs at your lips. You’d learned very early on that those five words usually ended with you agreeing to something ridiculous, and the worst part was that you’d follow him anyway. “You know every questionable idea you’ve ever had has started exactly like that, right?”
“I don't think that's true.”
“Oh, really?” You fold your arms across your chest, giving him a look. “You got me to go camping with those exact words.”
A huff of laughter slips from him as he remembers it. “You liked camping.”
“I liked the cabin after we left the campsite,” you correct, unable to stop yourself from smiling. “There's a very important difference.”
“You still came.”
“I was manipulated.”
“You made a choice,” he says, far too calmly for someone revising history right in front of you.
“I made a mistake.”
His grin grows just enough to give him away. “You've made that mistake more than once.”
You try to hold your glare, but he has an annoying habit of waiting you out without saying much. It works far more often than you'd like to admit, and judging by the look on his face, he knows it.
“What is it?” you ask, setting the book beside you, “and don’t say ‘nothing,’ because you’ve got that look.”
“What look?”
“The one that gets me into trouble.”
Jack looks genuinely unconvinced. “I don’t get you into trouble.”
You don't even answer straight away. Instead, you just look at him, waiting for him to realise how ridiculous that statement is. He holds your stare without so much as a hint of guilt before the corner of his mouth finally gives him away.
“Often,” he concedes.
“There it is,” you mumble, unable to stop yourself from smiling. “I was wondering how long it'd take you.”
Rather than arguing his case any further, he simply holds out his hand. He never tells you to hurry or asks twice, and somehow that's exactly why it works. You eye his outstretched hand with as much suspicion as you can manage before looking back up at him. “I really should start saying no to you.”
“You do,” he reminds you. “You just never stick to it.”
You let out an exaggerated sigh, already reaching for his hand despite yourself. “I really need to start working on that.”
“That'd be new.”
“It would,” you admit, letting him pull you to your feet before pointing a finger at him. “Don't get used to it.”
“I wasn't planning on it.”
“I hate proving you right,” you grumble as he starts leading you toward the bench, though the complaint loses most of its bite the second his thumb brushes absentmindedly across the back of your hand.
Jack glances over at you with a smile. “No, you don't. If you really hated it, you'd still be sitting on the floor.”
You open your mouth with every intention of arguing, only to realise you're already standing exactly where he'd wanted you. “…Don't,” you say glaring at him.
“I didn't say anything,” he says, looking entirely too innocent.
“You were about to.”
“I was thinking about it.”
“That's close enough,” you decide before he can dig himself into an even deeper hole, earning a laugh from him as he finally lets go of your hand and nods toward the bench.
“Lie down for me.”
Your eyes flick from the bench to him again, suspicion settling in almost immediately. “I'm sorry... are we skipping the explanation entirely?”
“I'll explain in a second,” he promises.
You groan, already shaking your head. “You know, that sentence has never once made me feel better.”
“It'll make sense.”
“It better.”
He doesn't try to convince you after that, he just waits.
You've always admired that about Jack. He never pushes you into a decision or pesters you until you cave. He'll throw an idea your way, then stand back and let you come around on your own, even if the look on his face says he's already got a pretty good idea of how it's going to end.
You shake your head with a laugh as you climb onto the bench. “If this turns out to be one of your terrible ideas, you'll be hearing about it for the rest of your life.”
“I figured as much.”
You settle back folding your hands over your stomach as though you were preparing for surgery instead of whatever ridiculous plan he'd cooked up. Jack hangs back for a moment, looking you over to make sure you're comfortable before taking another step closer.
“So?” you ask, peeking up at him. “Are you finally gonna tell me what this master plan is, or are you just enjoying watching me panic?”
His mouth twitches ever so slightly. “I'm enjoying watching you overthink it.” He moves closer, resting a hand lightly against your side as he straightens the edge of your hoodie without really thinking about it. “I'm gonna lift you.”
You blink at him, waiting for him to laugh, thinking that maybe this was one of his usual awful jokes he tells you often. “You're gonna what?”
“I'm gonna lift you,” he repeats, like he's suggesting the two of you stop for coffee on the way home.
You stare at him for another second before a laugh escapes you, “no, you're not.”
“Yeah,” he replies, looking almost amused by your disbelief. “I am.”
“No.”
“Honey.”
“Jack.”
“You’ll be fine,” he says, like that's somehow the part you've got wrong.
You shake your head, trying not to laugh. “I'm not questioning whether I'll be fine. I'm questioning why this has suddenly become part of your workout.”
“It didn't. It became part of my morning.”
You narrow your eyes at him, “those are two different answers.”
“They're also both true.” The worst part is that he seems perfectly satisfied leaving it there.
“You are so lucky you're charming.”
“I've been told.”
“By who?”
“You.”
That earns him an immediate frown. “I don't remember saying that.”
“You implied it.”
“I absolutely did not.”
A laugh escapes him as he reaches over to fix the sleeve of your hoodie. “Just stay still for me.”
“You say that like I'm a flight risk.”
“You fidget.”
“I do not fidget.” You say mouth agape at the accusation he chucks at you. “You've moved three times since you laid down,” he reminds you, entirely too pleased with himself. “I'd say that counts.”
You scoff, shaking your head slightly like the whole conversation is already getting away from you. “That’s different.”
“How?” he asks, like he’s genuinely willing to wait you out on this.
“I don’t know, it just is,” you say after a second, dragging it out a little because you refuse to give him anything better than that.
“Convenient,” he replies immediately, and you can practically hear the grin in his voice before you even look at him.
“Oh, don’t start,” you warn, though it comes out more tired than threatening, because he’s already in that mood where everything you say is going to make it worse for you. His grin only grows at that, like you’ve confirmed exactly what he wanted. “I can’t stand you.”
“I know,” you say, without missing a beat, though there’s no real bite to it. Then, because he clearly enjoys pushing it too far, he adds, “That wasn’t an invitation to be sweet, by the way.”
“I know that too,” you shoot back immediately, and the second it leaves your mouth you regret it when you catch his expression, which was far too pleased, like he’s just won something he didn’t even have to try for.
That look alone makes you roll your eyes again. “You’re insufferable.”
“Ready?” he asks after a moment, like none of the previous exchange mattered at all, already shifting the focus back to what he actually came here to do.
You exhale, still half annoyed, half amused despite yourself. “As I’ll ever be.”
He slips an arm beneath your shoulders and another beneath your legs, pausing long enough to make sure you're settled before he moves. Even now, with whatever ridiculous idea he's got planned, he's paying more attention to whether you're comfortable than anything else. “Don’t laugh if I scream,” you warn him, narrowing your eyes.
“I wasn’t planning on laughing,” he says, like that alone should settle it.
“You definitely were,” you answer immediately.
“I was planning on smiling.”
“That’s somehow worse,” you mutter, already regretting whatever this is about to turn into.
“It usually is,” he says, like he’s entirely unbothered by your judgement. That’s all the warning you get before everything shifts at once.
One moment you’re lying back on the bench looking up at him, and the next you’re moving with him in one smooth motion that knocks the air out of you more from surprise than anything else. A laugh slips out before you can stop it, half disbelief and half shock, because your brain doesn’t quite catch up fast enough to process how easy it feels. “Oh my God,” you blurt, staring up at him like he’s done something completely unreasonable.
Jack looks down at you, that familiar curve of his mouth showing up the second he hears you laugh. “You alright?”
“Am I alright?” you repeat, still staring at him like he’s lost his mind. “Jack, this is insane.”
“You said that already.”
“I’m saying it again because I mean it.”
He doesn’t respond, just lowers you back down and brings you up again like it’s nothing more than a simple motion, showing no signs of struggle or hesitation , just the steady rhythm that makes it look far too easy to question.
“You keep looking at me,” you point out, laughing when you catch him doing it again.
“I’m making sure you’re comfortable.”
“You’ve checked like five times.”
“I’m checking again.”
“You are the most cautious reckless person I’ve ever met.”
That gets a proper laugh out of him, his head shaking slightly. “I don’t think those words belong together.”
“They do when they’re describing you.”
“They really don’t.”
“They absolutely do.” He lowers you again, and by the time he brings you back up, you’re already laughing before you’ve even reached the top, mostly because of the look on his face, far too satisfied with himself for someone acting like this is normal.
“You planned this,” you accuse immediately.
“I had the idea,” he says, like that somehow clears him of everything.
“Don’t push it,” you warn, though it barely holds any weight, especially not with the way he looks at you when he says, “I wasn’t,” which is obviously a lie you both ignore.
You shake your head, a laugh slipping out as you glance at him properly, “I know exactly what you’re doing,” and he hums like he’s entertained, asking, “Oh yeah?” even though he already knows the answer.
“You want me to admit you were right,” you say, because there’s no point pretending otherwise when he’s standing there like that.
“You didn’t have to,” you shoot back immediately, which is what finally gets him, his expression shifting just enough for a smile to settle in as he holds out his hand like he’s been waiting for this exact ending the whole time, “I still won.”
You take it with a dramatic sigh, letting him pull you up before giving his shoulder a light shove that he barely reacts to, “you are never going to let me forget this, are you?”
“Probably not.”
“I knew it.”
“But,” he adds, slipping an arm around your shoulders as you head toward the door like it’s the most natural thing in the world, “I’ll let you tell everybody it was your idea.”
You look up at him immediately, narrowing your eyes as a laugh slips out of you. “Oh, you are unbelievable.”
Rabbot on grindr, but because of how many folks they see in the ER, they don’t have face pics and they only send them before a hookup. One night, too late or too early, depending on who you ask, they each see the other’s profile.
I feel like I know that constellation of freckles, Robby thinks as he zooms in. And those arms, I’ve fantasized about those arms. That looks like Jack’s prosthesis too. But… no it couldn’t be. Jack wouldn’t be on Grindr.
His frame looks familiar, and the way he stands, Jack thinks. Robby’s got chicken legs like that too, doesn’t he? Jack’s imagined worshipping those knobby knees a thousand times. And that dusting of arm hair and those long hands… No, no, that’s not Robby. He wouldn’t be on Grindr.
One messages the other, feeling a twinge of guilt for how they’re salivating over features that they’ve longed to touch, to kiss, to caress for decades. I’ve got a type, they both insist to themselves, that just so happens to be my best friend.
Neither one asks for a face pic, and they arrange to meet at a bar equidistant from both their houses (one that they go to all the time: it’s safe and comfortable and they assume the other proposed it).
I’m outside, Jack sends a message over Grindr, feeling as nervous as if this wasn’t just a quick beer before picking a place to go. As if this were a first date and maybe the last one he’d ever have.
Robby’s phone chimes just as he enters the brewery. He weaves through the crowd and finds the door to the outside. The tables are full, but only one table has a single man sitting at it. The man’s hair is curly salt-and-pepper, hair that Robby’s imagined pulling and tugging and threading his fingers through. But Jack wouldn’t sit facing away from the door, Robby thinks.
He rounds the table and every step reveals a new feature that he explains away. The tapping fingers? He’d never seen Jack as nervous as this man. The way he keeps checking his phone? Jack forgot his phone in his jacket all the time, saying they were society’s leashes.
He denies and denies like bubbles coming out of a hot spring to catch on the surface and hold and merge. He says, “hey.”
The man pulls off his reading glasses and his hazel eyes lift to meet Robby’s. It’s only then that the realization hits and the bubbles burst.
Jack’s gotten used to it, to Robby’s six week itches. He learned to tuck his chin and catch the punches with his forearms. His heart could only take so much. The blocks worked to protect his heart, but he still wound up bruised after each announcement.
“I think she’s the one,” Robby would say. And a month and a half later, “it’s not working out.” A decade ago, before Janey, Robby would add, “and I don’t know why,” but after Janey, he started saying, “it’s my fault. You know the one linking factor in all these breakup? Me.” Robby’s smile was sickly, and it broke Jack’s heart.
Once, in a fit of brave drunkenness, he’d replied flippantly, flirtatiously, “that’s because you haven’t dated me yet.”
Robby laughed and clapped him on the knee.
His heart had been bruised for a long, long time.
And afterwards? Well, Jack tried to move on. Get on the apps, message some people, maybe schedule a date or two. That was, until he mentioned a date to Robby, and Robby, well. He acted like Robby.
Robby had gotten used to it, to Jack being single. After his wife had died, Jack took time to mourn, and Robby stepped up to become his default person. Emergency contact? You got it. Ride to the airport? Of course. Need to sit in silence after a shift with someone else in the room? Hell, Robby could use that too.
Jack had always been Robby’s default person, so it’s not like that was a hardship. He was just returning the favor. Even while Robby was with Janey, he never switched his emergency contact away from Jack Abbot, though he’d gotten close.
Robby didn’t date to find a new default person, was the thing. He couldn’t give a reason why, exactly, he tried anymore. He suspected it was to fill that hole in his heart, the one burrowed into the core of him when he was eight. Maybe that’s why he flitted from person to person, looking for someone willing to make him whole. And when each relationship failed, it wasn’t the other person’s fault. It was Robby’s. He was trying to heal something that was terminal.
“That’s because you haven’t dated me yet,” Jack had joked. And Robby laughed, because that’s how you respond to jokes like that, but those words burrowed into him, a twin line he didn’t dare look at too hard.
Robby shouldn’t have been surprised when Jack told him he couldn’t get a beer on Friday because he had a date. But Robby had never been good at doing what he should do in relationships, so he felt like he’d been decked.
“A date?” He squeaked. He cleared his throat. “With, uh, with who?”
“Someone from an app,” Jack said evasively.
Robby’s mind stuttered through a billion questions he desperately wanted the answer to, and his tongue decided to say the one he didn’t honestly care about. “Is she hot?”
Jack rolled his eyes at Robby and walked away.
Robby spent the whole week fishing as subtly as he could, which wasn’t subtle at all.
“Why are you so obsessed with this, Robby? Let the man go on his date.” Dana had spent the week trying to talk sense into him. It hadn’t been working.
“He just won’t tell me anything about her,” Robby complained.
“It’s a first date. His first since his wife’s death. Maybe he doesn’t want to make it bigger than it is.”
“But it is a big deal,” Robby argued.
“How many first dates have you gone on in the past five years?” Dana rebutted. “Has Jack ever behaved this way?”
“No,” Robby moped.
“Well then, let it be.”
“But—“
Dana cut him off. “If it bothers you so much, why don’t you ask him on a date?” She let out a sharp exhale. “You’re as bad as my daughter when she was a teenager,” she muttered.
“I don’t—“
“You do, Robby. You really, really do.” Dana tapped her pen on the clipboard and started to walk away.
“You don’t even know what I was going to say,” Robby called after her. She waved him away over her shoulder.
Friday began like a readied guillotine, and Jack wound up popping in for a few hours to help out.
“What’s going on, brother? You keep giving me side eye.” Jack leaned on the counter next to Robby and pressed their shoulders together. “Don’t tell me it’s about tonight.” He had a teasing tone, the bastard.
“I was wondering…” he trailed off. Dana caught his eye and raised her eyebrows before she made a very distinct 180 turn and walked away.
“Wondering… what?”
Robby shook his head. “If you maybe wanted to go on a date.” He didn’t dare look at Jack, but there was no immediate response. Then the silence grew longer. Robby would worry Jack had left except their upper arms were still pressed together. “With me,” he added, in case it was unclear.
Jack chuckled, which wasn’t the most promising response. Robby leaned away from him, but Jack’s shoulder followed, maintaining the pressure.
“I’d love to, Robby.” Robby let out a huge sigh of relief. “How about tonight?”
Robby looked sideways at him. “Don’t you have a date tonight?”
“I canceled this morning.” Jack said cheerfully. “My evening has opened up. It’s got a hole the size and shape of Michael Robinavitch, if you’re willing to fill it.”
“But—”
“I’ll pick you up? 8 o’clock?” Jack clapped his shoulder and walked away with a bounce to his step.
“What just happened?” Robby asked the Hub. Dana rolled her eyes at him.
Robby was never used to celebrating his birthday, let alone receiving gifts. Now that Jack finally found his way into Robby's life, he took it upon himself to show just how much Robby deserved his love and everything more.
—
Robby doesn’t have a childhood photo album.
The first time he learnt that this was a thing was in fourth grade, at a friend’s birthday party. Their parents brought out a family photo album and showed the kids sitting around the dining table — this was them at three years old tripping over a scooter, this was them graduating kindergarten, first time at the zoo crying ugly tears being scared of the tiger — while Robby’s friend tried to fight back the embarrassment of being exposed by the impromptu conversation that the anecdotes triggered, Robby’s gaze lingered. Memories documented in such detail was a concept so foreign to him, and what his friend saw as being put on the spot in front of their friends, all Robby saw was a childhood full of love and a kid cared for enough for ordinary things to become memorable.
He was too young to suppress the tiny flicker of longing for something remotely similar taking root in his little heart, but he was old enough to know that it wasn’t a good idea to dwell on these thoughts. He had a roof over his head. He had food to eat and clothes that fit. And even if there were days he cried silent tears facing the wall on his small twin bed, he would tell himself that he had enough. That his bubbe took him in when she didn’t have to. That he should be grateful. That he should require nothing more than what she could offer.
Robby spent his school years teaching himself to occupy the right amount of space. To hold himself in a way that was just tall enough to be acknowledged and not particularly noticed. And when untended emotions left alone for too long threatened to surface, he pushed them down and tucked them away in a box, the lid made up from the phrases he knew too well by heart.
Don’t be too much, don’t need too much, and don’t hope for too much.
That was exactly what Robby told himself as he prepared and packed his bags for med school. He didn’t have a lot of things. And among those things he had less that he allowed himself to call his own.
But he did have photos. Seven of them, to be exact. All different sizes, some faded and a bit wrinkled on the edges, like that of his mom that his bubbe gave him, reluctantly after a night of confusion and tears, and the one of him as a baby, staring into the camera with eyes so big he often wondered what he was thinking back then.
There were other ones, newer and the images more crisp — four of which was given to him by friends or their families. Not exactly photos of him, but more like photos with him in it. Memories that he participated in and happened to be captured with the main characters. People kind enough to give them to him after the film developed. He grabbed a brown paper envelop to put them in, one by one, putting his favorite photo last on the top of the thin deck — the only one he had of him and his bubbe. It was taken on his twelfth birthday, his bubbe asking a favor from his neighbor using their camera. Robby was sitting sideways on her lap in the photo, one foot on the edge of the chair to balance out his weight because he was a growing boy who was afraid that he was getting too heavy for his bubbe to bear. She was smiling at the camera, and Robby was looking at her. Not exactly smiling, but happy. Happy enough for a kid that had already lost the privilege of being a kid for some time.
—
Robby was never a fan of birthdays. When he was younger it reminded him too much of what he didn’t have, and as he trickled into his adult years it became an old habit of being totally comfortable of not being in the center of attention.
That, all changed when Jack came into his life. Robby never explicitly told him the reason why he hated making a deal out of his birthday, and Jack being Jack, understood enough not to probe. But he made sure from the start that Robby didn’t spend the day alone. It began from a casual “do you want to watch [whatever game is on that day] after your shift”, and they would eat takeout, drink a beer or two like they often did any other day when they hung out. Somehow, Jack would always avoid mentioning anything regarding the significance of that particular day, their conversations bearing a thoughtful casualness that made Robby feel comforting.
Robby appreciated it. He appreciated it more than words could describe, because only Jack knew how to leave enough room for Robby to not be self-conscious of his company, but at the same time, stay close enough to fill up that emptiness he was too scared to name. Jack managed to ease into his habits in ways Robby only realized after it had happened, and throughout the years, with the patience held only by someone who loved another dearly and quietly, or someone who was secretly gifted in taming very easily startled animals, Jack had managed to morph the itinerary of Robby’s birthday from a casual hangout to nice dinners out, activities that happened to exist on the same day, to a decade later, coming to Robby’s and cooking an elaborate dinner for him with a dessert that suggest the least amount of resemblance to a birthday cake.
And now, a few months into them crossing the bridge and moving in together, it appeared that Jack had made it his business to start introducing the bizarre concept of gift-giving.
They had just finished dinner and settled in the sofa, Robby’s body loose and buzzing from the abundance of sugar Jack had snucked into the chocolate panna cotta that was apparently also making him emotionally pliable. Because Robby was just now noticing the rectangular object sitting on the coffee table, wrapped neatly by someone who also had the audacity to put a gold bow on it.
“What is this?”
“This,” Jack drawled, not bothering to hide the fond amusement in his voice, his arm coming across the back of the couch and landing on the nape of Robby’s neck, “is what common folks call a gift.”
Robby stared at him. With those big doe eyes that made it more than acceptable to say that he looked like a deer in the headlights.
“Would you like to open it?”
Robby kept staring.
“Hey.” Jack’s voice softened, his hand gently squeezing the back of Robby’s neck, his go-to Robby-soothing gesture in moments like these.
“I know we said no gifts, but this is technically not a gift for you, it’s a gift for us. It just happened to need you to reveal it for us.” Jack paused, letting that settle in.
“Do you think you can do us the honor, sweetheart?”
Robby blinked. He was not mentally prepared for this. As much as he wanted to curl into himself and disappear into his tangled emotions that had been summoned by this situation, the gentleness in Jack’s voice made it hard to think about disappointing him.
As Robby gingerly reached out to the wrapped package, wearing an expression of someone bracing for impact, Jack thought about the conversation he had with Robby, all those years ago, when he asked him what he wanted for his birthday. Robby had looked so scared and startled that Jack sensed there was something buried underneath that Robby was not ready to confide yet. It was later, after talking to Dana and Adamson and bonding over shared love for the same person, that he got a glimpse into what Robby had went through as a kid. Even Adamson had only been told pieces of the story, him being the person closest to stepping into Robby’s orbit.
They all loved Robby. And they all understood that Robby needed time to be comfortable with letting himself be loved. And probably more time for him to believe that he was deserving of all the love they gave to him unconditionally. But they were willing to wait, especially Jack. Especially after Adamson passed and Dana had more on her plate. Jack was determined to show him all his love from the sidelines until Robby felt ready to come to him.
And here he was.
Right next to him.
Holding the gift that hopefully would convince him more of just how lovable and deserving of love he was.
“Jack…” Barely a whisper. Robby was looking down at the unwrapped gift, his brown eyes bright and face so soft that Jack wanted nothing more than cradle him in his arms and never let go.
Sitting in Robby’s lap, was a photo album.
Jack had spent months putting it together, digging through old files and learning about negative films and photography jargon that he never thought he would need one day. But he had wanted to do this for Robby for a very long time. Ever since Robby showed him the handful of photos he had of his childhood and Jack had tried very hard to hold back his tears as his heart ached for him. For a child forced to grow up in a fortnight. For a child who grew up without people having the capacity to celebrate his every milestone. For a child that learnt too quickly to not need what he required. For the child that was still inside Robby, who Jack longed to reach through to and hug him and tell him that he was not alone.
And he got to, in this way.
Robby was flipping through the album now, quiet and nearly reverent. Jack turned and placed a gentle kiss on his temple, before he rested his head on Robby’s shoulder, gazing down at the photos together.
Med-school Robby, smiling at the camera, stethoscope around his neck. Robby in his 20s, laughing, a real toothy laugh that Jack found incredibly endearing. A single photo that Jack was lucky enough to find of Robby in his MSF days. More of Robby as a young doctor, wearing the same serious expression he still did decades later in trauma rooms.
“Oh.” Robby let out a breath, his thumb brushing against the plastic film covering the photo of a younger version of him standing next to Adamson. Robby mid-30s, tall, confident, eyes determined. Adamson looking up at him, smiling, eyes soft, proud. Next to it, photo of them sitting together in discussion. Another page of Robby standing and watching Adamson as he lectured. Adamson patting him on the shoulder while Robby laughed.
“How on earth…” Robby looked towards Jack, his eyes red around the edges.
“With lots of help and some favors promised.” Jack’s finger brushed against Robby’s, tracing over the figure of a younger Robby in scrubs. “Look at you.” He said softly, watching the color blossom on Robby’s cheeks. “Just as handsome.”
Robby’s breath caught, eyelids fluttered as he made an attempt to say something, gave up and went back to the album.
Jack let him. He had all the time in the world. And Robby didn’t need to say anything out loud for Jack to hear him.
—
The next section was getting closer to where they were now. Robby growing out a beard, as the chief attending. Robby presenting at donor meetings. Robby in his element in the ER.
And Robby with Jack. Both of them a decade or so younger, talking to each other at the nurse station. Robby and Jack at conferences together, smiling at the camera. Robby and Jack doing handovers, talking to student doctors, giving instructions.
“And…that’s when I inserted myself into your life.” Jack mused, his eyes catching Robby’s and he could tell Robby was thinking about those days as well. The way his eyes crinkled at the corners and warmth settled into his expression.
“I knew you were gonna be trouble the day you walked into the trauma room with that smirk and snapped on those gloves like you owned the place.”
“Well, I’m your trouble now.”
“I’m having an emotionally vulnerable moment right now and all you do is tease.” Robby shook his head as he turned a page. “You never change.”
Seeing Robby take in the next section was a treat that Jack savored. He would never admit it but he shed more than a tear or two while he put the photos in. It was the most elaborated section, because it was where their story truly began.
And Jack had treasured every single moment of it.
There were selfies of them together. Photos that Jack took of Robby when he was unaware of it happening. Screenshots of texts that made him blush seeing them again. Coffee cups, plates of breakfasts, bowls of salads, but always in pairs. Because they existed as a pair now. Photos of random things that became their inside jokes. Robby sprawled on the floor after giving up on assembling their bookcase. Domestic Robby. Robby making faces. Sleeping. Robby on the toilet flipping off at Jack behind the camera. The last photo, a selfie of Jack with Robby brushing his teeth in the background, wearing only his boxers.
“Was that one really necessary.” Robby murmured under his breath.
“I wanted to capture every moment of you, of the life I’m sharing with you. Because no matter how mundane you think it is, to me, it is you there, with me, alive, and present. And that means so much to me, Robby.”
“You can’t just say that…” Robby nudged him gently on the side, “All serious and that when I’m only made aware of a photo existing of me like this.”
“You should know that I played nice because I have many photos of you wearing less than that.”
“I hate you.”
“No you don’t.” Jack quipped with a smug grin. “You love me.”
“I do.” Robby huffed out a laugh, closing the photo album and putting it back on the table. His expression shifted as he turned towards Jack, fingers interlocking with his.
“Thank you. For the album, for the dinner, and all of this.” He kept his gaze on the album as he gestured between them with his other hand, flustered. “I don’t know how I deserve you.”
“Robby. Look at me.” Jack put some force into his voice, and that caught his attention. Robby stilled.
“I put this together because I want you to know that you’re cared for, that you’re loved. That of all people, you especially deserve something celebrating you. This is only the beginning — all the pages that’s left unfilled, that’s you. That’s us.” Jack used his hand on Robby’s neck to pull him close, their foreheads touching now.
“You came this far, and all I did was gather the evidence that each of your steps counted. And you won’t be in this alone anymore. You were never alone, baby.”
Jack planted a soft kiss on the edge of Robby’s mouth. His nose brushed against Robby’s face, damp now.
“I’m here. And I love you. So much. And I’ll be here no matter what, love you no matter what.” Jack paused, squeezing Robby’s neck to let the words sink in. His voice was rough as he continued.
“And the most important thing is, you deserve all of it, and so much more. And this here, this album, is that love made tangible for you to feel, to touch, to believe in.”
Jack pulled away to look into Robby’s eyes again. Somehow he was also crying now. But through the blurriness he could see Robby, his gaze fond, present, there. And for a brief second he could see a small boy with the same doe eyes staring back at him.
“You’ve got so many wonderful things to see, and so many people to love ahead of you.” He whispered quietly, hoping the words would reach beyond years and, for this time, stay.
Robby is completely oblivious to Dennis's very obvious flirting, thinking it is friendly banter. Because, it just has to be. Why would this young, gorgeous doctor be flirting with an old, damaged man like him?
Dennis is getting increasingly frustrated because he can't tell if he is just being let down gently or if Robby really is that dense.
~~~
It starts simple and quite innocently when Robby is eventually worn down and comes to after work drinks with the Pittlings. He's nursing a beer when Dennis sidles up to him.
"It's nice to see you out of work." Dennis nudges him. "I wish I could do it more." Robby laughs.
"There's only so many times you're boring boss can crash work drinks before it becomes annoying."
Dennis isn't sure if he just didn't pick up on his subtle hint or if he was getting brushed off but either way he's determined to crack Robby.
~~~
Robby is soothing baby Jane Doe when Dennis walks in.
"Hey Dad." He jokes. "This is a good look for you."
"I'm a little too old for that now." He shakes his head, returning Jane to the crib and heading towards the door.
"No, I think you're the perfect age to be a Daddy." He hears Dennis say behind him. Besides a slight falter in his step Robby doesn't react at all.
~~~
When Robby cancels his death trip to focus on his mental health he tells Dennis that he doesn't need him to look after his place anymore.
"That's a shame, I always wanted to know what is would be like to sleep in your bed." Dennis smirks. "I was looking forward to it."
"You're not missing out on much, the mattress is very lumpy. I should probably get a new one." He says matter of factly, pulling his phone out to look at new mattresses and not even acknowledging the implications of what Dennis said.
~~~
Robby groans loudly as he sits down in his chair, his back is giving him a lot of grief recently. Dennis hears him groaning and like a little puppy he comes running.
"What's wrong Dr Robby?" He askes sympathetically.
"My back." He replies, absentmindedly rubbing at the base of his spine. "It's been killing me all week."
"Can I suggest a massage?" Dennis offers, replacing Robby's hand with his own. "I've been told my hands can work wonders."
"I think I'm past miracles kid." He moans despite himself as Dennis fingers start working. "I need a chiropractor."
"We can call that plan b." Dennis whispers, gently massaging him until Dana clears her throat and they jump apart.
In the end, Robby does go to a chiropractor and Dennis mourns what could have been if Dana hadn't interrupted.
~~~
Dennis is in work early, Trinity spent the night at Garcia's and the bus either gets him in crazy early or too late. So he's there before everybody else.
"You look handsome today Dr Robby." Dennis purrs as the attending walks in for his shift.
"Thanks. I actually woke up early enough to wash my hair this morning." Robby laughs as if the whole thing was a joke.
Dennis just stares in disbelief as Robby walks to his locker.
~~~
Dennis has to change scrubs, a rarity now he's been here a while and has gotten better at dodging many bodily fluids. Robby hears about it through the grapevine and teases him about it relentlessly.
"Don't worry, next time I'll make sure you get front row seats to my change." Dennis teases right back and Robby laughs loudly at him, used to Dennis's antics by now.
"Honestly, what are you like kid?"
~~~
Dennis and Robby are walking back to the hub after Robby has just finished stitching up a patient. Dennis was impressed with how quickly and flawlessly he did it and is gushing to Robby, who tries brushing off his compliments but Dennis is not stopping.
"Everybody needs a man who's good with his hands." Dennis even winks so there is no misinterpreting his double meaning.
"Give it time kid, you'll be sewing people up like this." He says, giving Dennis's shoulder a squeeze.
Dennis gives Trinity a look that says 'are you seeing this shit?' and she just shrugs back helplessly. There's just no helping some people.
~~~
Dennis decides to just take the bull by the horns at the end of a shift when its just him and Robby stood in the ambulance bay. He lifts up on his toes and kisses Robby, who looks shocked for a second before ruffling Dennis's hair.
"You kids today, much more open with your affection than me and my friends were back in the day."
Dennis practically bangs his head against the wall as Robby walks off to his motorbike, merrily whistling as if nothing out the ordinary has happened.
~~~
It all comes to a head when Dennis sits Robby down in the breakroom and leans over him so they are eye to eye and very slowly explains himself to Robby.
"I would like you to take me home and I would like to ride your dick until my spine snaps in a completely non-platonic way. Do you understand what I am saying?"
Robby swallows and stutters out a nod.
"And your opinion on that is?" Dennis prompts.
"YES!" He shouts, clearing his throat. "Yes, I would like to do that too."
Dennis smiles and mockingly ruffles his hair.
"Great, meet me by your bike in five minutes then."
It might have been hard-going but Dennis finally cracked him.
Thinking about in S4 when they’re at family dinner eating ribs and Deran is like ‘Pope, slow down.’ Imagine reader lovesss to cook and on his days he fights in the ring, you always make sure Pope comes home to a big homemade meal. You’re skipping around butt ass naked in a lil’ frilly white apron with strawberries all over it - and pretty red pumps to match. Each time you walk over to top off his water or replace his beer, he grabs a handful of your ass. He massages it while you dote on him, and gives it a smack as you saunter back to the kitchen - leaving fingerprints of whatever sauce he’s been sucking off his fingers on your ass cheek. 🥵
In the morning you’d make him an omelette with bacon and eggs, coffee and fresh squeezed orange juice. You set it down in front of him with a couple advil and a sweet kiss to his cheek. When he’s done, you take his empty plate and start the dishes. He comes up behind you and spins you around to face him. His beefy, veiny arms lift you on top of the counter.
“What are you-? Andrew!” You squeal, squeezing his shoulders tight while he picks you up like it’s nothing.
“Not finished eating, baby. Need something sweet.” He crouches down til he’s eye level with your pussy. He looks up at you with intense, hazel eyes surrounded by swollen cuts and purple bruises. His eyes are glassy as he holds your gaze for a moment, before diving into your glistening cunt. Your hands reach for his curls, tugging them as your back arches against the kitchen cabinets.
He eats your pussy like he didn’t just have breakfast seconds, just absolutely fucking devours it. He’s swirling his tongue around your folds while sucking on your puffy clit. And while he looks all dark and brooding with his injuries, he gets insecure and keeps looking up at you every so often to ensure he’s making you feel good.
“Oh Andy, yes! Right there,” you moan, giving him the reassurance he needs. He pulls away to put one finger - then two - into your sopping cunt. His chest vibrates with a low groan watching you clench around his thick digits, the squelching sound music to his ears. He puts his mouth back on your clit, resuming his previous movements while pumping his fingers in and out of you. It’s slow at first to get you used to them, and then he picks up the pace and curls his fingers, eliciting a particularly high pitched whine from you. You push his head down a little out of excitement, shoving his face deeper into your weepy pussy.
Pretty soon you’re coming undone on his mouth and fingers, legs squirming over his shoulders. He eats you through your orgasm, lapping and slurping up every last drop. When he’s finished he licks his fingers, savoring the taste of you. He was right, you were sweet. He presses soft kisses against the insides of your shaky thighs, nuzzling his nose into the plushy skin. He stands and helps you climb off the counter.
“Wrap your legs ‘round me, sweet girl.” You do as you’re told and wrap your legs around his waist. “Come on baby, let’s get you cleaned up.” Safe to say you had round two in the shower - back pressed against the ceramic tile while he’s holding you up off the ground in the position you’re in now - fucking up into you and tearing up when he cums inside because he just can’t believe he has the love of a woman like you.
smutty blurb request for agegap robby where he likes to end the day with you riding his thigh/dry humping until you make a mess on his lap so he can clean you up before bed? 😵💫
blurb requests are open — ♡
oh sweet nonnie...... this was so much fun to write omfg.
quick warning: excessive daddy kink and indulgent uses of petnames!
robby likes to think he's doing better now, finding new routines to have a healthier work-life balance. he doesn't stay later than his alotted shift and he's got something else to help him destress once he gets home.
you.
"fuck, daddy—!" you squeal as your legs slot around his thigh, your panty-clad clit rubbing against the firm muscle beneath you. robby grunts as you push his shoulders back against the headboard from your eagerness. you're like a bunny on his lap, young and overeager in the way you chase your pleasure like this.
"feels good, princess?"
his tone is condescending, dark eyes glimmering with poorly-hidden lust behind his readers, as his large hands grope your perky ass to guide your squirming hips. his own cock is stiff, pressing against his thigh, but he ignores it in favor of the way your tits bounce in the white negligee you have on.
"mhm, so so good," you mewl and one hand leaves your ass to grope your tits instead, greedy in the way he skims a thumb along your nipple before it travels up your neck to hold your jaw. a self-satisfied moan escapes you, leaning into his palm before he's pulling you in to swallow each sweet noise with a filthy, open-mouthed kiss.
"yeah?" he murmurs against your mouth, gasping into his while he finally slides down a hand to rub your clit with a merciless precision that has you cumming hard in your panties and on his lap. "made a mess, baby."
"sorry, daddy," you whimper but he tsks gently, shushing you again with feather-light kisses along your cheek and jaw. he lays you onto your back before he settles between your legs, pushing the lacy fabric up your chest just for his own sick viewing.
"s'alright, darling, just let me see the mess you made, hm?" his voice is velvet across gravel, pushing your inner thighs apart to see the sopping fabric that greets him. he kisses your clit through the cotton panties, your hips jolting upwards from the sensitivity. "nuh-uh, stay still. how can i clean you up if you keep moving, baby?"
you offer another pathetic apology but it falls on deaf ears when robby makes a home of his face between your legs, his beard rasping deliciously against your slick inner thighs when he tugs your panties aside to lick up the sides of your lips to capture the slick with his tongue. his large hands brace along your inner thighs, the fabric of your panties hooked into one finger to keep them in place so he can delve the tip of his tongue through your folds.
"daddy—!" you gasp as you squirm and wriggle but his arms are steel, keeping you in place against the mattress. it leaves you in the mercy of his tongue, his scruffy mouth determined to lick and lave every drop you've left behind. the low grunts coming from him are muffled but doesn't lessen the obvious enthusiasm he has for eating you out.
"love your fuckin' pussy, sweetheart, so so sweet for me," he mutters, pussy-drunk now as he leans his cheek against your thigh, his calloused fingertips dragging your labia aside to stare at your cunt with the same lovesick expression he holds for you. "look at her, so fucking pretty..."
"ngh, daddy..." you whine as he gives your cunt another slow drag, purposely missing your entrance to spoil your clit with attention. your toes curl as it skyrockets you into your second orgasm of the night but robby doesn't stop, spreading your folds so he can capture every bit of your cum.
when he pulls away, utterly satisfied, his beard is damp with your slick and his readers a tad bit crooked on his nose. "all clean, princess. time for bed, hm?"
Ever since that scene where Robby calmly checks a patient's leg after the anaesthetic kicks in and asks, "Can you feel that?" only to reply with a simple, "Good," I've been completely normal about it... obviously. So naturally, I had to imagine what would happen if Reader ended up as his patient instead and turns out one medically appropriate word is more than enough to short-circuit an entire brain.
Warnings: Fluff, mild flirting, reader gets stitches, minor hand injury/laceration, needles, medical procedures, hospitals, light teasing, awkward reader, oblivious Robby, one suggestive misunderstanding, second-hand embarrassment
This is a work of fanfiction based on The Pitt. I do not own The Pitt or any related characters or settings; all original material belongs to their respective creators.
The emergency department was, ironically, the last place you wanted to spend your Friday afternoon.
You worked two floors up in imaging, meaning you knew every face that hurried past your curtained bay. Nurses you'd shared coffee with waved as they passed. Abbott poked his head in just long enough to ask, "How'd you manage that?" before laughing at your sheepish explanation of losing a fight with a broken mug while doing dishes.
"I won," you defended.
Abbott looked at the neat towel wrapped around your palm, now stained through with blood.
"...Sure you did."
You stuck your tongue out at him.
He chuckled before another patient pulled him away, leaving you alone once more with your increasingly embarrassing injury.
It wasn't even bad. Just deep.
Deep enough that Occupational Health had taken one look at your hand and immediately marched you downstairs for stitches instead of letting you slap a bandage on it and continue your day.
Lucky you.
You sighed, leaning back against the bed.
The curtain suddenly swept open.
"Hey."
You looked up.
"...Oh."
Of course.
Of course it was Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch.
He was already pulling gloves on, chart tucked beneath one arm, his reading glasses sitting low on his nose as he scanned through the notes.
"Laceration to the left palm," he muttered. "Broken ceramic?"
"...Maybe."
His eyes flicked up.
"Maybe?"
"It definitely attacked me first."
One corner of his mouth twitched.
"So we're blaming the mug."
"I think that's only fair."
"Hm."
That tiny almost-smile lingered for half a second before he stepped closer.
"Let's have a look."
You carefully unwrapped the towel. Robby's expression shifted instantly. The joking disappeared. Doctor mode.
He gently took your wrist, turning your hand beneath the examination light.
"Huh."
"What does 'huh' mean?"
"It means you definitely need stitches."
"I figured."
"You figured correctly."
His thumb rested lightly against the back of your hand while he inspected the cut, his touch steady enough that you almost forgot your heart was trying to punch its way out of your chest.
"You get dizzy around needles?"
"No."
"Blood?"
"I work in a hospital."
"Good answer."
There it was again.
Good.
Your brain, traitorous thing that it was, filed the word away immediately.
Robby released your hand long enough to gather everything he needed.
"I'll numb it first."
You nodded.
The injection stung far less than you'd expected, mostly because Robby distracted you by asking about your department upstairs, whether the new scanner had finally been installed, if the radiology residents were still stealing everyone's pens.
It was unfair.
The man had no business making casual conversation while simultaneously being so...
Well.
...Robby.
"Okay," he said after a minute or two. "Let's check."
He picked up a pair of forceps.
Your pulse inexplicably sped up.
He lightly pressed against the skin just beside the wound.
"Can you feel that?"
You genuinely couldn't.
You shook your head softly.
"...No."
His eyes lifted from your hand.
Straight to yours.
"Good."
...
...
...
Your brain blue-screened.
It wasn't what he'd said.
It was how.
Calm. Low. Matter-of-fact. Like he'd been completely certain of the answer before you'd even given it.
Good.
For one horrifying moment your sleep-deprived brain decided to add a completely imaginary second word.
Good... girl.
Absolutely not.
You physically felt yourself short-circuit. Your ears grew warm. Your thoughts scattered in about twelve different directions. You became acutely aware that Robby was still holding your hand.
That his thumb absent-mindedly steadied your wrist. That he smelled faintly of antiseptic and coffee. That—
"You okay?"
Your eyes snapped back to his. "...Hm?"
"You got quiet."
"I..." You swallowed. "Yeah."
He watched you for another second. "You sure?"
"Mhm."
"You've gone red."
"I have not."
"You have."
"It's warm in here."
"The thermostat's set to nineteen."
"..."
"..."
"...I may have embarrassed myself."
Robby's eyebrow lifted.
"Oh?"
You considered several options. Lie. Fake your own death. Jump out the nearest window.
"I..." You cleared your throat. "Your... your 'good' caught me off guard."
"My... good."
You nodded once. "Yeah."
Silence. Then, incredibly slowly—
Understanding dawned across Robby's face. His lips pressed together. Not because he was annoyed. Because he was trying very hard—
Very hard—
Not to smile.
"Oh."
You immediately covered your face with your uninjured hand. "Oh my God."
"You thought..."
"Nope."
"You did."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
His shoulders moved with the smallest silent laugh. "I said one word."
"I know."
"It was medically relevant."
"I know."
"You filled in the rest."
"I KNOW."
For the first time since you'd met him, Robby actually chuckled. A proper one. Warm. Quiet.
The sound somehow made everything worse.
"I wasn't laughing," he said after a moment, picking up the suture needle. "Just..."
"You absolutely were."
"...A little."
You groaned into your hand. "I'm transferring hospitals."
"No, you're not."
"I'm moving states."
"You work upstairs."
"I'll quit."
Robby smiled—an honest one this time. "I'd miss having radiology answer their phone."
You peeked at him through your fingers. "...Really?"
He met your eyes again, the teasing fading into something softer. "Really."
Your heart did another irritating little flip.
He looked back down at your hand, slipping effortlessly into doctor mode once more. "Ready?"
You nodded.
He placed the first stitch with practiced precision.
"Can you feel that?"
You smiled to yourself this time. "No."
"Good."
You bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from smiling any wider.
Across the hall, Abbott happened to glance through the open curtain just in time to catch the ridiculous expression on your face. He looked at Robby. Then back at you.
summary: despite you and robby agreeing to keep your strictly physical relationship under wraps, you self-combust when your attending keeps calling you 'sweetheart'.
wc. 1k
notes.this is completely based off my lab partner calling me 'sweetheart' and me nearly breaking a vial. enjoy :)
Sweetheart. Sweetheart. Thanks, sweetheart.
It replays in your head like a cursed audio loop as you meander your way through the Pitt. You stay focused but your mind circles back to it. Sweetheart.
The nickname (petname? Term of endearment? The fucking key to the unraveling of your psyche?) continues to echo around your head that Dana mistakes your distracted countenance for exhaustion and hustles you to the break room with a protein bar in hand. You take the few minutes of reprieve in hopes to recalibrate your headspace, prep yourself for the remaining hours of your shift, but instead you chew on that small little instance that rocks the world beneath your feet instead.
Dr. Robby had called you sweetheart.
It's not the first time he's called you anything by your name, given the fact that the two of you have been sleeping together by the time your final year of residency kicked off a few months ago. But the two of you have been detached and professional outside of the bedroom, managing to find time even when you've been moved over to the night shift to avoid any suspicion.
Covering a double means seeing Robby and you didn't realize how it rearranges the neat order of your life to see him in daylight after your midnight trysts.
"Hey."
Speak of the devil—
"Hi," you wave your half eaten protein bar, already leaning forward to get to your feet from where you've been hiding in the break room. "Did you need me for something?"
He shakes his head, a warm hand pressing on your shoulder to sit you back down while he remains standing. The distance, the way your head tilts up to meet his gaze, makes his head shortcircuit. The image flickers and the hospital is replaced with his bedroom, your chair replaced with his floor as he gazes down at you—
He blinks and the hospital shifts back into view. "No, Dana told me you were in here takin' a breather. You okay?"
You nod and take another chomp of your bar. "Yeah, she said I got a little spacey. Oh, the woes of a double."
A chuckle rumbles through his chest as he absentmindedly tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear. It's done casually, like he didn't even think about what he's doing. Second nature. "Make sure you get some sleep tonight, sweetheart. Did you need a ride?"
"I—" Your lashes flutter, mouth parting slightly in shock. "Um. Yeah. Yes, please."
Something settles in his chest at your easy compliance. "Good. Meet me at the ambulance bay after handoffs then."
The door shuts behind him when he leaves you but you're still staring at the door in utter befuddlement. When did Dr. Robby get so… boyfriend?
—
The rest of the shift goes by smoothly, enough traumas (and even a degloved foot) to keep your mind on the fact that the attending you've been fucking has suddenly taken on the boyfriend mantle. It's disarming to say the least, garnering attention from the other day shift residents and nosy nurses whenever Robby hovers close enough to touch.
"Sweetheart, go finish charting," he interrupts your conversation with McKay, steering you away from chairs where you've been headed to help triage. "Your shift's almost over and you've been dead on your feet."
Exhaustion has you nodding in easy agreement as the older woman enlists Joy instead to help out but the familiar petname zaps you awake the moment you settle behind the computer.
Beside you, wheels scrape against linoleum floors and Trinity is immediately hissing in your ear in absolute giddy— "'Sweetheart'?"
You wince and shove her shoulder to push her off before glancing up to see Princess and Perlah nowhere to be seen. "Shut up."
"Since when did you and Dr. Grumpy make things official?"
The cursor blinks in front of you as you try to recall your last patient. "We didn't. And stop talking so loud—!"
"Please— the entire department know you two have been messing around, I just didn't think he's been promoted to boyfriend—"
"Who got promoted to boyfriend?"
Your stomach drops and you peek over your shoulder to see the man in question, holding his bag and yours. Trinity's grin is downright villainous as she rises from her chair to make her exit. "Nothing, Dr. Robby. Have a good night, you two."
Your fingers fly across the screen to finish and submit before getting to your feet. When you reach up to grab your bag, he angles his shoulder away to stop you. "Dr. Robby—"
"No, I got it. Come on, I took the car with me today."
You trail behind him in slight apprehension but upon feeling the curious looks from incoming night shift (as well as Dr. Abbot's amused stare), you scurry faster to walk beside Robby.
"Did I do something?" you blurt out before the two of you can get too far.
Robby pauses, chuckles and gives you a confused but easy smile. "No…? Do you think you're in trouble, sweetheart?"
"That!" You jab a finger up at his lips, feeling the double hit you all at once; your brain to mouth filter is non-existent now. "Sweetheart! You don't call me that, you don't make me take breaks during a busy shift, you fuck me 'til I cry and give me coffee before I leave. Did I miss something important?"
His smile falls and dread creeps in. You ruined it now. "I… didn't realize it wasn't as smooth as a transition as I thought."
"What?"
He sets down the bags to hold you gently by the shoulders, slightly lowering himself to meet your eyes. The simple action makes something warm twist happily in your stomach. "I thought I could've started hinting at wanting more instead of just scaring you off by asking you out on a date."
"… what?"
Robby frowns now and he gently holds your cheek. His gaze is clinical and you realize he's trying to diagnose whatever the hell's wrong with you and not the fact that he's flipped your world upside down. "Did you hit your head—"
"No! I'm fine, I just— I didn't expect you to… want more." You shrug, seeking out this newfound type of attention. "Your seven-week threshold for dating isn't exactly a secret. In fact, I was expecting you to start ghosting me."
A wry chuckle escapes him. "Sweetheart. We've been fooling around for nine weeks now."
"… oh."
"Mhm. So, you ready to head home and get some sleep?"
♡ pairing: jack abbot x fem!reader x michael robinavitch
♡ synopsis: after creating a rift in your triumvirate, jack has hardly felt more regret in his life. wanting nothing more than to repair his, your, and robby's fractured relationship, he makes an admittance to each of you that changes everything.
♡ content: angst, threesome, p in v, creampie, fondling, jack has feelings for robby, robby & jack share & try to breed reader
♡ a/n: written thanks to @rufles2's comment on the prev. part 😏
( PART I )
Jack has been quite irritable lately. Such as at home when a Steelers game is playing on the flatscreen and one of his favorite quarterbacks makes a commendable play on the field—something which always makes his head jerk to the left in search of Robby, only to realize with disappointment that he's no longer around. Then is when he sinks back against the sofa with crossed arms and a scowl etched upon his face.
Or at work, when there's a ridiculous case. Like a fairly recent one where a woman swallowed a tapeworm because she "Liked knowing she wasn't alone because her pet was always with her.", and that it "Made for a good alternative to diet pills."
Safe to say that a psyche consult was requested.
But seeing as Jack is the one who caused this whole issue, you're reluctant to provide him comfort from his own decisions.
You figure that if he wants Robby around again, he can very well suck up his pride and tell him as much.
Every time Jack tries to get close to him in the ED, however, Robby goes in the opposite direction, or otherwise swerves around him like a car narrowly avoiding driving head-long into an oncoming accident.
You're not doing any better with the situation.
It was only a couple days ago which saw you crying in a stall in the women's restroom because you were so distraught over the fact that he won't even look at you now. Even when you're in the same room together, he scarcely acknowledges your presence.
You're starting to resent your husband for it.
So now here you stand half an ED away from him, gathering pre-warmed blankets for a homeless woman who came in with a fractured shin due to being attacked two streets over after having her shopping cart wrenched away, and thus stolen.
The matter has been reported to the police, but you've little faith that they'll do anything worthwhile about it.
Once you've reached her room, you set a fresh cup of water on the overbed table before fanning out one of the three blankets you've retrieved for her comfort.
"Thank you, dear," she says with a smile. "Sweet of you to look after me."
You open your mouth to assure her that it's your job to ensure she's well looked after while here at PTMC, until another rumbling voice speaks up from behind you. "That is her specialty."
Turning around, you're greeted by the sight of Robby leaning against the doorway with folded arms. "Jack's looking for you," he states while softly jerking his head to the left.
You half turn toward him. "Okay. Thank you."
He nods before stepping away.
"Is that your husband?" Gloria—your patient—asks.
Turning back to her, you blink stupidly while your cheeks warm. Not in embarrassment, but rather upset. "No," you say with a shake of your head while smoothing the bottom of her top-most blanket into place. He used to be, in a manner of speaking. "Just a—" Friend? Maybe not anymore... "Coworker."
She grabs her cup and pinches the straw between her thumb and forefinger before taking a sip—studying you all the while with a knowing look. Setting the beverage back down, she leans back. "Sure looks at you like he is."
Glancing toward the doorway, she hums in interest. "I'd climb that man like a damn tree."
Your eyes widen and you laugh nervously. "Well—"
She shoos you with her hand. "You go. Find this Jack fellow. And give that tall drink of water a kiss. Just say it's from me if he asks," she finishes with a wink.
A grin blooms upon your face. "I, uh..." You shake your head. "Someone will be in to see you soon, Gloria. Promise."
"Robby told me that you were looking for me?"
Jack studies you from over his glasses. "We need to talk about him," he says while clicking through various panels on the computer he stands at.
Crossing your arms, you wait for him to continue.
Straightening, Jack places a hand against the small of your back while leading you outside. "Not a conversation we should be having in here." He shakes his head slightly. "Should have it at home instead, but why wait?"
Your mouth now agape, all you can manage to do is stare at your husband. "You want to what?"
"You have feelings for him," he states with palms outstretched. "And he for you. Look, Robby is going down a dangerous road that I don't know how to pull him back from. I want him in our lives again. What I want more than anything is to fix what the hell I broke. And offering him a place in our home and—"
"In our bed?!" You exclaim.
He rolls his head to the side while crossing his arms and pursing his lips. "Because you've never thought about it. While I've been inside of you, at that."
You open your mouth to retort, until he cuts you off.
"It's been happening pretty regularly as of late: us having sex while you're off somewhere else in your head. Or with someone else." He stands. "You wanna tell me who, or just admit that I'm on the money to save yourself some time?"
You narrow your eyes at him. "Yeah, well..." You chew the inside of your cheek. Go for the jugular. "You stare at him more than you look at me when we're here."
His lips tug into a smirk. "That's my entire point, sweetheart." He chuckles while cupping your cheek. "I spent so long being afraid of losing the both of you to each other. And like a self-fulfilling prophecy..." He shrugs. "Happened anyway by me trying to prevent it."
You rest your hands against his chest. "Jack," you slide a palm upward to his cheek. "What're you trying to say, exactly?"
His eyes grow glassy and he glances away. "You're not the only one who has feelings for him."
Relief washing over you.
Finally, the truth has been laid bare.
Not one you're wholly surprised to hear, either. At least it doesn't take you by surprise, because you're sure this is hard enough as it is for him to admit to.
"He—we were best friends first, and then you came along and I gained a wife. You both grew close and every time I saw you together, this feeling settled into the pit of my stomach like a fucking stone," he says while gesturing to it. "Like it was inevitable: me fading into the background so that you each could be happy. So that Robby could. Because I would've been willing to let it happen just to save him from himself."
He shakes his head in irritation while looking to the right and nodding. "This helmetless motorcycle bullshit is going to cost us everything." His chin wobbles. "And I'll have driven him to it."
Throwing your arms around his neck, you card your fingers in his soft silver hair. "Jack, just talk to him. Tell him everything you've told me. He deserves to hear it."
He wraps his arms around you. "I'll fucking lose him," he mumbles against your shoulder.
"You will anyway, baby. If you don't do it, I will."
Robby finds himself unable to tear his gaze away from Jack's trembling hands. Something which has always been so steady on his person, he now seems unable to control.
"Just...come home with us, Robby. We can talk about it there—"
He shakes his head. "Nope. You made it clear that was a place I'm no longer welcome. Whatever you need to say, you can do it here."
Jack frowns and hangs his head. "She's in love with you, Robby," he mutters. "It was just...stupid jealously that I let force my hand when I drove you away. And I have regretted it every goddamn day since."
Robby sinks his hands into the pockets of his hoody. "It's just who she is, Jack. She has a heart the size of Texas. Every person who crosses her path in there she comes to care for. It isn't about me—"
Jack lifts his head. "You're wrong and you know it. She told me about the night the two of you talked."
Robby's brows lift and he takes a step back. He shouldn't blame you for disclosing it to him. He's your husband. But for some reason, it still cuts deep: that this secret he thought the two of you shared strictly between you has now been laid bare before another.
Running his hand down the back of his head, Robby looks toward the ED. "I don't know what the hell we're talking about. I need to get back inside."
Turning, he only makes it a few steps before Jack blurts out the truth he wish he otherwise knew how to bury like a dead dog. "She isn't the only one who has fucking feelings, alright?"
Robby stalls and looks back to him. "I'm sorry, what?"
"Tell you the same thing I told her: I was afraid. That the two people I love most in the world were growing closer, and maybe in time I'd," he runs a hand down the side of his face, "Get left behind or—" He squeezes his eyes shut.
Robby turns fully back to where he sits then.
"How many men died next to me overseas? How many patients have I lost here? I finally gain two people—two fucking people—who I love more than anything in the world, and all my mind can do is catastrophize the situation. She'll leave you for him. He'll leave you for her. You're being goddamn selfish, but dammit, if you aren't, just think of what might happen. All things I told myself," he says with an outward swipe of his hand.
Jack stares up at Robby with bloodshot eyes.
Robby snorts with a smirk. "You tryin' to tell me that you're in love with me, Jack?"
When Jack doesn't match his sarcastic demeanor, the smile disappears.
Shit.
If nothing else, Jack is grateful for his change in attitude; the lighter look found upon Robby's face and within his eyes.
With a sigh, Robby seats himself heavily next to Jack.
"Maybe I've felt this way for awhile. And I didn't know how to address it. I just let shit snowball and look where it's gotten all of us. I'm trying to have sex with my wife, but can't get my shit to work because I'm riddled with guilt, she's lying there thinking about you, and you're—" He looks at the stupid hunk of metal that's leaning against a kickstand a few feet away that he'd like nothing more than to take a sledgehammer to. "Just going to disappear."
Robby plants a hand atop Jack's shoulder and gives it a squeeze. "It's just a sabbatical, Abbot."
"That's bullshit and you know it." Jack looks at him. "Stay. We'll take care of you, Robby. You have two people who want you back. Who love you. I am begging you, brother, please."
Robby's eyes flit between Jack's, and he wavers.
Robby shifts uncertainly on his feet, watching as you turn down your and Jack's king-sized bed. "I shouldn't be here."
You pad over to him and caress his stubbled cheek in your palm. "This is where you belong, Robby. It's okay."
His eyes flit from you, to Jack, who's seated on the opposite side of the bed massaging his leg, and then finally back to you. "This doesn't freak the two of you out?"
"Freaked me out more not having you around," Jack throws over his shoulder.
Standing on tiptoes, you brush a kiss over his lips. "You're right where you belong."
You press soft kitten kisses to his cheek before settling on flat feet again. "Is this where you wanna be?"
With gathering tears in his eyes, he silently nods. "Yeah," he replies while swiping at his nose. "As long as you'll have me."
You pant against Jack's chest while Robby fucks you from behind. From between hot, cum-slick walls, his cock eases easily in and out of you. He grips the fleshy skin that surrounds your hips, grunting against the back of your head while Jack strokes himself between your thighs.
This is the third time in a week they've both had you in bed between them. How many times it's happened in the last month...? You stopped keeping tracking of your threesomes awhile ago, they've become such a regular, but nevertheless, beloved occurrence.
"Fuck," Robby growls while lifting your right leg over his hip.
Reaching behind you, you cup the back of his head in your palm. "S—So good," you whine.
He slides his hand upward to squeeze your breast.
Jack scooches closer and wedges his cock between Robby's and the crook of your thigh. "Fuck, that's good," he groans.
Crushing his lips to yours, Jack explores your open mouth greedily with his salivating tongue.
"Mmm," you whimper while groping his chest.
"God, I love you both so fuckin' much," Jack mutters while you tug gingerly at his swollen testicles.
Robby reaches around through your all's mess of sweaty limbs to cup his cheek. "So do we," he rasps.
Slipping himself out of you, Robby begins stroking himself against your back; favoring the mushroom tip of his red, swollen cock.
"Please," you cry, desperate to be filled again. "More. I want more."
Jack lines his cock up against your slick, messy entrance.
"Your turn, brother," Robby mumbles before scratching his beard against the heated skin of your neck.
He slides a hand over the curve of your waist and between your legs. Spreading you open with his fingers, he gazes at Jack from beneath hooded lids while teasing your clit with his middle and index fingers, causing your hips to buck back against him. "All yours."
Jack eases inside of you with painstaking tenderness. Once he's bottomed out against your cunt, you begin to weep from satisfaction.
"Shh," Robby hushes against the shell of your ear. "I know, sweetheart. We're here." He chuckles darkly while circling his hand around your throat. "Both your husbands are right here," he drawls while smirking at Jack.
Jack angles himself upward; making an effort to find that hard to reach place which gives you so much pleasure at their hands. Clawing at his shoulder, you slide your leg over his side instead. "Ah, right there," you whisper while your eyes roll back in your head. "God, please, don't stop, Jack."
With you begging him for more, and Robby's calloused hand roaming his upper arm and bare leg, Jack finds himself unable to prevent what's coming.
Finishing quickly with guttural moan—and for the second time inside of you—Jack throws his head back in relief.
Not but a moment later, Robby eagerly returns his cock to being wedged between your fluttering walls. "You ready for round four?" He questions.
You nod slowly. "Y-Yes. Please, Robby."
Jack guides your hand to his cock that's wet from your mixed arousal. "Good. Because we're not done yet."
Robby sinks his teeth into your shoulder as he begins to feverishly rut away.
You can no longer remember why you were ever hesitant about this arrangement now. For it's worked out so well for you—entirely in all your favors.
There'd been a question posed by you to Jack at one time, in regards to paternity if your endeavors to conceive become fruitful. He'd simply smiled, held you close, and said that so long as the baby was loved, nothing else truly mattered.
Lying between them like this, you think you agree.
And it's given Robby something to hold onto as well. Your love affair, yes, but also the prospect of soon becoming a father. Something which he'd begun to believe he'd never have—a possibility too far gone from his reach.
You believe it to be why he's the one who's always most eager to initiate intimacy between the three of you: to fill a void that PTMC has carved into him through repeated losses he blames himself for. All that pain he couldn't outrun, or outdrive, he now pours into every word he confides to you and Jack in his darker moments, every kiss he grants in his lighter ones, and every touch in-between.
Sliding his hand over your belly, Robby moves his lips close your ear. "You've given me so much, sweetheart."
You slide back against the soft, pliant skin of his belly.
"Let me try and repay it," he murmurs before pouring himself inside of you.
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