yeah I just think robby loves to watch dennis suck his thumb like he's sucking his dick.
his boy so pretty on his knees, such a perfect angel, rosy-cheeked with lidded eyes, peering up at him, so sultry and so innocent all at once. the picture of heaven and hell, righteousness and sin. not that robby believes in that shit, but he knows dennis does, sometimes. it's fitting.
robby gently pinching at dennis's chin, tilting his face from side to side, watching the boy's breathing pick up, little puffs of air against his wrist. robby hums, soft, pleased. dennis is quiet because he hasn't been permitted to speak, and robby doesn't want him to, not tonight. just wants to watch as his baby's eyes glaze over, wants to watch as dennis goes stupid on just one of his fingers.
he thinks maybe it's the quiet control, the intimacy of the ownership, that gets dennis. maybe it reminds him of being on his knees for the god he used to believe in. maybe it's just a release from all the responsibilities he takes upon his shoulders. it doesn't really matter. robby owns him, loves knowing it, loves seeing it, loves feeling it. saccharine devotion.
he cradles dennis's warm cheek in a big palm, cooing softly as the boy nuzzles into the touch, just like a puppy. so cute. you'd never know how much of a slut he was, with how sweet he acts. robby is careful as he presses his thumb between dennis's pretty, pink, parted lips— watch your teeth, sweetheart— sighing through his nose as the wet heat of dennis's mouth envelops his digit.
dennis can't help a soft noise as the velvet of his tongue curls around the pad of robby's thumb, head bobbing on the short length, eyes fluttering as he sucks. the picture of obedience, his precious angel-boy. robby tells him as much, bringing up his free hand to pet through blond curls. theeere you go, attaboy. my boy forever, huh? my good, sweet, perfect boy? yeahh, yeah, y'are. you're so, so good, baby. mine. my baby. <3
summary: you're called into the ED on a rare friday night off, saving you from a disastrous first date. throughout your shift, dr. jack abbot can't keep his eyes off you and lends a helping hand when he notices you're in pain.
warnings: 18+ MDNI, undefined age gap, hint at power imbalance, swearing, slight suggestive content, no smut, smutty thoughts, slow burn (hehe oops), mutual attraction/pining, bad dating experiences, the pitt loves to gossip, santos is a terrible matchmaker, misogynistic/derogatory men (no one from the pitt), slight hurt/mainly comfort, jackie boy and his miracle hands 🙂↕️, dual pov (kinda?), jack & dana call reader kid, sweetheart said once, no use of y/n, reader wears a dress, reader has had knee surgery (and the scars to prove it), partly proofread, medical inaccuracies no doubt, let me know if i missed anything 🤠
word count: 7k
authors note: first crack at writing jack abbot! yes, this is self indulgent, yes my knee is hurting like a b lately. (goldi on a man hating agenda? say it ain't so!). reminder that i live to give ai two big middle fingers 🫶 400 followers celebration - hello what???
song inspo: sweet serotonin - amber mark
divider credits: red line divider by @/omi-resources, medical divider by @/sisterlucifergraphics
Right on time, taking me by surprise
Must have been in your eyes, like me, oh, my
Where you been my whole life?
Where you been my whole life? Oh-oh
Dating had always felt like a chore—a time consuming, anxiety riddled, unsatisfying chore. Most of the men you matched with on dating apps made it abundantly clear that they were only interested in casual, no strings attached fun. It was never fun for you—maybe in the beginning, when you would exchange a handful of flirty texts that had butterflies flapping in your stomach and a giddy smile blooming across your face. But then, once they had you where they wanted—laid out on their questionable smelling sheets, straddling them on their lumpy, faded couch—all the promises they had made over the phone suddenly vanished.
Nine times out of ten they didn't even bother with foreplay, hitting you with "does that feel good?" before spilling in a condom within two minutes of sporadically thrusting into you. You never lied, never bothered with faking a moan—let alone an orgasm—just to satisfy their ego. They were shit at taking care of a woman's needs, and you weren't going to spare their feelings just because it was polite.
So, why you were on a date on your rare Friday night off from working in the ED was fucking beyond you.
You wanted to blame Santos, she was the one who had set the date up after all. She claimed she was sick of hearing you bitch and moan about your dry spell, saying that if you weren't going to get back on the apps then she would find someone for you. And honestly, after working at PTMC for a few years—getting increasingly frustrated after every twelve hour shift you spent with Dr. Abbot—you owed it to yourself to give dating one more try. Maybe this would be the guy that would finally touch you right, finally make you feel something more, scratch that itch that you couldn't reach yourself.
He was your type, just as Santos had raved. Well, your new type. At some point, maybe around month two of swapping to the night shift, your thumb had slipped and the dating apps started showing you men at least fifteen years your senior. Men with fine lines crinkling their eyes, salt and pepper scruff lining their jaws, their terribly posed selfies accentuating their age.
But, surely, these men would be experienced enough to care for a woman's pleasure, right?
Wrong.
God, you were so wrong.
You gave up after two failed dates—one ending shortly after the appetisers because he was still married, the other ending when he got aggravated because his dick was staying semi-hard and had an ego too big to take viagra. Oh, and he refused to make you feel good if he wasn't getting anything in return.
You deleted the apps in the uber on your way home. You tried to convince yourself that it was these men that you kept picking and not you. You sure as hell weren't the problem. Comparing them to your extremely off-limits attending had nothing to do with it, either.
Santos said he was a regular at her gym, no mark on his left hand where a wedding band may have been, with an enticing smile and deep eyes that promised a good time. If only she had spoken to him for more than a couple of sentences.
You internally cheered when your phone vibrated on the table in front of you with an incoming call. You didn’t even bother checking caller ID, you would gladly take a call from a scammer if it meant it got you out of one of the top five worst dates you’ve been on in your life.
“Excuse me,” you muttered to the man sitting across from you before lifting the phone to your ear. He rolled his eyes and gave you a dismissive wave, sipping on the ridiculously expensive whiskey he’d ordered for himself.
“Hey, hon,” Dana’s urgent voice came through the line. “Sorry to interrupt your night off, but we need you in the ER. Ellis has come down with a nasty stomach bug, and the place is about to overflow with patients from a multiple MVC. Night shift needs you, kid.”
You couldn’t resist the sigh of relief you let out. Being elbows deep in traumas sounded a lot better than continuing your date with the misogynistic asshole in front of you.
“I’m on my way,” you replied to Dana, ending the call and gathering your clutch. You offered a fake apologetic smile to your date as you stood up from your chair.
“I’m really sorry,” you weren’t, “but I’ve been called into work. Life of being an ED doctor.” You offered an awkward chuckle.
He let out a sigh, not bothering to hide his annoyance. “So you’re not coming home with me, then?” Your eye twitched. “Least you can do is pay for your half of the bill.”
And there it was. The disgusting norm that comes with modern dating—the man only footing the bill if he knows he’s getting his dick wet.
You pulled a twenty dollar note out of your wallet, slapping it onto the table with more force than necessary. You shot him a sickly sweet smile before turning on your heel.
“Have a nice life, dick.” You muttered to yourself, pushing open the door to the restaurant. You pulled out your phone, ordering an uber straight to PTMC.
“Holy fuckin' smokes!” Dana exclaimed, her eyes locked on the sliding doors to the ambulance bay.
Despite the chaos engulfing the Pitt, her outburst caught the attention of the nurses and doctors hanging around the hub. Half of the day shift had their bags hanging off their shoulder, midway through saying their goodbyes.
It was almost cartoonish, the way they slowly spun, their eyes following the path of Dana's. A couple pairs of eyes bulged, a med student's jaw slightly dropped, and a smug smirk curved Santos' lips.
"Oh damn," Princess whispered, McKay and Mateo humming and nodding their agreement.
They had seen you plenty of times before—right before the start of a long shift when you were bright-eyed and eager, at the end of a double when you were sunken and hollow, stumbling into an uber after one too many at the local bar. But, they had never seen you like this.
There was a shift in the air, one that you seemed completely oblivious to. You were walking the path from the ambulance bay to the staff lockers, mind focused on getting into your spare pair of scrubs and out of your stupidly uncomfortable shoes. You briefly wondered how long into your shift it would take for your knee to start twinging, for the muscles around it to start straining because you decided to wear nice shoes instead of practical ones.
They were shoes you had bought to match the dress that had been hanging sadly in your closet for the past four months. It was a nice dress, one that you had been eager to wear and finally you had a reason to. Now you were regretting wasting it on that douchebag.
It wasn't just the dress that everyone was taking notice of, wasn't the only thing that had the room momentarily holding its breath. You looked…different. Still like yourself, but with your best features highlighted—making you stand out in a crowd. Not that you even noticed the attention on you.
Dr. Jack Abbot was leaning his elbows on a desk in the Hub, his back turned in your direction. Dana's abrupt—but not unusual—outburst had him looking over his shoulder, doing a double take when he realised it was you that had Dana swearing. He straightened his posture instinctively, turning and folding his hands behind his back like a soldier standing to attention. His eyes followed you as you kept walking towards the group of fleetingly stunned medical professionals.
He always noticed you, more than he cared to admit. He gravitated towards you from the second he saw you on your first day shift years ago, drawn to you like a moth to a flame. You were intelligent, quick-witted, determined but you were also kind, compassionate, empathetic—all important attributes for a doctor to have. You were his best resident. And you were beautiful.
It was a matter of fact to him, that you were pretty in a way that had his pulse tumbling and breath hitching. He knew it was dangerous for him to be attracted to you—his resident that was way too young and had way too much of her life ahead of her. So, he never did anything about it. He kept things strictly professional, pretending like he didn't have a file cabinet tucked away in his brain where he stored every little detail about you.
He convinced himself that every detail he knew served a purpose, that it made him a better attending and in turn made you a better resident. It was to help you, which then meant you could help patients.
Knowing the exact way you liked your coffee? That was so you were well caffeinated and less grumpy towards patients when the four am low hit.
Noticing when you took more frequent deep sighs, accompanied with rubbing your temples? That's when he knew you needed fresh air to ward off an incoming headache, and then you would be fine to treat more patients.
Carefully watching the way your face lit up when he bought your favourite snacks? Just confirmation that you were getting sustenance, so you would have the energy to continue your hard work as an ED doctor.
It was habit for him to catalogue everything about you, and now you were giving him details to store that had nothing to do with improving your work as a doctor. The way the light reflected off your lip gloss, how you filled out your dress and made it look like it was designed just for you, the sway of your hips thanks to the shoes you were wearing.
He couldn't control the drag of his eyes down your body even if he wanted to. And that's when he saw it—the three faint scars on your left knee. The fluorescent lights above made them stand out more, and his eyes were glued to them. Two were barely an inch long, laying in horizontal slits either side of your kneecap—keyhole scars. The third one was more noticeable, running in a clean vertical line along the very top of your shin. He recognised the surgical scars immediately.
“I feel sorry for the poor bastard we dragged you away from.” Dana's raised voice knocked him out of his trance, the sounds from the ED around him rushing back into his ears.
He turned back to the desk, back to his charting before anyone could see how he had been looking at you—before you could see. His eyes still flicked back to you over his shoulder, observing how your pretty glossy lips were pulled in an out of place pout and your brows were furrowed in what looked like annoyance.
You sighed at Dana's comment, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. He wasn't a poor bastard at all, he deserved being walked out on. Before you could reply to the day charge nurse, Santos let out a long low whistle from her spot leaning against the Hub, right next to Dr. Abbot.
Whatever pleasantries you always had loaded for your coworkers disappeared in an instant, anger and irritation flaring hot in your chest. Your jaw clenched and your eyes narrowed in a glare, a single finger raising to point accusingly at your fellow resident and friend.
"Don't you fucking dare, Trinity." You seethed, pulling more attention towards you.
Whitaker froze in his spot, his hand's pausing on the keyboard where he had been finishing up his charting for the day.
"Oh, shit," he whispered, worried. "You never call her Trinity."
It was true. She was only ever Santos or Trin to you, Trinity was saved for the extremely rare occasion that you were mad at her.
Perlah and Princess stopped in their tracks, exchanging knowing looks with growing grins on their faces. They could wait a few more minutes before heading home.
Santos' eyes widened briefly, surprise flooding through her—she wasn't the one who had called you in and ended your date early.
"What did I do? Not my fault there's a ten car pile up." She raised her hands in mock defense.
"You're the one who set me up with a misogynistic prick!" You couldn't help but exclaim, your hands starting to shake with the unleashed anger you had been feeling since the second you sat down at dinner.
The group gathered around the Hub went still, eyes darting towards each other as they watched the rare scene of you losing your temper. The women around you shared a collective wince, immediately understanding your situation. They didn't even need you to explain what happened, they already knew how awful men could be—especially in your line of work.
Jack couldn't stop the protectiveness that ran deep through his bones at your statement, couldn't stop the jealousy souring his gut at the fact you were out with another man. A man that apparently did not deserve your time, did not deserve how beautiful you looked. He didn't think any man deserved you, even himself.
He wanted to know what happened, wanted to know who deserved a beating for treating you poorly. The possessive rage bleeding in his veins was new and incredibly dangerous.
The doors to the ambulance bay split open, a handful of paramedics rushing in with gurneys carrying bloodied victims from the MVC Dana called you in to help with.
Robby emerged from Trauma one, glancing around at his staff loitering while chaos rushed around them.
"Hey! What are you all doing standing around? Get to work!"
Everyone shifted into gear at his yell, splitting off to assess the new patients and to prepare rooms for their treatment. The day shifts with one foot out the door already slowly inched towards the exits.
You passed Dana as you rushed towards the staff lockers to quickly change, her hand briefly squeezing your shoulder.
"I'll be here if you need to vent, hon." She threw you her signature mother bear smile. "God knows I've dealt with my fair share of misogynistic pricks." And she had the battle scars to prove it, too.
The frustration from your awful date lingered, only being subdued during the frantic hours you treated the patients from the car crash. You focused on what you knew best, on providing the utmost medical care you could.
Even after the influx of injured and critical patients from the crash, you had to handle the day patients that had been waiting for hours. The last of the day shift went home by ten pm, looking like zombies and talking about a goodnight drink at the park before they split ways. Just after midnight, multiple dirt ridden trucks pulled up into the ambulance bay—dumping off a load of drunks that had ruined their faces and fists by starting a bar fight.
Your frustration rose back up to the surface as you tried your best to treat the belligerent drunks, their acrid breath hurling derogatory insults at you despite how you were helping. Some nights this behaviour was easy enough brush off, to file away for you to scream about later. Not this night though, you were already feeling torn down by a date's outdated and chauvinistic views and now it was just more fuel to the fire.
Dr. Abbot was standing next to you, observing as you examined a drunk's head lac, asking questions to determine the best plan of action.
He was standing next to you when the drunk grumbled out loud, his glazed eyes glued on your scrub covered chest. "Don't think you belong here with those."
Jack watched as your hand faltered, a grimace flexing your jaw at the crude comment. He opened his mouth, whether to tell the asshole off or to reassure you he wasn't sure, but you met him with a sharp look and shake of your head.
He was next to you again, letting you take the lead on a hip dislocation. Unfortunately, it was another one of the bar fight idiots—an old man who slipped from standing on the bar. You treated him how you would any other patient—your hands in the exact same position.
"Bit further up, sweet cheeks. That's where I need your hands most." He leered with a sleazy grin.
Your hands slipped, a flare of disgust and rage tearing up your chest. Your breathing grew heavy, coming out in quick audible bursts. Angry tears started to fill your waterline.
Why were men so fucking awful?
Dr. Abbot stepped in from behind you, adjusting his stance to block you from the drunks invasive eyes. He gripped the man harder than necessary, leaning down with an authoritative, deadly glare.
"Shut your fucking mouth," he simmered, pushing the man's hip into place with more force than required.
After exiting the room you leaned against the wall to take a breath, pinching the bridge of your nose as you willed yourself to calm down.
"Hey," Dr. Abbot's low voice mumbled in front of you. You lifted your head to find him peering down at you, worry softening his hard features.
"You doing okay?"
He watched you visibly collect yourself, pulling in a deep breath and squaring your shoulders. The faint tremble in your jaw gave you away, though.
"I'm fine. Nothing I can't handle," you muttered, crossing your arms across your chest. You couldn't break down over a couple brass comments, not when you've witnessed much worse happen to your fellow female colleagues.
He lowered his chin towards you, his shoulders dropping. He spoke in a soft, private tone. "Doesn't mean it's okay, kid."
He sighed and took half a step closer, careful not to invade your personal space. "You've had a long few hours of dealing with pricks tonight." He paused, a faint smile gracing his lips. "I promise we're not all bad."
You rolled your eyes with an amused scoff. "Yeah, that's what they all say."
Still, you couldn't help but feel hope at his words—because you knew they weren't all bad, you were reminded of that every time you worked with him. And the other men who worked in the Pitt alongside you. But, you always noticed the good qualities in him more than anyone else.
You noticed how he never flaunted his money, yet was always the first to pull his phone out to call an uber for a struggling patient. How he often door-dashed dinner for the ED staff, careful to make sure everyone's dietary requirements were catered for. You noticed the way he positioned himself between an aggressive patient and female staff, becoming an immovable shield. And you sure as hell noticed how gentle he was with the younger patients, how his voice softened as he put them at ease.
You hated how much you noticed about him. Hated how hours, days, weeks later a warmth still curled in the pit of your gut. You hated how much you wanted him, hated how his soft hazel eyes and hardened lines threw your world off its axis.
What you hated most was that you knew you would never find a man like him. You were stuck dating assholes because the one man you wanted was the last man you were allowed to have.
He kept his eyes on you as you pushed away from the wall, heading towards one of the day shift patients in the West rooms. His eyes tracked the subtle hitch in your step, the way you shifted more weight onto your right leg. It was something he had noticed before, when the sun would breach across the horizon signaling the end of the night shift. He never focused on it too much, filing it away as tightness after being on your feet for twelve hours straight. But now, after seeing the scars your scrub pants kept hidden he knew it was more than that, and you were only halfway through your shift. It was obvious your knee was bothering you. He felt his own knee twinge in sympathy.
"So," Mateo started, leaning back in one of the swivel chairs at Central. "What happened on your awful date?"
You didn't have to look up from your charting to see the cheeky grin on his face, you could hear it bleeding through his voice.
"You've spent too much time with Princess," you muttered in reply.
Shen peered up from his spot in the Hub, his ears perking at the mention of a date—the man loved to gossip, especially with a dunkin coffee in his hand. He grabbed the tablet he was working on, his lips pursed around his straw as he walked over to you two. You felt his presence before you heard him.
"What's this I hear about a date?" He leaned his hip on the desk next to you, raising his eyebrows in interest and slurping his coffee.
You sighed, bringing a hand to your left thigh to rub a twitching muscle—you were really paying for those stupid shoes you wore earlier.
"Why is it that I'm always surrounded by men?"
"Hey!" Lena exclaimed as her and Bridget walked past you three. "We're still here—and we want to hear the date story too!"
You didn't even remember them being near you when you first got to work, seething at Santos about her awful blind date set up—gossip traveled fast at the Pitt, especially at shift change when the nurses overlapped.
After taking a look at the relatively calm board, the two women came back to Central with matching curious grins. It was nearing the end of the three am witching hour, when the influx of crazies quietened down and the exhaustion started to creep into your bones. You had just over three hours of your shift left and you figured venting about the thing that had been simmering in your chest wouldn't do you any more harm.
You didn't notice Dr. Abbot hovering in the doorway to Central nine, midway through removing his gloves when the unmistakable sound of gossip reached his ears.
He was curious, he couldn't help the way he shifted closer—focusing on your voice over the other sounds filling the ER.
"Where do I even start," you muttered, lifting your head to meet the intrigued eyes of Mateo sitting across from you.
"Firstly, he didn't hold the door open for me as we entered the restaurant—just let it swing into my face." You chuckled bitterly, "should've taken that as the first red flag."
Lena and Bridget nodded along sympathetically, knowing the worst was still yet to come.
"He then proceeded to order for me—both my drink and food when we had barely spoken a word to each other."
Shen shrugged next to you, and you focused a glare on him. "He ordered me clams. I fucking hate seafood." That made the man wince.
Jack drifted closer to the conversation, standing a few feet behind you. You were too caught up in the annoyance that lingered from your date to notice his quietly commanding presence.
"When I told him what I do for work, he went on a five minute monologue about how the ED is no place for a woman."
That gained a collective eye roll and groan from everyone gathered, even pulling silent wince and twitch of the mouth from Jack.
"You stayed after that?" Lena questioned, her face showing how incredulous she found the situation.
You groaned in response, lowering your head into your hands. "I know, don't remind me." Your voice was muffled by your palms.
You took a breath and lowered your hands, loosely crossing your arms over your chest to ground yourself. "That wasn't even the worst part…" you trailed off.
"After bragging about his job as some finance hotshot, he said that because it takes him all over the world—by that, he meant he goes to Canada sometimes—he needs to have romantic partners in every city he travels to."
"Yikes," Mateo blurted with a wince.
"Said that it's his right as a man to have multiple partners, but that the women he's seeing can only exclusively date him."
Jack couldn't stay quiet any longer. There was a deep burning in his chest the more he listened to you.
"Jesus Christ," he muttered with a humourless chuckle. "Where the hell did you find this guy?"
You whipped around quickly, shocked and flustered that your attending had heard all about your terrible date. You expected him to be annoyed at you all for sitting around gossiping, but you could only find disgust and another unreadable emotion clenching his jaw.
"I didn't find him," you mumbled with a shrug. "Santos set it up. Said he's a regular at her gym."
"I'm surprised you weren't more mad at her earlier."
"I was actually relieved when I got Dana's call asking me to come in." You let out a small laugh, feeling ridiculous that you preferred the night shift chaos over a date with an attractive man—well, he was attractive until he opened his mouth.
Jack felt a misplaced sense of pride blooming in his chest at your admission. He took it personally when you said you would rather be with him—the night shift—than on a date.
"To top it all off, he made me pay for my half of the bill when he realised—"
The rest of your vent was cut off by one of the medical assistants wheeling in a patient from chairs.
"This is Mr. Wilson, mid sixties, he's been erect for the last eight hours."
The irony of the situation didn't get lost on you, a small snort slipping from you. Shen patted your shoulder before straightening up.
"I got this." He had the decency to leave his dunkin coffee behind as he walked over to the patient.
"So, Mr. Wilson. Did you take anything that might have lead to this condition?"
Five minutes later you were sat alone at Central, some of the lingering frustration now eased from your shoulders. A freckled arm appeared in front of you, placing a cup of coffee and your favourite protein bar next to the keyboard you were typing on.
You looked up in time to see Dr. Abbot's face tilted towards you, a soft smile smoothing his features.
"Thanks, Doc." You breathed with your own faint smile.
He responded with a smooth wink, one side of his mouth quirking up before he turned and headed towards South.
You watched as he left, noting how his gait shifted to accommodate his prosthetic leg. Your eyes trailed up his back, watching the subtle shift of his muscles beneath his scrub top, lingering on the freckles sprinkling his neck before landing on his silver curls. God, how you wanted to tug on those curls. A rush of warmth flooded your body as images flashed through your mind unprompted, unwanted. Images of you running your fingers through the curls while his head was between your thighs, hazel eyes dark with his own desire.
You spun back around before anyone caught you staring, quickly chugging your coffee and burning the roof of your mouth in the process. You took it as a much needed distraction to the heat gathering in your core. All he did was give you a goddamn coffee and snack.
It was just after five am when your knee buckled, straining from the long night and making you audibly wince. You were back at the Hub, hands clenching the counter as you tilted your foot against the half wall trying to stretch the tight muscles pulling on your knee.
It offered you temporary relief, one of the knots on your lower calf slightly easing. But it wasn't enough—the hard to get knots clustered on your upper calf were too deep, too close to the joint to get any relief from a quick stretch. You sighed as you felt the joint start to throb, a clear indication that the inflammation was flaring up.
That steady presence you quickly came to admire fell next to you once again, a veiny hand placing a tablet on the counter. You tried resisting following the lines of veins up his forearm, but you knew it was a losing battle so early in the morning. The fluorescent lights were still bright above you, but the early hour made everything feel soft—like the calm before the day shift storm.
"ACL reconstruction?" Dr. Abbot's voice grumbled low next to you.
"Huh?" You questioned, your brows scrunched in confusion. The patient you had just seen was a young teen with a fever that wouldn't break, possible meningitis.
Dr. Abbot tilted his head towards your leg that was still in a half stretch position.
"Your knee, I saw the scars when you came in earlier. Is it giving you trouble?" A line appeared between his brows, his cute mouth curving downward in a concerned frown.
He knew it was giving you trouble, he didn't need to ask. He had observed you the whole shift, feeling concerned when you stilled with a huff and changed your stance to accommodate the pain. He knew the pain of an injured joint all too well, could feel his own leg starting to scream at him after ignoring the tenderness for over ten hours. His fingers itched to help you, to offer you some comfort and take away your pain. He told himself it was because you were his resident—he couldn't have you hurting and disrupting your job as a doctor.
You straightened under his watchful gaze, distributing your weight evenly on both legs—a jolt of pain had you shifting to your right with a subtle wince.
"Reconstruction and a meniscal repair, too." You answered his first question. "Nothing I can't handle," you repeated your earlier statement, trying to brush off the obvious discomfort you were feeling.
He shot you a deadpan look, not buying your bullshit. He crossed his arms across his chest, leveling you with his quiet, intense authority that had fire tingling under your skin.
"What happened?" He asked gruffly.
You sighed out of habit—it really wasn't that big a deal.
"A not-so-friendly soccer match in high school." You shrugged, looking away from his unwavering stare. "Hurt like a bitch, but it's been over ten years. I've learnt to deal with it."
He grasped your elbow gently, leading you away from the Hub despite your complaints. He lead you to an empty patient room in North.
"Dr. Abbot, what are you—my patients—"
"Shen and Crus have it covered, you're allowed to take a break." He let go of your elbow, turning to close the curtain halfway—giving a slight semblance of privacy.
You stood awkwardly near the patient bed, feeling flustered from his attention and stubborn to prove you were fine.
He shot you another look, something between amused and impatient.
"You're in pain. Sit."
Again with that goddamn commanding tone, the one that always had you shutting your mouth and obeying.
You sat down on the edge tentatively, not missing the faint smirk twitching his cheek.
He was enjoying this.
You couldn't focus on the thought for long—your attention being seized by him grabbing stool and rolling it in front of you.
"What are you doing?" You asked with a single brow raised, watching as he sat down on the stool and patted his leg.
"I'm helping my resident," he said nonchalantly, like this was something he did all the time. "Now lift your leg. Doctor's orders."
You huffed with an eye roll, succumbing to his authoritative charm. You placed your ankle in his lap, careful to not rest the full weight on him. You weren't sure whether this was crossing a professional line—it felt just shy of being intimate, of being more than just your attending helping you with an old injury.
You could feel the strength of his thighs beneath your leg, how they were pure hard muscle. It was something a resident shouldn't notice about her attending—something she definitely shouldn't store away for later, when she was home alone with her hands between her thighs.
His hands gently grabbed the bottom of your scrub pants, slowly pushing the fabric up your leg. It felt way too intimate for such a simple act—his bare hands brushing against your skin, eliciting a path of fire and goosebumps in their wake. You no longer had control over your eyes as they dropped to watch his hands, catching sight of the wedding ring he still wore. He rolled the pant leg above your knee, his eyes darting up to yours for consent—moving his hands down at your small nod.
His hands gently pressed around your inflamed joint, the heat radiating up to his skin before he even touched you.
He gave a disappointing shake of his head. "You need to ice this, kid."
"I will when I get home, promise." Your voice was low, quiet. "It's not usually this bad—it's, just…it's been a long night." You don't know why you were explaining more than necessary, maybe you didn't like feeling like you had disappointed him.
Even with the door wide open, the noises of the ED fell away around you—fading into a faint hum as you looked into his hazel eyes.
"Why is tonight any different? I don't think I saw you limp once on the Fourth of July."
Your breath hitched without your permission—he was paying enough attention to you to make note of that?
His hands traveled down from your knee, fingertips lingering briefly on your scars before wrapping around your lower calf. His calloused fingers pressed into your skin, feeling around for the tight knots.
A steady stream of shocks ran up your leg from his touch, gathering in a simmering warmth in the pit of your belly. His hands on you felt way too good, you started to regret accepting his help. You would not be forgetting his hands on you any time soon.
Jack was doing his best to keep his head clear—repeating to himself that this was to relieve your pain. But, god, your soft skin and the smell of your lotion cutting through the usual antiseptic was making it hard to focus on anything else. Add in the way you were looking at him with big, trusting eyes and he was a goner.
His mind betrayed him further, thoughts of how you prepared for your date earlier clouding his mind. Was your smooth, tempting smelling skin just a coincidence, or were you planning for more? He remembered the dress you wore—how could he ever forget it?—and his thoughts strayed to what you might've been wearing under it, what you may be wearing under your scrubs. It was a seriously dangerous train of thought to have, especially with your leg in his lap.
He watched your face carefully, looking for the slightest wince to indicate you were in pain. He pressed harder, rolling a knot and catching the way your body tensed in response.
"I didn't wear the most sensible shoes earlier," you mumbled. There was something about the two of you alone in here, with his hands carefully tending to you that made you more…vulnerable. Open. "Wasn't expecting to work a twelve hour shift—I went with shoes that matched the dress." You finished with a small shrug, looking away from his piercing eyes.
"Ah. The date that keeps on giving," he grumbled bitterly.
His hands pressed further up, reaching your mid calf. You felt the cool band of his wedding ring press into your skin, and it made this feel even more personal and intimate.
"What were you saying earlier? When he made you pay half the bill…" Dr. Abbot's voice trailed off, eyeing you expectantly with raised brows.
You scoffed, the disgust you felt almost twelve hours before still sitting on your tongue.
"Yeah, that. He said the least I could do was pay my half since I wasn't going home with him."
Jack's brain short-circuited for a brief second, his grip on your calf tightening a fraction.
"That's…awful. I'm sorry."
You looked away from his intense gaze again, your heart doing something stupid in your chest. It was hard to miss the mix of anger and concern swimming in his eyes, the way his jaw clenched and shoulders tensed.
"That's modern dating for you." You let out a humourless chuckle, "some assholes even try to claim it's for the sake of feminism." You rolled your eyes with a sigh. "It's part of the reason I gave up on dating, I was hoping the guy today was going to be different." You couldn't help the self deprecating chuckle that slipped out.
"God, I didn't realise how bad it was out there."
Jack didn't know what else to say, couldn't think of much past the rage boiling his blood. A man had really said that to you? He wanted to show you that there were some redeemable men in the world, but by the sounds of it this wasn't this first time a man had said something like this to you.
His thumb swept across your shin soothingly, a motion he wasn't even aware of. But you were. It was all your body could focus on, every nerve ending rushing to the spot his rough skin was rubbing tenderly against yours.
"You reckon there'll be new gossip for people to focus on by my next shift?" It was your attempt at deflecting the conversation, talking to Dr. Abbot about your lackluster dating life wasn't exactly on your list of favourite things to do.
Jack jokingly checked his watch. "You're next shift is in what, fourteen hours?" He shot you a cheeky smile. "I'll make sure there's something else to talk about by then," he finished with a smooth wink.
It's something you've seen countless times—Dr Abbot's inherently flirty nature. You've seen it in the way he smiles at Samira, how he easily asked Dr. Al-Hashimi out for drinks when he first met her. You knew not to take it personally, he handed flirtatious comments out like they were as necessary as breathing.
Still didn't stop the hoards of butterflies wrecking havoc in your stomach.
"Thanks," you muttered, suddenly self-conscious from his gaze. It felt like he could see right through you, and you added it to the long list of things you hated about Dr. Jack Abbot.
"Don't mention it."
You both fell quiet as he continued his massage, the conversation coming to a natural end. His fingers reached the most sensitive part of your calf, right behind your knee where the muscles pulled on the joint. He pressed down on a knot, your hand shooting to his shoulder for stability as pain flashed from the tender muscle. He focused on the spot more, watching your face as a small whimper slipped through your lips. Your leg spasmed in his hold from the pain.
"That's the spot," he muttered absentmindedly.
He continued his ministrations, finding a handful of small knots just below your knee that provoked similar responses. Your hand didn't leave his shoulder, clutching his shirt tighter when he pressed on an extra sensitive spot. He started to file away new details that had nothing to do with your jobs or the hospital. The faint pained whimpers you let loose, the pinch in your brow when he worked on a sore spot, the way your breathing had shallowed. Those were all things that were making his scrub pants sit a bit too tight. Gradually, your leg relaxed in his hold and the pain evaporated from your facial expressions.
He rolled your scrub pant down your leg, the act feeling just as heightened as before. He gave your clothed shin an affectionate pat before lowering your leg to the ground. He stood from the stool and walked to the curtain, pulling it fully open. He needed to get back to work, needed to do something with his hands so he could get rid of the itch to touch you again.
"Thank you, Dr. Abbot." You said as you stood up, relief washing over you as the throbbing in your knee eased to manageable. You almost forgot what it felt like when it wasn't in pain.
"No problem, sweetheart."
Your head shot up to him at the term of endearment, another dangerous burst of heat rushing through your body—the feeling of sweet serotonin flooding your system. Your eyes bulged as you noticed the dusting of red climbing up his neck and cheeks. He cleared his throat and made his way to the open door, stopping with one foot out in the ED. He looked at you over his shoulder, still frozen next to the bed.
"Come find me next time it flares up, alright?"
You briefly nodded, feeling slightly light-headed from the whole ordeal.
"Yes, sir."
His shoulders tensed at your choice of words, a primal part deep down in his gut rearing it's head. He felt his cock twitch in interest and he knew he was fucked. You really shouldn't have said that to him.
He took a breath and rolled his shoulders back, a small limp to his step as he made his way back to the Hub.
You watched him as he left, a heavy feeling of dread and hopelessness washing over you. This was now past the point of an innocent crush on your attending. This was something you had to cautiously keep in check or else it could derail your whole career, ruin your reputation as an upstanding resident at this hospital.
Why the fuck did he have to be so hot, and be a decent guy on top of that. It wasn't fucking fair.
soooo...smutty part 2 anyone ?
jack abbot taglist: @lovelexi717 @buckysdecaflove @moonstoneandmoonlight @sheriff-bodecker + want to be added?
Pairing: Titus Danforth x fem reader
Word count: 6.6K
Warnings: Not proofread, arranged marriage, slow-ish burn, mention of parent's death and grief, ovarian cancer and related procedures (not reader), injury, fluff, Titus being a little shit, Ursula and Ursula being human?
A/N: Hi! I'm so sorry that this is late! I've been really busy with work, friends, and family the last few weeks and haven't had a lot of time to write. Some of this was written while half asleep so I'n sorry for any typos! I really hope you all enjoy this! There's some affection and we're getting really closer to the wedding too🤭I really appreciate your comments and reblogs! It's a great motivator and really cool to hear what you think and I love to chat! I hope you like this one, lmk what you think 💚
Dividers: @/strangergraphics
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Rain graced the landscapes of Rhode Island in a way that felt more peaceful than what the Danforth estate deserved. Your destination was anything but a calm drizzle that with a rhythmic pitter patter of rain against glass and roofs, a sound you could’ve appreciated if not for knowing the plans of your day.
Today’s journey was for an invitation to have tea and brunch with Ursula Danforth and considering that Ursula was just a few weeks away from being your sister-in-law, you couldn’t say no. Even if you really wanted to and you definitely did. Ursula had never really liked you and while she was usually cordial, it still showed and there was a twist in your gut that said this would only get worse with becoming her family.
By the time the chauffeur, Antony, had stopped the car at the main entrance, it was only a couple of minutes before Ursula’s time on the invitation. That meant there was no time to say hello to Titus before being stuck to Urusla’s side, you’d talk to him afterwards, you know better than to keep Ursula waiting. Still, it would’ve been nice to have seen his face first, to hear a smug comment about Ursula and possibly a heads up about what she wants. You’re not close with her but you’re smart, have seen plenty with the High Council; she’s cold, clever, determined, and manipulative, a master manipulator.
“Yay, you finally made it,” she says dryly. “It’s two minutes to 12 now, I was hoping you’d be here earlier but we can still start now. Come.” Ursula says as she looks at you and then turns to walk up some stairs, you follow her slowly.
“I saw the florist yesterday, she looked frazzled,” Ursula chuckled and looked at you for a brief glance before she kept walking, the clicking of her heels against the spotless floors was the only consistent sound bouncing around. “Have you chosen flowers yet? I-”
“Yes, lilies, mainly.” You spoke quietly as you walked with her, she was taking you through a hallway to a room you hadn’t been in before.
“Lilies? That seems hardly appropriate for a wedding, this isn’t a funeral, they’re flowers of mourning.” Ursula’s smooth brow furrowed as she tilted her head to look at you, disapproval was thick in her voice and clearly painted in the way her eyebrows sat.
Luckily for you, Ursula was not planning the wedding and wasn’t as involved as her controlling hands itched to be. Chester’s requests were to be honoured, of course, but you’d been surprised at how inoffensive and mild they were for the second wedding, the one that would look more normal for cameras and guests. A different memory your brain could try to cling onto. You hadn’t said it as bluntly but you didn’t care about the first ceremony, that was so shrouded in tradition and cultish devotion that it wouldn’t have been worth trying to advocate for any changes, you lacked the time to want to fight a losing battle so it was easy to accept that as it was. But you didn’t want to be pushed around for the second ceremony, it needed to at least have a few elements of what you wanted.
It was very quick into your talks with Titus that he said you could have whatever you wanted added into at the ceremony or reception, that if there was anything you wanted followed, everything would be sculpted around it. The only things he felt strongly on were his attire for the day and the guest list, which exposed him for how petty he could be. Titus had already spoken to Anna, your planner, about you having final say over everything to do with the wedding. Something you were glad for.
“I like them, there’s a delicate but strong beauty to them. Titus and I already agreed on it.” You keep walking near her, avoiding her hazel eyes.
It wasn’t something that you’d technically agreed on, it was a detail you hadn’t talked much about with him. But the first time he’d gifted you flowers, it was a bouquet of lilies, it had been thoughtful and fitting, you allowed yourself this sentimental detail that nobody else would know of. Nobody would be able to sniff it out as a weakness or something to pocket away only to draw it out later as a weapon, Ursula would just think this was you being weird. The florist had the details and if Ursula tried to poke her head into what was going on and spoke to Titus about it. Even if you’d chosen the ugliest bloom and not said a word about it to him, you knew he’d take your side over Ursula’s, maybe out of a strange fondness and also for love of the game, game being, pissing his sister off.
“I tried giving him a list of options and he wouldn’t listen.” Ursula sighed and rolled her eyes, even the clicking of her heels sounded as irritated as her eyes looked. “You have to show me your dress too, I can’t believe you chose something else, I’d been curating-”
“Maybe save the list for your wedding, and I’ll show you a photo,” You decide to cut her off then, you don’t find Ursula very endearing on the best of days, there’s no way you’re going to be lectured on wedding dresses by her. Especially not after the last fiasco of wedding dresses, you’d been Ursula’s doll to try on silk and lace in every shade on the white spectrum. It had been emotionally and physically exhausting, it wasn’t something you had wanted to repeat. So you’d made the very wise and valid decision to have a private fitting with a couple of your close friends that weren’t tangled up in devil cults, it had been a much nicer experience. There was some awkwardness with coming up with a reason why you were all of a sudden engaged to a man they’d never heard of, let alone met. That hadn’t been as much fun as the rest of that outing.
Ursula frowns at your words, she shoots you a glare before turning back to face forward and opens a door, walking into a large sitting room you’ve never been into before. Velvet furniture in softer pinks and reds, it’s a colour scheme that grabs your eye and feels not quite right when you look at your future sister-in-law and think of the rest of the mansion, but you don’t say a word.
“Sit.” Ursula says as she gestures to the multiple seats and takes one for herself. Once you’ve sat down it’s only seconds before there’s a maid walking in with a tray of tea and coffee. Ursula looks at you quietly for a moment, analysing every feature and flaw. Her voice is almost softer when she talks, a tone that you’d imagine she uses with her friends. You weren’t sure if she had any friends. “Titus said you like tea.”
“Yes, thank you, that’s kind of you to remember.” You nod, offering her a small smile before looking at the tray and setup of spoons, milk, and sugar in front of you.
“He doesn’t like it when I ask about you. He gets extra snippy… And he’s already so short-tempered.” She sighs then and crosses her ankles while meeting your eyes. Her hazel irises have a more green sheen today, they’re pretty.
“Is that why you extended an invitation?” You tilt your chin and watch her eyes, but she’s been raised to be just as cool and composed as you were, if not more.
“Not at all.” She gives a slight shake of her head and her smile grows, it’s the exact one you know she flashes. “You could still technically walk out, the wedding’s four weeks away.” Ursula says before lifting the porcelain teacup up and taking a sip, she speaks so casually.
“No, Mr Le Bail has given his approval,” is all you say, keeping your voice soft, not too defensive but firm enough. Your eyes narrow a little at her but her eyes stay that perfect manipulative calmness that is 80% of her persona.
Walking out of this agreement would be disastrous in every way possible, something Ursula would know. But of course, if you broke the contract it’s you and your bloodline that would carry all the consequences of upsetting Mr Le Bail and the High Seat. Anyway, there’s something oddly comforting about Titus, if you’re going to have a husband, it may as well be him. It means there’s no hunt, so you don’t have to worry about any blood being spilt that would only be on your hands, regardless of who fired the shot or stabbed their knife in.
It helped that Titus had a soft spot for you compared to the rest of the world and that he was handsome, a fact that you were quietly becoming more comfortable admitting to yourself with each day closer you were to becoming his wife. But you wouldn’t dare speak that aloud to another soul.
“Hmm.” Ursula quietly hums while stirring the teacup with a melodic movement before meeting your eyes again. “Mrs Danforth is a heavy title to carry. You’re going to need help and Titus… I love him but he can get into the most dreadful moods.” She offers you a smile that you’re sure she thinks is reassuring, but instead it borders on saccharine. An attempt to placate and manipulate, the Danforths excel at manipulation, you’re not stupid. “He’s unpredictable at the best of times.”
“That’s a very sisterly display of concern.” You choose your words carefully, dealing with someone like Ursula you think it’s best to give as little as possible. The less they have in their arsenal the better for everyone involved.
“Titus chose you because father wanted heirs…” Ursula says in response, she isn’t meeting your eyes, her own are gazing off to the side she seems somewhat uncomfortable before she looks back at you for your reaction. You’re taken aback but slowly nod, calmly blinking away the shocked wide eyes that came out for a few seconds.
It’s nothing surprising but it wasn’t the direction you expected today’s conversation to go in. Heirs were one of the many but considered greater responsibility for those in the High Council and would only be considered more important for the family that was headed by the High Seat. But this is the first time children with Titus has been brought up since your father told you of the arrangement and that had been a brief mention, taking up no more space than that of a footnote. Children wasn’t a topic you really wanted to talk about with any of the Danforths, you tried to keep your face composed to hide the strangeness of her wanting to have a brunch with you to talk about this aspect of all things.
“I don’t know if you appreciate how serious this is?” Ursula’s eyes focus on you now, her teacup makes a light clinking noise against the saucer as she places it down on the table in between the two of you. There’s something in her eyes now that you haven’t seen before, they’re a bit wider and glossy. It makes you uncomfortable to see her like this.
“Ursula-”
“I can’t have kids.” Ursula says to you flatly and it surprises you, this was not a conversation you were expecting to have with her but you stay silent. Her voice is flat but you can tell there’s a degree of hurt in there, her eyes are avoidant and her posture is too stiff. You’re imagining that this is her choosing not to and you don’t blame her, you only nod quietly, giving her your full attention.
“I don’t know if you remember mother well… But we’re alike in that way, motherless, a strong father and left with a brother. But you’re not a twin so that’s different.” She gives a dismissive shrug and you silently listen and watch, you can tell there’s more she wants to say. “I hadn’t thought about it for so long, I thought we were untouchable, that I’d always be. Even though it took her.” Ursula sighs, she blinks away and you look at her, thinking of Eleanor Danforth, Titus and Ursula’s mother, Chester’s wife, the only Mrs Danforth you’ve known in her life.
“I inherited the BCRA1 mutation, we were going to remove the ovaries and fallopian tubes as preventative care but they picked it up. It was already starting,” Ursula sighs and you listen patiently, giving her your full attention. “They picked it up earlier than her and it was so early compared to her, it was too aggressive to her”
“Yeah,” you whisper with a nod and then gently move some tissues closer to her.
“So they did a hysterectomy and bilateral salpingo-oophorectomy, my uterus, ovaries, they’re all gone. I didn’t freeze my eggs or anything anyway.” She looks into your eyes, there’s a sad smile on her face, one that doesn’t meet her wet eyes.
“Ursula, I’m so sorry,” you say softly, your eyes widening. You could only imagine how terrifying a diagnosis like that would be.
“Titus doesn’t know, father doesn’t either,” she looks at you with a perfectly calm and collected face when your forehead furrows at that revelation and her effectively sharing a secret with you. “It’s a boys club. There’s still a glasshouse in penthouses and villas, and in the High Council.” She gives an almost dismissive shrug with one shoulder and looks at you but you can tell she understandably doesn’t want this dismissed.
“That’s a lot to have gone through by yourself Ursula, when did this happen? You don’t have to answer or say more if you don’t want to.” You look at her and adjust your sleeves as you do.
“Three years ago. Father’s maybe had someone look into it, the practice was very discreet but I don’t know, it leaves it all to you and Titus… And I worry for you. You’re hard to figure out, the quietness, it makes you seem soft,” you know the word she’s thinking of is not soft but rather weak. “But then you fling a knife perfectly into a neck and win the heart, defy father too while you’re at it.” Ursula chuckles and moves her perfectly manicured hand. “Future Danforths, children of his, they’ll need softness. And take this talk seriously, father won’t be pleased if it doesn’t happen while he’s still alive.”
You look down at your hands and then back at her for a second. “How has your recovery been?”
“Good, I was a lucky one… Most aren’t.” Ursula says it firmly before she reaches for another slice of brownie. You know the words are unfortunately true, it’s an extremely deadly illness that is often diagnosed far too late.
“I’m glad it was detected early and you were able to have the surgeries.” You give her a small, real smile. “Is there anything I can do?”
“No, it’s fine, just don’t tell Titus.” She says and sips her tea. Maybe it’s Ursula stressing the importance and severity of the upcoming marriage, a test to see if you’ll run your mouth to Titus, or just her needing to tell someone. You really weren’t sure if she had any real friends, or if it was all acquaintances that she kissed on the cheek at fancy galas. Maybe it’s a mix of all of them but you nod. It’s big and it’s not your health, so it’s not your news to tell.
Titus was more than aware of you being cursed to a day with Ursula’s company. He didn’t envy you in the slightest and he felt a tingling of concern for you in the back of his mind, he knew Ursula wasn’t your biggest fan and that she’d have a list of ulterior motives clutched in her hand. She always did, she was a Danforth.
Spending the day hunting out on the estate was a way to pass time that Titus usually enjoyed, but it felt more flat today, he didn’t get the same rush when tracking or constantly trying to take the shots that screamed for attention. It was a nosiness to know what Ursula was trying to say to you, what you’d think of that and what you’d think in general. That consumed him a lot.
The thought came quickly and it was one he couldn’t ignore, there were ways he could get you to have a break from Ursula, he could trip over a stick and need a doctor to check him for a concussion and ask for you. That was just how Titus’s mind worked rather than a million other ideas that did not include faking or playing up an injury.
A butler named Hugo quickly guided you through the halls that were part of a maze you knew you’d be spending the rest of your life navigating. Hugo had obviously been there long enough to expertly weave through them, it was strange to think that maybe in just a year or two you’d have that same ease and familiarity with the estate. It unsettled you a little, as you walked with an anxious energy fluttering around your body, you didn’t know what to expect but were worried. Ursula hadn’t been that fazed and had really only rolled her eyes at the interruption.
Hugo eventually led you into a large wing of the house, one you hadn’t been in before and with a knock on the bedroom door, he then waited for a moment, hearing the voice of the doctor, you presumed. The door was opened for you, you said a quiet thanks to Hugo and then stepped in. Titus laid on the bed, you could see on his face that he was irritated and already over whatever the doctor was saying. When you saw his face he looked conscious, much more conscious than you were expecting.
“Titus?” Your voice had a slight shake on the second syllable as your eyes roamed over him for wounds and bruises, searching for the obvious signs of something being wrong. His hazel eyes land on you and immediately soften, every trace of irritation that lived in his eyes for the doctor quickly evaporated.
“Dr O’Connor, this is my lovely wife.” Titus said as he looked at you for a moment and then smiled at the doctor. “I’m sure you can see her loveliness but of course, don’t look at her, she’s too wonderful for your eyes.” He then sighed dramatically.
“Fiancée,” you correct in a shy whisper, now standing so much closer to him as your eyes roaming over him, still searching for something wrong and seeing nothing. You don’t want to sound ungrateful and know it’s an odd thought but he looks far too comfortable for someone going through a hunting emergency. Far too conscious, it makes the anxious wave of flips your stomach had been going through subside into something else, something you can’t name but is its own brand of discomfort.
“Semantics.” He rolls his eyes and then sighs, he moves a hand out and waits for you to put your hand in his which you do with your own sigh. “We could just get married right now, I’ll summon the Lawyer and then if I die from this you’d be a widow. Not just a fiance of some remarkably handsome but dead guy.”
“Titus!” You look at him with wide eyes and your brow furrowing, he can see you’re not pleased with this and he sighs, looking at your face and then the doctor’s for a moment, his thumb runs over your knuckles in soothing circles. But it does little to soothe how your body is still swimming in anxiety from all of this and now flipping into everything being okay… It’s too much for your brain and body on a good day, let alone a day in this house.
“You’ll be a classy widow one day.” He says, slowly blinking and rubbing his fingers over your knuckles still, it’s clearly soothing him more than you.
“Does he have a concussion?” You frown more and look away from Titus’s face to the doctor, your voice firm but a waver of uncertainty. Dr O’Connor looks at you for a moment, doing his best to avoid your eyes and make his look as brief as possible because Titus is someone with moods worth fearing in his experience. But he shakes his head and you sigh.
“No, he passed the neuro exam with flying colours.”
“Oh…” You frown as your gaze stays on the older man who looks just as exhausted as any health professional would be after dealing with Titus Danforth. With a sigh, your gaze goes back to Titus, you don’t know what else to say and this feels closer, more intimate than you’re used to with him. He’s lying there, like he’s on death’s door and it’s so melodramatic and you realise, that’s just so Titus. What is there to say to him or the doctor? Nothing. So you look at him a little shyly, thinking over words and avoiding his eyes. You start to push back his short curls and smooth them down, his hair’s soft, it shouldn’t surprise you but it does a little.
“I’ll visit later and leave you to rest now Mr Danforth.” Dr O’Connor says and quickly leaves the room, probably with a mix of glee and relief all over his face, you’re sure.
“Asking about concussions but you haven’t even offered to kiss my booboo better,” Titus says with a melodramatic sigh while laying on the bed.
“... Do you want a kiss to feel better?” You ask, your cheeks heating up a little as you look at him, this grown man being pathetically moody.
“ I’d be appreciative of one if you wanted to oblige. But don’t because you think you have to or just because I want one.” He says, avoiding your eyes, his words coming out an awkward flow.
It’s almost endearing to see him see like this, you decide that’s the feeling in your chest as you look at him. You just look at him for a moment, still holding his hand, you move to perch yourself on the edge of the bed for a seat. “Are you even hurt anywhere?”
“My head hurts,” he says quickly.
“Oh? Where?” You ask and tilt your head down, pressing a gentle and quick peck to his forehead, right next to his impressive hairline. “There?”
“Yes, but it was only a headache there. My cheek is probably bruising… I think it was banged into something.” He looks at you and while his eyes look amused, his tone and the line of his mouth is so serious. It brings out a small chuckle from you and he just raises an eyebrow still so serious. There’s not a single sign of bruising or any kind of discolouration, he’s being a little shit but you tilt your head and will indulge him.
“Left or right?”
“Left,” he says with a small smile, his lips quirking up more with a delighted smirk as you press a gentle kiss to the middle of his left cheek. Once you lean back and watch him, you see his cheeks being dusted in a rosy pink. “Oh, I meant the other cheek.”
“The other one?” You raised your eyebrows at him.
“Yes, my right one. I get them mixed up,” he smirks with a rosy blush on his cheeks and a matching tint on his ears as he speaks in such a serious tone.
With a playful sigh to show you then lean your head down to peck his right cheek, letting your lips sit there for a second before watching him. You can appreciate the pinkness that Titus is now sporting but your own cheeks have heated up a little and you hate that something as simple as this can spark a warm, silly reaction in you. “Liar. Now don’t even think about saying your lips or mouth hurt.”
He chuckles. “I’m not a liar and it does but I’ll live. I’m feeling pretty revived already, maybe you can replace Dr O’Connor.” He smirks and rolls his eyes, watching your reaction.
“What happened?” You asked as you looked at him, this was all so curious, you knew he wasn’t clumsy, you knew he was athletic.
Titus shrugs and then changes the topic, he says “Did you get the hydrangeas?”
They’d been pretty, another large bouquet delivered to sit in a vase for you to look at and think of him. There was a new bouquet every week, and while you wouldn’t say anything to avoid making your cheeks heat up, you were still drying to dry at least a bloom from most of them. “Yes, thank you. They’re beautiful, they dry so beautifully.” You added on without thinking too much about it, and when you look at his face he doesn’t seem to take in that last bit. He nods, no curiosity or smugness so you smile a little.
He takes your hand back and presses it to his head. “You should stay tonight, you don’t have to stay here.” He whispers and closes his eyes as your fingers start to play with his hair, it's a touch that soothes him. You find it more satisfying and relaxing than you expected you would as you sit and look down at him.
“What did Ursula want?” He asks after a while. You blink for a moment before speaking.
“Just to lecture me about the wedding, she criticised the floral arrangement, how they’re lilies and that’s a death flower.” It wasn’t a lie but you thought it was best to leave out her comment on his “moods” and to not share what she disclosed about her health. It wasn’t your place to disclose something about her health, that was Ursula’s decision and her decision only. Her eyes had shone genuinely and you could only imagine how terrifying it was to hear the words so similar to the ones her mother would’ve received as a death sentence. If Ursula chose to never share it, it was something you’d take to your grave. You looked at Titus, you hated to admit that there was an inkling of you that knew this wasn’t just her forming a connection but also likely a bit of a test.
Titus hummed, he knew she’d say that about lilies, he’d heard it before but he didn’t care he liked them and most importantly, you liked them and it was your wedding. If there were a million lilies you wanted delivered, he’d make it happen. You watched him as he napped and rested from whatever it was that happened. There were much worse things to do than be sitting in his room, on his bed and playing with his hair.
It’s just after seven in the morning when you wake up, there’s a chill nestling into your bones but you always feel a coldness when you’re at the Danforth estate. Walls are frozen, a coldness that sinks itself into every piece of furniture, clinging to any object and surface area. It’s too cold and quiet so you slip into the ensuite to take a hot shower to wake yourself up and to try and get some warmth back into your bones. Once you’ve showered, you dress quickly, grateful that you actually did end up packing a sweater in with your clothes. It’s another layer of warmth but even as it sits on you and presses against your frozen bones, it’s not enough to fight the cold.
With quiet footsteps, you abandon the guest room and trace your footsteps back to the room that you know now will be where your Titus is. You give a single, light knock and then decide to open the door, there’s a chance he might be awake or not want his room drawing attention from the staff or others.
Titus is a light sleeper, it’s the only way someone with his upbringing could’ve been raised - trained - to survive everything the followers of Mr Le Bail must. Sleep is precious and necessary, but you can never be fully vulnerable, you need at least a small part of yourself to always be alert and aware. If it was someone else opening his door, he’d probably get up immediately and punish them for such an act, but not with you. He doesn’t even need you to take two steps into the bedroom before he recognises the sound of your footsteps, quiet, cautious, thoughtful, evading attention, whispering to not be perceived. You’re doing your best to navigate around the room and to hopefully not disturb him, even though you know he probably is a light sleeper. But he only blinks once, his right eye opening for the shortest second to ever exist in time before closing it again with a small smile he smothers into his pillow.
You catch it and your cheeks heat up at being caught, but you knew you would, you are surprised though at how he just closes his eyes again without a word. As if this is natural, completely normal for the two of you. It makes your head spin and you inch closer.
“Aren’t you cold?” You whisper as you look at him, walking over to sit on the edge of his bed. There’s not much space between the two of you, Titus shifts onto his side more and shakes his head tiredly, his eyes staying glued shut.
His injuries yesterday might need checking, or he might be sick and dealing with a body temperature being out of sorts. His injuries were superficial at best, just a couple of small scratches from when he fell. You have to remind yourself of that and the fact that he is that unhinged and dramatic he played them up to get some physical affection from you. He’s fine but you still have a voice of anxiety in your brain saying he could be sick if he’s not as affected by the ice in the air. A second later you place your palm to his forehead to check his temperature, it feels normal, comfortably warm without burning up.
“Fuck!” The contact of your hand and the coolness of it, makes him flinch his head back slightly and his eyes open wide, he tries to blink away sleep quickly as his hazel eyes focus on you. “You’re freezing!”
“Sorry, I was just checking your temperature... It's so cold here.” You say quietly, having already pulled your hand back from his forehead and now holding your hands together in your lap, looking down.
Titus can see that you already have a jumper on, but either your room was poorly heated up or it’s just a coolness he’s used to. “Go into the walk-in, there’s gloves in the top left drawer of the dresser. You’ll see scarves, sweaters too, help yourself to whatever pleases you, then come back.” Titus says, tilting his chin to his large walk in wardrobe and keeping his eyes peacefully closed.
You give him a small smile at that and only afterwards realise how silly that is considering he isn’t looking at you. “Thanks, Titus.” You speak softly, your voice feeling a little funny as you go to his walk-in wardrobe, it’s another window to look into the world of the man you’ll marry, and it’s quite an intimate one. There’s still a sense of something being off or wrong to be in his personal space like this but you don’t say anything, Titus wouldn’t have offered if he didn’t want you to see this or borrow his things. Some people would offer and not mean it, hoping that you’d decline it, Titus was not one of those, he’d rarely offer anything to most people, he wouldn’t care. So if he offers something, he means it, it’s a strange but maybe reassuring truth to have about the man that put the heavy ring on your finger.
Every item of clothing is hung or folded so tidily, sitting in a system that you can quickly recognise parts of but it’s something that isn’t yours. Not yet at least. There’s a dark wooden dresser that you step towards and open, there’s a dozen different pairs of gloves. And you can see scarves and some sweaters and coats hanging.
You tilt your head to look around, it’s an organised sea of dark colours, consisting mainly of shades of black and grey, with some blues and greens sprinkled in. The room smelt clean, it was extremely tidy and more than spacious. You ran your hand over a thick dark green sweater that was hanging near the dresser, you touched the sleeve and couldn’t help but catch a whiff of it. Clean but there was a woody scent that clung to it, it made you wonder what his usual cologne was. Or if he was someone that cycled through a few different ones, it was weird to come to the realisation that you’d have the answer and that it was something you’d become acquainted with in the near future.
There’s an awkwardness that takes hold and keeps you still in the walk in, the intimacy you’re starting to broach isn’t lost on you. In a few weeks there will be a wedding with flowers, flowers that your sister-in-law will hate and then your life will be based in this house with beautiful architecture but the gloomiest walls you’ve ever been enclosed in. A life on the Danforth estate stirred a lot of different feelings for you, but none were very pleasant. There was a feeling always coiling in your stomach, part of this life felt familiar in a way you couldn’t grasp or tell anyone else. Just always waiting with the sense that something was going to happen, but completely unsure of what that something was exactly. Not even if it was a ‘good’ or ‘bad’ something. The only soothing thought was that you didn’t feel as on edge when around Titus, there was something about him that felt safe and stable, you didn’t know what to expect of this arrangement and what it would be like to be a wife - his wife - but that calm seemed as good of a first step as any.
It’s colder in the walk-in wardrobe, a shiver runs down your spine and your skin is covered in goosebumps all over, the chill grounds and reminds you of why you’re in here. A small sigh comes out at the thought that Titus might be timing you or thinking it’s weird how long you’ve been in here. Another jumper on top of this one seems like overkill, so you just pull out the pair of gloves on top in the drawer and then a scarf, even if that seems a bit unnecessary. The gloves don’t fit perfectly, but you can wear them as another layer of warmth to appreciate and aid you against the cold haunting rooms of the Danforth estate.
Titus can hear your delicate footsteps walking out and back to the bed, he shifts and wordlessly pulls the covers of the bed back, waiting for you to sit back down. No words are exchanged as you sit down on his bed, it’s large, plenty of room to sprawl out yet he seems set on staying close to you. You sit on the bed and look at his little curls as you lean back against the headboard.
Blinking his sleepy eyes he looks at you, there’s a tired but very pleased smile on his face. He looks at the gloves on your hand, they don’t quite fit right but they’re his and they’re keeping you warm, so it’s completely perfect in his eyes, he starts to rub a thumb gently over one of your gloved hands. You look adorable with his scarf wrapped around your neck and it makes him smile more, he’s more determined now for your honeymoon to be somewhere cold. You’d look adorable bundled up in layers and maybe you’d even want to cuddle him, being enticed by the bonus of the body heat. He’d create a fort of warmth for you if it meant you gave him that shy little smile that graces your lips and being able to see you wrapped up in pieces of him.
Your cheeks heat up more as Titus shifts to pull the blankets and covers on the bed back up, pulling them up high on you and practically tucking you in. You hold your breath at how gently he touches you and the bed as he does this, it ignites a few sharp sparks in you, part of you wishes you could disappear and not be perceived but another part can’t help but smile and be endeared with how tender and respectful he is to you.
“A butler is coming up to light the fireplace too, I requested it while you were in there.” He says as he looks at you, sleep is still in the corner of his eyes and they look softer than usual, the puppy eyes and sleep tousled hair makes you smile and you nod whispering your thanks as he shifts and adjusts the scarf around you as a middle-aged man lights the fireplace for you both and leaves. Titus doesn’t remember his name, he has the rude habit of not bothering much with that, something you’ll be horrified to learn in a few weeks time.
Once he’s satisfied with your scarf, he moves his hands to your chin for a moment, rubbing it and then shifting to lay on his side, pressing into you. Even through the fabric between you from exposing your skin, you can feel the movement of his breath against you and it makes you smile. He seems so peaceful compared to usual and so you don’t want to disturb it, there’s a bubble around you and you want to do anything that will keep it intact, for it not to be popped even though you know it eventually will.
“I need some more beauty sleep, I take the responsibility of maintaining this face seriously. You’re already prettier than possible, but you can nap too, if you want.” He says and your cheeks heat up more, his fingers leave your jaw and he turns his head to lean against you. You let out a small chuckle at his words and nods.
He’s pressing into your arm now as he lays on his side, he finds comfort in being closer to you, it’s easier for his mind to rest, his jaw to unclench as he’s close with you. Tentatively, you lift your other arm so your gloved hand can keep playing with his curls, he relaxes, you can feel it in his breathing, even if he doesn’t say anything.
“Titus?” He hums in an acknowledgement and your smile only grows at just how sleepy he is. “How’s your head?” You whisper soft tones and words as you twirl a short lock near his forehead.
“Fine… There’s nothing wrong with it.” He murmurs, pressing his face into your side, already half asleep.
“Of course.” You whisper with a small smile, you knew he had made up yesterday’s “head pain” but you find it amusing that he’s forgotten his game while half asleep and itching to sleep next you.
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after months of tension, they both finally snap during a random spat, in some supply closet at the pitt.
robby has whitaker pinned against a wall, his large hands on the kid’s hips, as he guides them to grind on the leg he slotted between dennis’ thighs ,and shit- the boy’s not turned on.
fuck, is robby taking advantage of his resident ? he could swore whitaker was into it, he’s grabbing robby’s face with so much force, delicious little whines escaping mouth while his lips are still on robby’s, and he’s pulling the man impossibly closer to himself- but the proof’s right there. or at least, what should be right there isn’t, and that’s proof enough.
dennis panics when dr robby suddenly pulls out, oh no he’s gonna say it was a mistake and he regrets it, no, no, no!, but then, his attending just sighs defeated, and drops his forehead on the wall, right above dennis’ ear.
‘do you even want this kid ? is it- am i doing something wrong ?’
dennis is so confused. he feels so good, his mind is bordering on fuzzy, his eyes started to glaze over, and he’s so so wet, wetter than he’s ever been and oh.
oh. the idiot. the absolute, complete, idiot.
he never did tell robby he was trans, did he.
‘erm, no sir, you were doing everything really right,’ dennis breathes out after a moment, willing his voice not to shake. he knows robby will be cool with it, and he doesn’t wanna make a big deal out of it, but it’s still quite an awkward coming out situation.
‘i wish you could feel how wet i am for you right now, dr robby’
dennis feels robby’s hands tightening in a bruising grip on his hips, then the man picks his head back up. when he finally looks at dennis again, his irises are nearly gone.
yeah yeah something about dana evans eating pussy for her own pleasure... keeping emma laid out for her, holding her thighs open, grinning at emma's whines and hiccups and tremoring stomach.
licking and sucking everywhere but emma's pulsing, begging clit, making her wait, keeping her on edge. fucking her tongue inside the wet heat of emma's pussy, moaning into her, nuzzling into the warmth of her. ignoring emma's pleads, please, please, please— mommy, please, m'being good, please— mo-ommyy, s'too much, I need— aaahn, please—!
mumbling how you beg so pretty, babydoll, into emma's dripping, puffy cunt, not letting up. she needed a new oral fixation after she quit smoking, right? and this is perfect, this piece of heaven between her girl's thighs, just for her. dana hums and flattens her tongue, licking a stripe over emma's folds, squeezing her thighs as they shake and try to close. shhh, you're alright, let mommy have her fill, huh? be good, now. mommy's pretty little doll, aren't you? yeah? aww, you're okay..
dana finally sucking emma's throbbing clit into her mouth, letting emma's thighs go, humming in pleasure as they immediately close and tighten around her head. buried in her sweet girl's pussy, tonguing her clit as she sucks, making emma wail and thrash as she cums, soaking dana's chin with slick. mmhh, mommy—! o-oh, oh, oh god— mmh!
dana pulling back, watching emma with a satisfied expression as she slumps into the sheets, pliant and limp after the pleasure wracked her frame. ohh, you poor thing. that was a lot, huh? did mommy's tongue feel sooo good on your little pussy? I know, I know it did... ohh, mommy was soo mean, not paying attention to that cute little clit, hm? shh, you're okay... that's my girl, that's a gooood girl. <3
dennis getting hurt while out on the street team is robby's last straw. he's done really well so far to keep a lot of his possessive urges at bay, and despite the fact that he officially owns dennis already, and the boy wears his day collar permanently, he's let him keep working and going outside. up until now. seeing his boy, his pup, his *property* with bruises marring the side of his face and blood on his lip flicks a switch in him. this can't ever happen again. it can't be allowed.
after demanding cctv footage be pulled up and arrests for assault made, he rushes his boy home for the last time. dennis will absolutely not be going back out into the world that wants to hurt him. robby knows how to keep him safe and warm and content, and he's going to do just that. his poor puppy is still sniffling in his arms and has eyes full of tears as his owner cleans him up, dabbing carefully at the cuts and making sure they're clean before wrapping an ice pack up and holding it on his boys face. he feeds dennis soft food and water (which may or may not have certain substances in to make the younger drowsy), and tucks him into bed, naked, to sleep. robby has things to prepare.
he gets out dennis's main collar- nearly two inches thick and made of stiff black leather- and also matching wrist and ankle cuffs that he'd kept hidden up until now. he wouldn't fasten them together at the moment, but would rather lock them on to dennis's limbs as permanent fixtures so he could be restrained whenever robby wanted. they'd be like his previous day collar. he also selected a tailor made cage for his boy's cock that he'd been withholding too- with the intention that it would only be removed for cleaning. his boy would never be vulnerable out in the world again, and would never spend a day unbound from his owner's restraints.
he settles on the bed and brushes his hand over dennis's beautiful curls. such a pretty boy. a delicate boy, something special to be protected. after such a near miss, it was clear that denny needed to be kept safe and sound right where he was. the younger barely sniffles as robby discards the day collar- it won't be of any use now that the pup will be permanently fully collared- and replaces it with the thick leather one. he tightens it enough that the pressure will be unrelenting, but that he can still slip a finger under it. good. he reaches behind him and picks up a light but strong chain, attaching one end to the headboard and the other to the back of the collar, locking it in place. his puppy looked good chained to the bed. he'd be staying there a while.
onto each of his wrists and ankles went the cuffs, not connected for now and so still allowing him full range of movement, but they were locked on too. the ones on his ankles also had the necessary hardware to be attached to a spreader bar, should robby choose. in the same manner, his boy's cock was also locked away from his touch.
standing back from the bed, robby surveyed his work. his puppy was collared and bound and ready to be a permanent pet. he'd never have to know the feeling of clothes again, or the feelings of stress and pain, or the scary things that happened outside. robby resolved that he'd even be the one taking his boy to the bathroom, holding his cock so that he didn't get any ideas. his body was already robby's to control, and now his entire life would fall under that umbrella. looking at denny's puffy nipples, he thinks about some piercings.
he settles himself against the headboard and cuddles his property into his lap, careful to arrange the chain so that it didn't get in the way. he snuggled and loved on his puppy until those blue eyes blinked open and the pup nuzzled into his chest. it didn't take dennis long to notice the heavy duty restraints on all his limbs, and the way his cock and neck were both bound and trussed up, locked in place.
"mmm... daddy..?"
"heyyyyy, my puppy baby, you feeling okay? need more painkillers sweetie?"
dennis wriggled a little and stared at his caged cock. robby watched carefully, but the puppy didn't seem distressed at all.
"staying here now?"
oh, his boy catches on quick! how smart of his little one. robby strokes his head again as he breaks the news.
"yeah, puppy, staying here now. you got hurt out there. it's not safe for pretty boys like you, so daddy's made the decision to keep you safe and sound. you see your collar and your cuffs?"
dennis nods sleepily, chain clinking behind him.
"they're staying on for good now baby. no more outside. you'll stay here with daddy and i'll make sure you've got your chain on too when you can. no more dr. whitaker. there's only daddy now, okay? only daddy and his puppy in his good boy restraints."
dennis yawns and seems unbothered, snuggling closer and enjoying the tug of his collar. his new cage hides the way he wants to chub up at the thought of having his wrists bound for his daddy and finally losing all his independence. he hopes robby locks them together soon.
"are you a happy pup, denny? you're happy here with me?"
robby is already smiling, seeing his boy isn't distressed (not that distress would've changed robby's mind about the complete captivity in any way) and petting down his back.
"mmm.. yeah. happy. puppy now."
"that's right baby! no more medicine, just a puppy. sleep now, pretty baby. daddy will get you all locked up proper tomorrow."
dennis smiles as he drifts off in robby's arms. robby, smitten as he is with his new 24/7 pet, still finds time to plan the next gear he should buy. maybe a chest harness would be good? or a full blown chastity belt? maybe both, to be honest. he had time now.
Series Summary: Five times Daryl protects you; one time you return the favor.
Chapter Summary: As the group moves to the Greene family farm, Daryl agrees to keep sharing a room with you - which means being there for you during your nightmares.
Tags: timeline and location fuckery, greene farm era, soft daryl, hurt/comfort, reader has selective mutism, nightmares, light sexual tension, very brief m masturbation (he beats one off in the shower after seeing you in a towel)
Content Warnings: nightmares
Author's Note: i just like awkward softie daryl okay
Word Count: 2.9k
By the time you’re all moving into the Greene family’s farm, Daryl’s still the only person you talk to regularly, every once in a while whispering your thoughts in private to Rick if he wants your input alongside the rest of the group’s. Otherwise, everyone’s accepted your lack of speaking, even Shane. Daryl’s constant protective shadow over you has made it patently clear that messing with you might result in a boot to the gut or worse.
When you’ve all truly earned Hershel’s trust, everyone snaps up sleeping locations throughout the house. Maggie and Beth agree to share a room so that there are a couple free bedrooms upstairs and one downstairs. Rick, Lori, and Carl set up in one of the bedrooms. Andrea and Carol agree to share another one with a tacit invitation to Dale for a mattress on the floor if he wants to come in from the RV. Glenn says he wants to sleep in the living room, which leads to T-Dog and Shane reluctantly agreeing so they don’t look like cowards for wanting a bedroom when walkers or worse could show up any time.
Which leaves you and Daryl. Rick’s the one to suggest you get the last bedroom, smaller and on the first floor. You’re the young one, the single one, the vulnerable one. Nobody likes the idea of you on the living room floor right next to all the guys. Because it’s Rick’s suggestion, you don’t speak up even though you want to. In your mind, Daryl’s one of the most valuable people in the group, so he ought to have some of the best sleeping conditions. But the way Daryl cuts you a stern look when you open your mouth to argue with Rick’s offer makes it clear that it’s not your choice.
There isn’t a label on what’s between you and Daryl and nothing’s happened, not really, but there’s obviously been a shift. Everyone notices it in the way you linger around each other, gravitationally bound to share space. Nobody’s surprised by the way you curl up against him that night when everyone’s eating a proper home-cooked meal of roasted chicken and potatoes courtesy of Maggie, Beth, and Patricia, around the fireplace like a real family.
As you settle next to him, stretching your toes toward the fire to warm up, Daryl grunts unhappily, “Y’don’t have any food.”
Enjoying the heat of the flames on your chilly bare feet, you hum, “I had somethin’ earlier.”
His eyebrows knit together as he nudges, “Only saw you eat half a granola bar.”
“Trackin’ what I eat now, Dixon?” You tease him with a poke to his firm bicep. “I’m alright; no need to waste proper protein on someone who’s not even goin’ on runs or helpin’ out much beyond cleanin’ up and laundry.”
Without another word, Daryl sets his bowl on the hearth, stands up, and heads to the kitchen. He returns a few moments later with another plate of the meal with all the fixings, even a couple of the pillowy rolls Carol had proofed and doted over herself.
“Dare, I really don’t need-”
“Don’t wanna hear it,” he cuts you off. “I’m tryin’ to enjoy my dinner here. Ain’t gonna enjoy it if I can hear your stomach rumblin’ next to me.”
With an eye roll that disguises a smile, you accept the plate and eat to appease him, secretly grateful he’s making you. It’s been a habit of yours ever since you joined up with the Atlanta group to try not to impose, to never take more than your fair share, to shrink yourself whenever possible. Given the circumstances of the world, nobody ever argues when you want to make their lives easier or their bellies fuller. But tonight the chicken is savory and garlicky and the potatoes are buttery and you haven’t eaten anything this good in months. Daryl listens to your tiny, satisfied moans alongside everyone else’s and smiles to himself while conversation kicks up around you.
While the attention’s on Hershel and Dale exchanging stories, you nod toward your new door just off the living room and murmur, “Dare, you wanna sleep with me?”
He snorts out a laugh. “Hell’s that mean?”
Face heating up when you realize what you’ve said, you quickly clarify, “Just in the room, I mean. I know you like the quiet and it’s hard for you to stay asleep when you can hear everyone shufflin’ around and everything. I figure we’ve been sharin’ a tent long enough that we can make the move to a room.”
Daryl shakes his head right away. “Ain’t makin’ you share a bed with a man.”
“There’s a couch,” you tell him quickly. Urgently. It makes him think you really want him there, by your side. “I could curl up on it just fine.”
Still, he responds, “Ain’t puttin’ a woman on a couch if there’s a bed.”
“Fine. You sleep on the couch. Sleep standin’ up or hangin’ like a bat or on the floor. Doesn’t matter as long as you’re there.” You nestle your head, embarrassed, into the crook of his shoulder and admit, “I like havin’ you near me when I’m sleeping. Makes me feel…safe, I guess. I’m used to it now. So will you?”
A content little smile curls at the corner of his lips at your honesty. You don’t draw attention to it; he’d be way too embarrassed to acknowledge that he likes being around you – and that he likes being wanted by you, specifically. He nods tightly and replies, “Yeah, alright.”
As Daryl follows you obediently toward the bedroom after finishing off dinner, conspiratorial glances are exchanged through the group. You slip inside and he gives you a second to get your things put away, lingering in the closed doorway.
Rick eats his last mouthful, smirks more than a little self-righteously at the thought, and asks, “You two finally shackin’ up for real now?”
“S’just a bedroom,” Daryl cuts back.
Carol starts collecting plates from everyone and joins in, “Then why are you blushing?”
He shakes his head at them, glaring, and grouses, “Probably a sunburn.”
She lilts, all smiles, “How’d you get a sunburn sitting inside all day?”
When you open up the door for him to join you inside, all he can mutter to the others is, “Shut up.”
It’s a small room, originally servant quarters, barely fitting a full-sized bed, small dresser, and loveseat (‘couch’ is being generous, but it’s still more comfortable than the canvas tent on the gravel lot), but it’s got four walls and its own attached bathroom set off the rest of the house, which makes it heaven on earth as far as you’re concerned. Privacy is as precious a commodity as any other creature comfort.
“A shower, Dare,” you squeal as you check out the bathroom while he drops his things on the floor, daring to slide his boots off. “A real honest-to-god shower and bottles of soap instead of bars. With a tub.” Sounding more reverent now, you whisper, “Gosh, I could have a bath all to myself.”
He wrinkles up his nose. “Y’want a bath? Sittin’ in all that grime?”
“Hell no; I’ve been bathing in quarry water for months,” you reply with a laugh. “Right now I want a shower more than anything. But once I’m clean – real clean, no grime clinging on – I think I’ll have a bath with bubbles and everything.” Then you give him a shy glance. “Mind if I shower first before bed?”
“Go right ahead. Gotta tune my bow anyway. Never know what’s gonna happen at night.”
“Nothing’s gonna happen,” you tell him, a little huffy. “You’ve gotta learn to relax, Dixon, or you’re gonna give yourself a heart attack.”
“Heart attack’s better than a walker bite.”
You roll your eyes. “Sure it is.”
Then you leave him alone with his bow. You know it’s not actually about the weapon; that bow is Daryl’s meditation time, his sense of safety, a symbol of everything good he’s become. Anyway, the shower is absolutely divine. The water pressure’s iffy and the soap is too harsh for your hair, but it’s the best thing you’ve experienced since the world ended. You even find yourself singing and humming, some pop song your mind still remembers the tune of even if you’ve lost most of the words by now. On the other side of the slightly cracked open door, Daryl listens to your voice with a dopey smile on his lips, not even half paying attention to his bow.
The water turns off with a squeak of the knob and he hears you shuffle around in the bathroom for a moment before you emerge. Daryl looks up to ask how the shower was but suddenly finds his throat too paralyzed to speak at the sight of you wrapped up in the threadbare towel, miles of your legs exposed and your wet hair sending drops of water trailing down your arms and- Oh god, your chest. All the clothes you wear are baggy and overtop sports bras, so he had no idea about the soft swell of your breasts, pushed together beautifully against the wrapped towel. He knows you have tits, of course, but he hadn’t imagined them so soft and inviting. Hell, he had worked very, very hard not to imagine them at all. But now they’re right in front of his face as you step closer to him, moving toward the dresser, and he can’t think about anything but how nice it would feel to bury his tired face between them.
“Do I look that different when I’m clean?” You tease lightly as you go through your bag, unpacking clothes into the small dresser like a real person, “You’re starin’, Dixon.”
“Sorry; zoned out a sec,” he lies poorly as he cheats his body a bit so you don’t catch him adjusting himself below the belt. “How’s the shower?”
“Amazing,” you swoon, holding a clean oversized tee from one of the Greenes to your chest. “I feel so good. Like a new woman.” Then you give him a pointed look. “I saved you some hot water if you wanna grab a shower, too.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You sayin’ I stink?”
“Damn right,” you giggle. “Go on; you’ll like it.”
After rolling his eyes, Daryl dips into the bathroom – mostly to get his ridiculously hard cock as far away from you as possible. Fuck, Dixon, are you thirteen? Pair of tits that ain’t even naked gettin’ you this worked up? He shakes his head at himself and locks the door. Then he steps into the shower, the water still blistering hot, and immediately wraps his hand around his cock, hating himself for thinking about the tops of your bare breasts but unable to think of anything else. His teeth dig into his lower lip so hard he draws blood as he tries to stay quiet. There’s really no other option if he has to share a room with you all night.
After he spills his seed down the drain, he keeps it quick. Works the same soap over his hair, face, and body. Rinses. Shaves his face for once. Towels off and calls it a day.
Back in the bedroom, you’re half underneath the covers reading a book Maggie offered you that afternoon by flickering candlelight. When Daryl steps out of the bathroom, your eyes drift casually up and then widen. You snap your gaze back down to the page until you can’t handle it anymore and just have to take in his toned chest. He’s got real proper strong muscles, not show muscles, like he could toss you over his shoulder no problem.
It’s not the first time you’ve seen him without a shirt on, but this, with the towel hanging low on his hips, feels dangerously different than the times you’ve seen him hastily changing his shirt, angling his body so you wouldn’t see the scars on his back. Tonight, he’s letting you look.
He can’t stop himself from teasing you about it, though. “Now who’s starin’?”
“I’m just surprised is all.” You reply with a laugh, trying to keep your voice level even as your heart pounds. “Didn’t realize you were white under all that dirt.”
He doesn’t miss how you swallow hard, how your eyes dart around the room, how you touch the back of your hand to your cheek to cool it down, but he lets it all go. No need to embarrass you when you’re all clean and cozy in bed, the way he wishes you could always be. All he wants is for you to get a good night’s sleep for once.
Your shared bedtime routine goes like that, the two of you settling into a rhythm around each other. Brushing teeth side by side, changing clothes behind the door, pretending not to look at each other after your showers before you get comfortable in bed and he putters. Cleaning and tuning his crossbow or just staring out the window late into the night, Daryl keeps watch like an obedient rottweiler, never sleeping until he’s certain that you’re safe and sound. Something about your even breaths makes them the only thing that can lull him to rest. Then he crawls onto the couch or sprawls out on the floor and sleeps fitfully as always, his subconscious unable to fully relax.
By now, he’s gotten used to your nightmares. The two of you have slept back to back in his larger tent most nights, so he’s familiar with the way you sometimes whine softly like you’re crying, gasp like you’ve been frightened, and toss and turn until your mind lets you settle again. Usually, they don’t keep him up long.
But they’re never like this.
Maybe it’s because you haven’t slept in a real bed in months or maybe it’s pure coincidence, but your nightmare seems particularly intense one random night in the late summer. The whole night’s been humid and hot, sticky, keeping everyone on edge until well after dark. Daryl wakes up to the sound of you starting to cry in your sleep, quick and soft, and then watches you from across the room for a minute, patiently waiting for you to calm down again like usual. He hates watching your eyebrows twist up into fear, but you normally don’t remember them in the morning, so he tries not to wake you.
Then your whimpering cries turn to sounds more like wails, somewhere closer to screaming, and he has to do something. He tells himself it’s only to stop you from waking everyone else as he climbs into bed next to you and gently touches your face with his rough calloused hand. You jolt awake and start hyperventilating, throat tight and raw, face covered in tears and cheeks hot. And then it’s lightning clear to him that this isn’t about anything other than how he loves you.
Daryl wraps his arms around you, holding you tight to his chest as you shake and cry hard. “You’re okay, darlin’, I’ve got you. You’re safe. Just breathe now.”
Shuddering, teeth chattering, you sob out, “I- I can’t- I’m not-”
He kisses the side of your head, cradling it in one of his big hands, and soothes, “It’s alright, baby, you don’t gotta talk. Breathe with me. Just focus on that. Focus on me. Ain’t nothin’ gonna hurt you when I’m here.”
Gripping his shirt tight in your fists, you nod into his chest and try to slow your breaths as the panic gradually loosens. Daryl takes deep, slow breaths to guide you, murmuring sweetness into your ear. He’s never touched you so much and so confidently before and it’s grounding you exactly the way you need right now.
As the tears finally stop, you snuggle deeper into his embrace. “Thanks, Dare.”
He runs his thumb over your cheek and asks, “You wanna talk about it?”
You concentrate on breathing in his scent. Even using the same laundry soap as everyone else, he manages to have that particularly woodsy smell that calms you down. “More ‘a the same. My friends dyin’ and those ROTC boys after and- and then it was you. This time. It’s- You’re never in my nightmares. I- I couldn’t find you but I knew- I knew you were hurt.” Your fingers curl tighter into his shirt and you whimper, “I was so scared without you.”
“I’m right here now,” he whispers, surprised and emotional at your words. He’s not sure why he feels like crying. His voice is a protective growl as he tells you, “I ain’t goin’ nowhere. Not without you.”
“Promise?”
“Swear.” As you pull back from him just enough to wipe away your tears, he holds your shoulders and asks, “Think you can get back to sleep?”
You nod and slowly bury yourself beneath the covers again. When Daryl starts to move away, you grab his arm with trembling fingers. Tentative and soft, you ask, more like a plea, “Would you stay with me a while?”
Daryl goes stiff for just a second, debating the request, and decides it’s too late and you’re too gentle for him to overthink it. So he carefully folds himself up, turning onto his side to fit on the bed next to you, and tries to relax his body.
Then you hook your leg over his hip and loop your arm around his neck like a backpack and he stiffens up again. A woman’s never held him like this, all desperate and open and vulnerable. It cracks open a dormant part of him, somewhere deep inside, and he has no choice but to reciprocate. He adjusts so that he can get his strong arms around you, tucks your head beneath his chin, and sighs softly. Kissing the top of your head, he assures you, “I’ll stay forever if you want. Just rest now.”
In lieu of my ko-fi, please consider donating to my mother's long-term dementia care fund.
yeah I just know robby loves watching dennis get off.
dennis thought he had to put on a show the first time— spread his legs wide and bite his lip, slowly fuck himself open on his fingers— but no, that's not what robby wants. robby wants real, wants him, exactly what he does when he's alone.
his cheeks burn at robby's molten, intense gaze, sitting back in a chair with a hand resting over his bulge. not stroking himself, barely palming himself, more focused on his sweet pup getting all flustered. dennis swallows thickly as he grabs robby's pillow, sets it on the bed, mounts it. robby grins. theere you go, puppy. need something to hump, huh? cute little puppyhumps? shit, cmon, baby, show me...
dennis whimpering as he drags his hips against the pillow, a wet spot growing on the crotch of his briefs, damp with slick. his tdick is hard and pulsing against the fabric, the friction against it so deliciously good. when he presses down a little harder his mouth pops open in a gasp, a shock of pleasure shooting up his spine, making him arch.
he gets desperate enough to lose his self consciousness, start humping in earnest, little yelps spilling from his pretty mouth with each desperate fuck of his hips against the pillow, chasing the pleasure. awww, does that feel so good? yeah? yeah? what a good boy!!! making your cute little puppyparts all drooly against daddy's pillow, huh? fuuuck, gonna smell just like that sweet cunt... keep going, gooood boy...
the praise makes him feel dizzy, stupid, too weak to stay upright. it always ends up like this, him shifting to his side, curled up fetal with the pillow still tucked firmly between his legs, hips working fast and desperate against it. the noises hiccuping out of him are downright pitiful, pathetic, little yips and cries and high-pitched moans. he's daddy's good boy, he's a good boy... and oh, fuck, fuck, the friction is sooo good against his sensitive little puppyparts, making his hole clench and flutter around the emptiness, tdick throbbing, making him even dizzier.
he cums with a bitten-off whine, panting hard, hips stilling their grind as he twitches and whimpers through the aftershocks. he can only manage a weak moan as his owner takes the pillow out from between his legs, pushing him to his stomach and pulling his hips up for access. the stretch of daddy's cock makes him flail and sob, burning so sweet, filling him aalll the way up. pleasure burns hot in his stomach as robby starts to pump in and out of his puffy pussy, fucking him hard and deep, making him drool into the sheets.
aww, what a messy pup... shh, shh, shh, puppy, just let me in, you're okay... such a good boy, humping my pillow, dirty, desperate little thing. my stupid little mutt, huh? my precious, dumb puppy? yeahh, you like being stupid for me... like being a dumb, pliant little fuckpet, huh? fuuuck, squeezing me so goddamn tight... little puppyparts don't wanna let daddy go, hmm? noo, I know, I knoww... gooood boy, good puppyy.
synopsisRobby wants to take you- his beautiful wife- on a romantic get away, he forgets about the knuckleheads that means leaving at home
warningskids, robby is a dad in this, you are a mom, language, smut-ish (pentration) hospital stuff, bone breaking etc
author notewasn't i so original with the names? my genius frightens even me sometimes. this is a short little thing I just had in my head and really wanted to write. if you're not into kid fics i apologise, really this was just an excuse to write something featuring a version of john carter again. I have lots and lots and lots of pitt drafts and thank you for requests!! I am slowly getting through them:)
the pitt masterlist. another Robby fic!
The smell of wood and coffee drifted to you as Robby nudged open the door with his boot, grunting slightly at the weight of the bags he carried that you'd offered to help him with but hadn't even got a reply as Robby slung one under arm, taking the other two in hand and walking past you with a smirk.
“Home sweet home,” he said.
The cabin was small and hidden away from the city. It was miles away from the hospital and any roads to hide the noise of wailing sirens.
Peace. That's what this getaway was about, taking you somewhere the two of you could live as a young couple, un-disturbed. It was about the only thing that had gotten Robby through the last tough weeks of work. All the blood and death and bathroom breaks of locking himself in stools to silently cry was all so he could come home to you and his family in one piece.
Now, he could shred every responsibility that didn't include being your husband and that wasn't a responsibility. More an honour.
Robby looked down at you with a smile, expecting to see one back. Instead, you were looking down at your phone. “Sweetheart, what are you doing?”
“I'm just checking in with the kids.”
He groaned and grabbed your phone, throwing it ahead into the cabin. It landed somewhere soft on the rug. “They'll be fine, they're what? Twenty something?”
You laughed and stepped closer into his circle of heat, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and drawing yourself closer. “Look at you, pretending not to know your kids ages.”
Robby dropped the bags, snapping his arms around your waist and holding you up. “What can I say? I'm loving... attentive...”
His beard scratched up and down your neck as he littered slow kisses there.
“Should I carry you through the doorway? Like when we were married?” Robby wasn't exactly encouraged by the idea with your laughter shaking in your chest.
“I don't think your back can handle that, old man.”
His brows rose up, tongue poking the inside of his cheek and you bit back a smirk. He couldn't help but think how sexy you looked, even after kids and marriage you never failed to stop looking beautiful.
And Robby had never found being called old sexier.
“Well,” he grunted, lifting you further till your toes were scraping the floor. “How about you go up to that bedroom and I show you just what this old man can do?”
“Dad's gonna kill me... Dad's gonna kill me.”
Noah watched his brother, John, pace the small hospital room. For such a tiny pace he was making good job at trekking miles. “Relax, at least we're in a hospital,” he said. “That way they can shock you back to life.”
“So he can kill me all over again!” John hit his forehead with the palm of his hand, the smack bouncing around the walls.
Their sister, Casey, laughed on the bed.
She was taking all this surprisingly well considering it was her arm broken and limply lying in her lap.
The brothers looked to her as if remembering she was there. Like she wasn't the reason they were there. Well- technically it was John's fault. Because he was older and he was supposed to be looking after Casey. He should have been the one watching her on the trampoline. Should have seen how she fell on her arm and a sickening crack followed.
To her credit, Casey didn't cry.
Instead she let out a string of curse words that would make a sailor shudder.
Noah didn't know which is dad would hate more: the cast she'll inevitably be put in or the words she'd some how picked up.
“How're you feeling?” John asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Hungry,” she said, pulling out the puppy dog eyes and pout that only a six year old could do effectively.
“Can't eat I'm afraid, not till we've got that arm looked at.”
“Will I need stitches?”
Noah let out one loud, ha! “Worse!”
Casey shrieked.
“Noah!” John lectured.
“What? I'm being honest! Honestly is the best policy.”
“Not when it scares her!”
“I'm not scared,” said Casey, momentarily misplacing her broken arm as she tried to flail them around only to end up teary eyed at the pain.
John shuffled closer to her side in panic, throwing an arm around her shoulder and comforting her. “It's okay, oh, it's okay.”
“I want daddy!”
John and Noah looked at each other, gulping.
It had been a total of four hours. Four hours they'd been gone and already things had gone wrong! The drive up to their cabin alone was five so they'd maybe only had three hours of relaxation. That was enough, right?
For months their dad had drilled it into them he was taking their mother away for an anniversary he had to work three months ago. This was the only time off together your schedules could work out. After all, PCMT didn't run steady without the attending and nurse.
We'll be gone three days, their dad told them, sitting the two brothers a year apart down. Carter will be busy at Presby so I need you two to look after Casey, alright? John you're eighteen, you're in charge.
Noah had never been happier to be younger.
It was all amusing to him really, besides the fact his sister was hurt- obviously.
“I want daddy too,” Noah laughed.
John paled.
Suddenly the door flew open and just when Noah thought it might have been a doctor they'd never seen, or Abbot or Dana, it only got worse.
Carter rushed in, white lab coat billowing a second behind him. Their dad thought it was tacky and dumb (med students haven't worn them since the 90s, he'd said) but their mom thought Carter looked handsome so- the doting mommy's boy he was- Carter always wore it.
Noah rolled his eyes.
“Hey, hey, what's going on here?” he rushed over to Casey, pressing a kiss to her forehead and petting down her hair. “You okay? She okay?”
“She's fine,” said John, standing from the bed.
“My arm hurts,” whined Casey.
“I'll give you ten bucks to say nothing,” said John.
Casey made a dramatic move in holding in her words.
John should have done it for five.
Carter looked around the room like he was wholly confused even if he was in his second year of med school in Presby and was accustom to the look of a hospital room. “Where's her chart? Has she been looked at? Has Dana been in?”
“No, I got us in on the down low,” said Noah, standing from his chair.
Carter hovered over the computer, trying to find a way to log in that didn't mean hacking into the system. “The down low?”
John reached his other side. “I bribed Donnie to get us a room.”
“Why would you do that?”
“So they don't call mom and dad!”
“They're not here?” Carter asked, a furrow between his brows.
“No, they're up at the cabin,” said John.
“Their romantic getaway, you remember that?” asked Noah.
Carter's expression dropped. “That was today?”
“Yeah that was today, where have you been living?” said Noah, knowing his brother lived in the second biggest room of the house and had been pretty much vacant from it with his studies. Noah had took to invading the room at any chance.
John rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “We called you cause... you know, you're a doctor.”
“Well, no, I'm a med student,” said Carter, though briefly the word 'doctor' had gone to his head. And ego.
“But you're so good at it,” encouraged Noah, thumping their eldest brother on the chest and fixing his crooked stethoscope. “What better time will you have to put your skills to good use then to help our sister?”
The three looked back to Casey who was watching them, blinking.
“How's your pain on a scale of one to ten, Casey? One being no pain at all, ten being horrible, terrible, worst pain of your life?” asked Carter, keeping his voice as light and brotherly as possible.
Casey looked to John.
He sighed. “You can talk, Casey.”
She thought about it for a second. “A seven?”
Carter cursed under his breath.
John and Noah shared a look, knowing who to blame Casey's exclamations on. “You can order labs,” said John.
“Yeah, get her a scan or something,” added Noah.
Carter laughed them off. “I can't, I don't work here!”
John put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “Of course you can, you're a Robinavitch.”
“Hey,” said Santos, approaching the nurses station as if in a daze. “I'm like totally not crazy and I totally don't miss the guy or anything but I swear I just saw a younger version of Robby walk in here.”
“What?” Javadi laughed.
Whitaker nodded along, as if he'd expected it. “You must really miss the guy, huh?”
Santos rolled her eyes. “No, Jesus that's not it. I just mean Robby's literal doppelganger just walked in, white lab coat and all.”
Dana didn't make it a habit to listen into gossip... sometimes she couldn't help it. She lingered at the nurses counter, listening with one ear to everything else around her in case there was an actual emergency.
“Really, where?” Javadi asked.
“Hey! You three!” Dana called, snapping her fingers as she approached the three, peering at them over her glasses. “We got beds to empty, people to see, let's move it!”
The three were resigned to do their job, as so many usually were, but Dana watched them go, ensuring they were all going to three separate locations but not before she caught Trinity leaning into Javadi, whispering in her ear an exam room where this mysterious young Robby was hid in.
Dana wondered but not for long as she found the room with not one, not two but four Robinavitch children inside.
A grin formed. It was always good to see them, especially since she'd been seeing them since they were babies, having held each one of them in her arms and held each of their hands as they started to walk. Sometimes they still needed the hand.
Carter, John and Noah's backs were to the door, the three standing over the bed in clear thought if their folded arms and tense backs were anything to go by, so like their father they were.
Casey Robinavitch, the youngest of the set, was first to spot her, smiling wide. “D! D!”
“Well look what the cat dragged in!” she celebrated.
Casey did what she could to move but Dana was there at her side, embracing her and helping her back down onto the bed.
The boys were less enthusaticaly.
“Hey, Dana,” John said quietly.
Carter was by far his father's son in looks. The same sloped nose and brown eyes. Dressed up as a doctor he looked even more the part. It freaked Dana sometimes, like having the ghost of young and cocky Michael Robinavitch hovering around the place.
John and Carter- still alike their father- had a bit more of you in them. In their smile and eyes. Casey too.
“What the hell's going on here, you miss me that much you invaded the place, huh?” she asked though she could tell by all three of the boys looking worried and Casey sitting still that there was some reason to have been here.
“It looks like Casey broke her arm,” said Carter, brushing back his hair. “A simple Distal Radius fracture.”
“You got all that without a scan? Presby must be teaching you something,” she teased.
Carter blushed.
Dana cast her gaze to the quiet John and Noah. “Which one of you supposed to be looking after my girl here anyway?”
They both pointed at each other.
Dana shook her head and rolled her eyes before focusing ahead to Casey. “Okay, honey, you hungry? I keep a stash of candy in my draw, you want a piece?”
She nodded enthusaticaly.
“But she'll need surgery for her arm, she can't eat,” said Carter.
“Even I knew that,” added John.
“Yeah well the OR's a little backed up,” said Dana with a pat to Casey's knee. She stood up and drew the curtain around them, closing them in. “We had an accident and there's a long que.”
She didn't want to get in the specifics of crash that involved all the OR's time but Carter approached her.
“Anything I can do?” he asked.
Dana smiled. She had to say, it was good to see the kids that were made from her favourite attending and nurse. “No, kid. You stay here with your family, I'll handle everything.”
“What's with the curtain?” asked Noah.
“Are we grounded?”
“You're all a bit of a celebrity around here, the new residents and med students don't know you guys exist, heck they only realised your parents were married after Huckleberry caught them in the lounge.”
“Ew,” said John.
“Caught them what?” asked Casey, full of child like innocence.
The boys looked to Dana in amusement.
“Doing things adults shouldn't do at work,” she said.
Casey wasn't satisfied. “Like what?”
“You can ask them when they get here.”
“You're not gonna call them, are you?” asked John, adam's apple moving in his swallow.
“Have to kid, sorry! I'll get Princess to take you to X-ray, sound good?” she asked Casey, knowing Princess was her favourite (other than herself of course) because she was better at braiding than both her parents.
John fell into his seat, hunched over. In comfort, Carter clamped a hand on his shoulder.
Dana left the family, shaking her head and trying to hide her smile. She'd pushed you and Robby to go away, trusting that the three boys you held in such high esteem would handle looking over one small girl who really wasn't that much trouble.
She hated to be proved wrong.
Hated even more she had to interrupt the two of you after she'd had to watch the sultry looks passed between the two of you and stop the two of you from disappearing together into rare empty beds and store rooms.
Dana called you first, shaking her head while she did.
“Robby!”
He groaned into your neck, his arms caging in your head as he moved in and out of you with a rapid pace. Sweat covered both your bodies from the long-awaited sex he planned to drag out. “My god,” he groaned.
Your nails scratched down his back leaving angry welts in your place. He licked lazily at your neck, moaning and groaning at the taste.
The both of you were as loud as you liked, without kids barging in to say they couldn't find the remote or wanting to know what was for dinner. The cabin stood alone with only trees as its companion so you could be as loud as you liked.
He'd had you coming on his mouth and fingers- then once more for luck- before he finally found himself home in you and that was how it felt, coming home.
Your back arched into him as his hips met yours. “Michael... Michael...”
You could feel him grin into your neck. “Gonna come again? Come on my cock, jus how I like.”
Robby found your lips and kissed you openly, all teeth and tongue. His breathing was laboured, his lips a hungry mess. His hips drove in more and more, his groaning louder, face scrunched in concentration to last.
“Please, Michael, please,” you whined against his lips.
Robby licked at your lips, nodding-
Suddenly there was a loud ringing and vibration against the wood off the bedside table where you'd left your phone.
Robby groaned but not in pleasure. As his lips pulled away from yours you turned to look at your phone. “Ignore it, ignore it,” he begged, cupping your cheek to move you to look at him again.
You let him kiss you, let him distract you with his tongue as he drove his cock in and out quicker, desperate to chase your high.
“Oh god, hurgh, fuck!”
Your phone still rung and his grip hardened on your face.
“Could be... could be the kids...” you uttered.
“They're fine, they're fine-”
But you couldn't help but stretch, under the feign of pleasure you arched up and grabbed your phone, turning it face up.
“Jesus-” Robby grunted but stilled inside of you, impossibly close.
Hospital. Work. Calling.
“Jesus-” he chuckled dryly. “Hasn't even been a day.”
Before you could even think about answering it Robby snatched it from your hand and threw it half way across the room.
“Robby!” you laughed.
Your arms wrapped back around him and drew him in, legs going around his waist as his cock continued his work.
“Jack, thank god!” Dana gasped when she spotted the night attending making his way in. He greeted her with a bag already over his shoulder, giving her a brief hug.
“Hey, got your message, what's going on?” he asked, brows knitted together in worry.
It was a last ditch attempt. Dana had called you a handful of times from the hospital phone and her own. She'd tried Robby and been sent straight to voice mail. Nothing. She couldn't exactly blame the two of you, it was supposed to be a holiday.
None of the kids were willing to be the one to make the call and other than tackle them to get a phone Jack was the last result.
“Got a family situation, the parents won't pick up,” she explained.
“What kind of family-”
Dana led him into the exam room.
Casey was sitting in the bed, her arm up in a sling with a pizza box in her lap. Next to her Noah was cosied on the bed while John and Carter were on each side of the bed, chairs pulled him and pizza slices in hands.
“Uncle Jack!” Casey cheered.
The boys at least looked happier to see him than they had Dana. They knew if Jack was here it meant they couldn't get in contact with either you or their dead.
“What's this? A pizza party and I wasn't invited?” he said, setting down his bag and heading for Casey, checking in on her first.
“What's this? Where's the pizza come from?” asked Dana.
“They were hungry, I ordered,” said Carter.
“And surgery for her arm?”
Carter chocked down the last of his pizza. His doctors coat was still sat on his shoulders but his tie was lose around his neck and several pens were missing from his pocket. “The OR's backed up, you said that, you gave her a lollipop!”
Dana tried her best efforts to be mad on behalf of Robby but it didn't work. Robby could maybe be mad at the boys if he had the right too but Casey he could never seem find to be angry with. A daddy's girl through and through.
“Hey, Carter, how's Presby?” asked Jack, all the while testing the pain with Casey.
“Good, it's er, it's good,” he said. “I told them there was a family emergency.”
There was only one reason Carter had gone to Presby and that was to keep work and home away from each other. He couldn't be a student under his dad and mom.
“So you er-” Noah started. “Couldn't get through to mom or dad, huh?”
There was an un-denying gleam of joy at that.
“No, we couldn't,” said Dana. “But we're gonna keep trying.”
Carter crossed his arms over his chest as if he were the concerned doctor and not the worried older brother. “We need their permission for the surgery, what happens to her arm if it's not put right soon?”
“Well good news is I can pull weight in the OR, though we'll have to wait for the pizza to go down,” said Jack, taking a bite from the slice Casey held in hand. She laughed. “What colour we thinking? Pink? Red? Black?”
“Can I have three colours?” she asked.
Jack shrugged. “I'll put the request in.”
“Why aren't they answering? Maybe they're asleep?” said John.
Noah smirked. “Or maybe they're enjoying their free time.”
Jack shot him an unamused look.
“I meant playing games!” he defended.
“Like twister?” asked Casey.
Carter looked away, scratching the back of his head as Dana hid her smirk along with him.
“Yeah, twister.”
You'd managed to escape the clutch's of Robby, managing to throw his shirt on and get to the kitchen for a glass of water. Your legs had been shaky in the sort of delicious way you'd missed.
It was dark out, the small orange glow of the lights around the cabin lighting your way as you downed half your drink.
The wooden floor creaked behind you. The curve of Robby's belly met your back.
His hands wound under his shirt on your body, fondling your hips. “I thought the point of a get away was no clothes allowed.”
You bit your lip, gently setting down your glass of water. “And if I turn around are you going to be following that rule?”
Robby chuckled into your skin. His lips found your neck again, kissing over the bruises he'd left from before. It started slow, the sort that reminded you of your first time before his teeth met your skin and nipped. His hands got further up your skin, running over the curves of your body. “Why don't you look and find out?”
The idea of Robby in all his beauty had you salivating at the mouth and lower parts when a vibration alerted the two of you.
Robby groaned again, the both of you finding his phone left in his pants pocket crumpled on the floor.
It seemed you'd been in a hurry to get them off.
“The thing keeps going!”
Robby was naked, and it distracted you all through the walk to get his pants, fishing for his phone. Not that he cared, he only finished your glass of water.
Your hormones were going crazy, begging you to climb your husband like a tree but you still managed to answer the phone. “Michael's phone.”
“Jesus what's it take to get you to pick up a phone!” Dana said in a way of greeting.
“Oh, hi Dana, how are you? Sorry, we were... busy.”
“Yeah busy my ass, listen you guys need to come back.”
“Why, what's happening?”
Robby heard the worry in your voice and turned to look over his shoulder.
“Your kids are here, Casey's hurt.”
“So let me get this straight: You're letting Jack sign your cast first, then Carter, then John, then me!” gasped Noah.
The family had made themselves at home at in the small room, Casey in the bed like the queen of the castle though even queens needed sleep.
Carter was watching his sister come in and out of sleep while John stayed close to her side, stroking back her hair. They'd put her in the list for the OR, it was backed up enough that by the time she got in her eating wouldn't have been a problem. In three more hours he'd have to get back to Presby and carry on a shift. He should've used the time for napping but found the hospital chairs not so comfy.
Casey nodded, as if proud.
“It's John's fault and he gets to sign it before me!”
“He didn't steal my favourite crayons!” she said.
Jack raised his brows at Noah. “Crayons?”
Noah stuttered with all the eyes on him. “I was taking notes.”
“In crayons?” asked Jack.
“Colour helps you retain information! Look it up!”
There was a gang of laughter before the doors burst open.
Robby was first into the scene and you were close behind.
“Dad!” said Casey.
“Hey, sweetie,” he greeted, by-passing everyone else in the room to press a kiss to her forehead, keeping a hand on her fine arm. “What the hell happened?” he asked to the room.
John and Noah fell into your side, trying to be safe there away from the wrath of their father. “She- she was on the trampoline and she fell, broke her wrist.”
“Distal fracture,” corrected Carter.
“Why weren't you looking out for her?” Robby asked as he took Jack's stethoscope from around his neck, pressing it to her chest as if there could be something wrong and as if they hadn't already checked.
“I-I turned my back for a second,” said John.
“It's okay,” you said, stroking back John's air just a little.
You walked past the boys, greeting Carter quickly before you set on the edge of Casey's bed. Your daughter had your eyes. “Hey honey, how are you feeling?”
Robby gave her another kiss on the forehead before stepping away and letting Jack- the closest thing the kids had to an uncle- take his place. There was a small wave of his hand and the boys- even Carter- fell into step. “So tell me why not even five hours into the trip with your mother we're called back in because you let your sister get hurt?”
“He didn't let her get hurt, dad,” Noah defended. “It could've happened whether or not John was watching her.”
Robby's hands ran up and over his face, pulling at the lines of age and worry. Deep down he knew that was true and the boys knew he knew that. It didn't change that Casey had been hurt and ended up in the hospital. If it had been one of them- Carter, John or Noah- Robby and you would have drove with the same speed.
“Okay, okay,” Robby nodded. “And who let her have pizza when she's in line for the OR?”
John and Noah turned to Carter.
Robby frowned. “Are they teaching you anything at Presby?”
“Dana said the OR was backed up!”
“Don't drag me into this kid!” called Dana from the open door and over the crowd that had formed.
On second look Robby spotted Whitaker, Javadi, King and Santos at the door with Samira- all of who knew you and Robby well, knew you had a flirty thing going on yet had no idea the life you'd shared and continued to create behind the scene.
Next to them stood Langdon, the one holding the door open for them all to see. The one that did know and had even played a hand in Casey's birth.
“Holy shit,” said Whitaker.
“You have kids?” asked Javadi. “Like actual, real-life off springs?”
Carter frowned, looking from the crowd to you. “Why do they seem so surprised at that?”
You smiled, leaning your head on Casey's as she babbled about the accident and everyone she wanted to sign her cast (including barbie herself). “Well, we didn't really mention the whole kids part.”
“So nobody knew we existed?” asked Noah, offended. “What happened to pride and joy?”
“What happened to pain in my ass?” said Robby, lovingly. At least, Carter thought it came off that way. “Okay- yes, yes,” he said addressing the crowd. “We have kids, we didn't say anything because well frankly it was none of your buisness-”
“I knew I saw a younger Robby!” said Santos. Her phone was in hand and clicking with the sound of a picture of the room- specifically Carter-before anyone could stop her.
“It's not like I don't have my hands full with you lot already,” Robby mumbled, rubbing at his temples. “But yes, we have four beautiful children, anything else?”
There was a clear of a throat. Surprisingly not from the crowd of doctors but from behind him. From you.
“What?” asked Robby.
You gave him a pointed look.
He'd said four kids. Had he got it wrong? Somewhere along the lines it did get hard to keep track of them all. Who had exams when, who was in line to follow in their footsteps in practising medicine, who wanted a dog for christmas, etc.
Just in case, Robby did a head count, counting his kids off on his fingers: Casey, Noah, John, Carter. Casey, Noah-
It wasn't till he looked at you and saw your hand lingering over your stomach that he realised.
He thought back to the wine you'd declined at dinner last week, to the morning sickness you'd tried to hide from him, to the way you said there were things to talk about when you had a chance alone. After four, Robby should have been good at spotting the signs.
Five children it would appear.
“Congratulations, brother,” Jack was first to say, smiling in amusement that you'd caught your husband so off guard. Again.
John and Noah were next in clapping him on the back before attending to you in the same celebrations.
Robby took it all red in the cheeks as Santos started to clap behind him, Whitaker following un-sure a beat behind her.
“Jesus, dad, can you keep it in your pants for once,” joked Carter, standing at his full height next to him.
Robby shrugged, arms folding over his chest. “Takes two.”
Noah frowned. “Ew.”
Casey, the poor girl with the broken wrist, wasn't sure what was going on. “Takes two to what?”
The room fell silent. You pursed your lips, looking to Robby for some explanation.
Carter patted his dad on the back, slipping out of the room.
John smirked. “Yeah, dad, takes two to what?”
Robby glared. “Son, lets talk about your grounding.”
Robby is distracted throughout Abbot's hand-off until he introduces his final patient. "Lastly we have twenty-eight-year-old Dennis Whitaker. Bacterial pneumonia; responding well to treatment so far, but we're keeping him here until social work comes down. He was brought in off the street by a good samaritan. Unhoused, we think. He hasn't said enough to get confirmation but it looks like he's a little."
Robby blinks out of his daydream when Abbot says that name. Dennis Whitaker—could it really be? The patient in the bed looks thinner and weaker than the boy Robby had known, but he hadn't been unhoused then. Or had pneumonia.
"Dennis? Dennis, do you remember me?" He gently asks.
The boy in the bed cracks an eye open, then smiles behind the clear oxygen mask. "Wobby," he croaks.
Jack shifts in the doorway. "One of yours?" He asks Robby.
"Yeah. Yeah, from down at the rec centre. Hey, I missed you, bear cub. I always wondered what happened to you."
A few years ago, after COVID-19 lockdown measures eased, Robby began spending his free time as a volunteer caregiver to lonely littles in his local area. Some of them had lost their support systems as a result of the pandemic, others were simply new to the city and hadn't yet placed roots. Back then, Dennis hadn't talked about why he sought out the services of a volunteer caregiver, and Robby hadn't pushed him to. He washed Dennis, read to him, took him to the nearby park and pushed him on the swings, really truly built a bond with the boy—and then he'd vanished. Robby still occasionally goes to the rec centre on his days off. He likes to look after the littles. But he's never experienced a bond like the one he'd had with Dennis, and he'd always hoped that they'd someday be reunited.
Not like this, though.
At Abbot and their combined pack of students and interns, he barks, "Has a detailed history been taken? Has he had a HRCT? I want to rule out any chronic conditions. Send for a full panel, actually."
"Whoa. Brother. Cool it," Abbot responds. "Everything is fine. He's already been checked. Pneumonia aside, he's only a little malnourished and he's missing some vaccinations—but we're on top of that already. You can read his chart yourself. All that's left is social work, like I said. Take it down a notch." He shoos away the surrounding crowd, then comes close to say, "You can sit with him for a while if you want. I'll stay for an extra hour. Not like I've got anywhere else to be."
Robby scrubs his hand over his face. Dennis is—Dennis isn't his. Not really. He's just someone he helped during a period of apparent need. Right now, though, it seems he needs him again. On the bed, he shifts and coughs hoarsely. The great force of it twists his face in pain. Instinctually, he shushes him, murmurs, "It's okay. It's okay." Then he turns to Abbot and says, "'ll stay for a while, but come by if you need me."
Abbot claps his shoulder. "I won't," he responds honesty. "Take your time."
part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | masterlist | ao3
rabbot x reader, park x reader, shen x reader, ellis x reader, langdon x reader
summary: You're Robby's favorite reward. When his staff earns it, he doesn't hesitate to offer you up. A month is a long time for you and for those around you to go without.
|| smut MDNI 18+, free use kink, cuckholding, a lot goin on in this chapter, overwhelmed!reader, fingering, mentions of spanking, flirting, groping (consensual), the men of the ED are handsssyyy!, lil moment where we might run into some dub con (reader wants but knows she cant have), praise kink, cuck!robby, dom!robby, jack watches, cockwarming, kissing, riding, orgasm denial (yeah, still), m!masturbation, lil glimpse of posessive!jack abbot, non canonical timeline ||
a/n: lots of different things going on in this chapter. If you start to feel overwhelmed, thats the point :) also, like... im sorry if its terribly edited. plz lmk of any mistakes!
wc: 15k sorry I never stfu
A month was a long time.
For the first few weeks you mostly stayed home for your own sanity.
Robby left you to your own devices rather than dragging you through the halls and chaos of the emergency department. And you knew it was for the better this way. Away from temptation, from complicated feelings. You got to focus on him—your connection, and the rebuild.
When he'd come home exhausted and worn from a shift with new grayer hairs and deeper creases carved beside his eyes, you'd greet him with an eagerness that embarrassed you sometimes. He sought you out the same way you did him—needing to be close, needing to clear your minds and just touch and kiss and give. And take.
You felt a little like you were starting to go crazy from the lack of release. Dysregulated, maybe. Because it wasn’t like Robby had stopped touching you altogether. No, he still came home and made you feel wanted. Still kissed you until your thoughts went fuzzy, still got his hands on you whenever he could, still fucked you deep into the mattress just how you liked. But it was everything after that started to get to you—the being brought right up to that heightened edge only to be left there over and over, your body not understanding why it never got to finish.
Even your own thoughts began to betray you. You’d be standing at the sink with your hands in warm dishwater, staring down at a plate you’d already scrubbed clean, thinking about him coming up behind you and bending you over the counter. You’d be folding laundry and suddenly lose the thread of what you were doing, a pair of his boxers in your hands from the dryer, your mind filling in some awful, humiliating little fantasy about getting stuck in there and him finding you, taking advantage of the position. The kind of crazy shit that college boys usually searched on porn sites. And it only made the mess between your legs pulse worse, ache worse, until you were hot and flustered and taking cold showers halfway through the day just to reset yourself.
And still, the line was always in the same place. Every single time you thought Robby might finally give in, might finally give you the relief you begged for, he wouldn’t. Instead, he’d leave you twisted up with frustration, blinking back tears while he held you against his chest and brushed your hair out of your face, telling you it was for your own good.
And you had agreed—at least for the first week.
By the second, you were counting days.
By the third, you were becoming a genuine menace.
The second he walked through the front door, you were on him. You’d hear his keys hit the bowl by the entryway, the sound of his shoes being toed off, and you’d already be making your way across the house. Some evenings he barely got a chance to set down his bag before you were climbing all over him, hands in his hair, mouth on his, pressing yourself against him with no patience left in you at all. Other nights he’d drop onto the couch with an exhausted sigh and find you halfway onto your knees before he’d even gotten comfortable.
And Robby knew. He had to know how crazy it was making you. Some little devil on your shoulder told you he was enjoying it, enjoying you being so insatiable, so needy for him all the time, following him from room to room, touching him whenever he got close enough, getting short with him when he made you wait.
Because that had started happening too. The attitude.
The little huffs of annoyance you'd never made before when he spoke to you, the muttered comments under your breath, the way you’d roll your eyes before you could stop yourself and then freeze because you knew he’d seen it.
He'd taken you over his knee so many times in the past few weeks, your bum was almost always sore. And, of course, it only made you wetter too. His voice would drop into that low, hoarse place it got when he slipped into his natural place with you, telling you to count, telling you to take it, telling you that pretty girls still needed to use their manners. Your face would be buried in the couch cushion, holding back your moans as you did as he said. And even when he'd slide his fingers into your sopping folds when he was done, that part still felt like punishment too. How sensitive you'd become, how needy and desperate it all made you.
Sometimes you wondered if he'd keep the torture going past the one-month mark, if he'd decide he was having entirely too much fun watching you unravel. But you trusted him, and he never played games with that trust. You knew you'd get your release soon.
Because you missed everyone. And he knew you missed them. He'd sometimes be deep inside you, sawing his hips so that his swelling cock kissed your cervix, his lips on your ear, his arms wrapped tight around you and he'd ask who you missed most. Was it Park and his big dick down your throat? Did you miss Langdon's sweet kisses? He knew your favorite things about his residents—about the staff. So he'd pluck at them like strings, asking you questions that made your eyes roll back as he drove his cock in and out of you.
And yes. Yes, you missed all of it. How Frank's kissing alone would turn you into a puddle, his mouth so pillowy and tasting like Red Bull. And Brendon. How sweet he was, how somehow he managed to make you feel cared for and desired at the same time. How there seemed to ve a version of him only reserved for you, one that always knew exactly what you needed to shut your brain off and make the rest of the world disapear for a little while.
You missed Jack too. Though you often shoved that thought far, far away.
But other than the sex, you just missed them. The others, too. Mateo, Shen— who hadn't seen in a while. You missed your friends. Dana, Samira, Trinity and Mel.
Maybe that's what you needed. A night just with friends. A girl's night out.
So you texted them. A group chat made up of residents, interns and med students. Mel, Trinity, Joy, Victoria, Samira, Parker. Even Dana and Emma.
And that's how you ended up here at Space Bar, with a colorful cocktail in your hand and pink and green and purple back lights flooding the bar with music thrumming through the speakers.
"What the hell kinda place have you dragged us to?" Ellis shouted over the music beside you at the bar as she pulled up a stool. When you looked over, her skin reflected the multicolored glow of lights, her pretty almond eyes on you. You watched as she tried to school her expression into something flat and deadpanned, but the twitch of her lips and the amusement in her gaze gave her away.
"Good to see you too, Parker," you teased, knocking your shoulder against hers. "And it's a cocktail lounge. V needs to get a taste for real drinks, not just the shit beers at Bob's on karaoke nights."
To your right, Victoria smiled, rolling those big brown doe eyes at you from beside Joy and Emma.
A handful of them had actually managed to get the night off, all of you packed shoulder to shoulder at the corner of the colorful bar. You listened while stories bounced back and forth about recent impossible patients, insane cases they saw, the attendings giving them shit. Whatever fresh disasters had happened in the weeks you were away from it all.
"Trinnnn—" you groaned when you spotted Santos coming from the door with someone trailing behind her, "I said it was a girl's night!"
She pouted back, throwing her head back onto her neck as she replied, "He's like a lost puppy—follows me everywhere, I swear."
Dennis came walking up, sheepishly standing away from the group, "I can…uh, go home."
"No, no, don't be silly," you said, smiling and grabbing his wrist to tug him closer, "How's Amy and the baby?"
He blushed, a deep red staining his cheeks, "She's good. Theo too."
You saw Trinity roll her eyes beside you as she flagged down the bartender and ordered them drinks.
"So, where's Yoyo tonight?" you asked.
She didn't answer, but shot a look at Dennis, who looked at you a little apologetically and said: "Touchy subject."
"No, no!" Trinity exclaimed, "It's cool! I actually like being her little squeeze toy on lonely nights!"
Her elbows hit the bar with a thunk, and she thanked the bartender for the drinks, handing one to Dennis, and then added when she saw the two of you grimacing at each other: "Please stop with that loooook. It's fine. Really."
It was a little quiet for a moment, awkward, uncertain. You wished you'd never asked.
"So when are you gonna tell us the reason you've been gone for a while?" Ellis asked beside you. You were grateful for a change in subject, but when every set of eyes flit up to your face, it made your skin burn hot.
"I've just been home, hanging out." you explained.
Ellis's brows shot up, a mock frown tugging her lips downwards, "No reason for the absence?"
"I just—I was taking a break."
"From…?"
"From the little reverse harem you got going on with Robby, right?" Trinity asked, the annoyed look long gone, now replaced with a shit eating smirk as she sipped her lime green drink.
You nearly choked on your own beverage, looking at her with wide eyes.
"Guys—" Mel cut in, two hands wrapped around her sprite, "I don't think it's really our business—"
"Wait, you and Robby…?" Emma asked shyly, her mouth open, the pieces of her hair that hung around her face swinging as she looked around the group.
"Duh," Joy said dryly, "Where have you been, Em?"
"Oh my god…" you groaned, your stomach flipping.
"What?" Trinity quipped, "we're all just wondering about your little Twilight love triangle—the Ddward Jacob of it all. Will she, won't she with Abbot…Spill, girl."
You agonized with a long sigh, "Trin…"
"So just guys?" Ellis asked beside you. Your eyes found hers again, a funny look in them as she sipped from her drink.
"So far…yeah…" you muttered, not even trying to discern what that look meant.
"So it's true about you and Langdon?" Mel asked, eyes wide behind her glasses. "I've learned to not listen to the rumor mill but—"
"Wait wait wait—so Robby shares you?" Dennis cut in, big blue farmer boy eyes widening. "With who?"
"I don't know really know if I'm feel comfortable telling you guys—"
"Mateo?" Victoria blurted. Several heads immediately turned toward her.
"What?" she asked defensively.
"V!" Joy laughed, the neon lights of the bar reflecting in her glasses as she shook her head in deep amusement and pity.
The heat in your face climbed straight into your ears, you could only stare into your drink, stirring it around. The bright pink color suddenly looked very unappetizing as your stomach churned.
But then Joy's head stopped shaking, and she was looking at you differently now, as if your silence was answer enough.
"Oh my God," she breathed, eyes widening.
"Okay, wow," Dennis laughed nervously.
"That's a yes." Trinity chuckled. "I mean, I'll admit Mateo does have great hair."
You refused to look any of them in the eyes, your throat tightening up as heat blazed across your face and down your neck.
"Woah, what happened here, Pittlings?" you heard a familiar voice from behind you, a set of hands steadying your shoulders. Dana. You let out a breath you were holding tight in your lungs.
She squeezed once before looking around the group, and when you looked up, you saw her eyebrows climbing higher with every face she passed over.
"Why's everybody look like they're waitin' for sentencing?" she asked. "I leave you's alone for five minutes and suddenly it looks like somebody confessed to a murder."
"Sorry, D. Just trying to get to the bottom of some very interesting dynamics," Trinity said with a smile.
"Oh, I'm sure they're very interesting. And also probably none of your business." she said, eyeing the others.
A few groans went up around the table.
"Mm-hmm." She pointed at them. "The amount of nosy packed into one corner of this bar oughta be studied."
"You'd wanna know too!"
"I absolutely do not," Dana snapped without missing a beat. "I know enough already, more than I need to about all of yous."
That earned a laugh from around the bar, everyone's tension easing a little.
"Now," she said, standing up straighter, "Benji's home with the kids and I get one night out a week. So who wants a shot?"
"I'll go…put some music on the juke box." you said, sliding from your chair in humiliation.
You walked across the bar to the touchscreen jukebox slowly. It wasn't a far walk, but it felt long. You counted every uneven step, the ground feeling like it might as well open up beneath you and let you fall into the earth. You wouldn't mind. You tried to collect yourself with deep breaths, reminding yourself that it wasn't really a secret—what you and Robby were. But still. You didn't expect the subject to be pounced on you like that with your friends, your sex life being mapped out like a differential.
As you stood in front of the glowing screen, you scrolled aimlessly through the song list, though none of the names really processed as they passed beneath your fingertips. The music still thrummed through the speakers, vibrating up through your toes. You could still hear the group talking and laughing from across the bar, and your hands began to sweat a little, wondering if they were still talking about you or—
"Hey."
You startled, looking up to see Ellis. She leaned up against the bright neon jukebox, the violet and blue lights catching along her cheekbones, her pillowy lips, the heavy hood of her eyes. They looked softer than usual, blurred a little by alcohol, her mouth pulled into a small frown.
"Hi," you replied.
"I'm sorry about… that. I should've known better around Jealous little Javadi."
Ellis clicked her tongue and tilted her head, trying to catch your gaze when you looked back at the screen. "Look at me."
You did.
She studied your face for a long moment, and you found yourself doing the same. Her expression tightened slightly as she looked you over. Her big almond eyes moved across your face, lingering here and there before she stepped a little closer.
"I'm sorry." she said again, but with more earnestness. "Dana was right, I was being nosy. I should've minded my business, should've asked in a different way."
She was leaning close enough now that you could smell her perfume, her body wash, or maybe it was just her. Shea butter and coconut, something warm underneath that had you leaning toward her before you even realized you were doing it, trying to place it.
"You're a good girl, you know." she continued, and your stomach gave a strange little twist at the casual way she said the pet name. As if she knew.
"Thanks." you murmured, feeling the heat creep back up your neck. You meant to look away from her, to break whatever spell had pulled between you as she studied you closer, but you just… couldn't. Something was off, and it was making your belly flip a little as the two of you stared at one another.
"So how does it work?" she asked.
"How does what work?"
"You and Robby."
She turned a little so she was leaning in fully, as if creating a wall between you and the rest of the room.
You gnawed at your lip, your fingers absently scrolling through the songs. You tried to focus on the screen again, but your eyes kept drifting back to hers.
"You can tell me," she murmured, her lips parting slightly. "I can keep a secret."
"I know."
Your brain kept lagging a little on how close she'd gotten, on how open her features were as she looked at you. She didn't bother hiding anything, her hair pulled back, her eyes searching yours, her lips a little parted. It had your lungs struggling to catch a full breath.
"Usually, um, the…well, Robby will…"
What was wrong with you? Why couldn't you form a full sentence?
Her lips pulled into a little quirk of a smile, as if she knew why entirely. "What will Robby do, hm?"
You took in a deep breath, "Sometimes he lets me pick, sometimes it's more like… a reward system. For… whoever…"
"Oh?"
You nodded, "Like when…" god, your face was so hot, your thighs pushing together without realizing, "When Frank did the cervical reduction a couple months ago… he um, came to see me after."
Ellis's eyes had gone very heavy now, and you watched how they dropped from your eyes to your mouth. "And?"
"Well, he and I—" you swallowed thickly.
"Oi!" you heard from across the bar.
Both of you sprung back from one another.
Dana was calling from across the bar, both hands raised in the air.
"You two doin' shots or what!?"
The next day, you were fucking tired.
Not physically. Well, okay, maybe physically too. A little hungover and very dehydrated, but mostly tired in the particular way that came from having too many thoughts bouncing around your skull with nowhere to go.
Last night had turned out to be fun, eventually. Once everyone got the memo that you and their attending's sex life was not a topic for public discussion, thanks largely to Dana and Ellis glaring people into submission whenever the conversation started drifting back in that direction. You'd stayed out late, came home tipsier than you'd expected, and fell right into Robby's orbit when you'd returned. He'd been up waiting for you, reading over charts with his readers low on his nose, a mug of coffee gone cold beside him. One look at him and whatever resolve you'd had about going straight to bed had evaporated. It hadn't taken long before he was gathering your hair into his fist while you eagerly worked your lips down his cock.
But this morning, you were just exhausted. Robby had headed to the Pitt for his early start on his bike, the weather a beautiful late-summer cloudless sky. But you just couldn't take any more long days stuck in the house like this.
So you headed for the pool.
Robby didn't live in an HOA community because it was fancy or for the oversized houses. He lived in one for the sheer convenience of it. A clubhouse with a gym, lawnmowers that were on a regular schedule, snow shoveling taken care of. And the poolhouse was beautifully kept, just a short walk down the block past neatly trimmed hedges and identical mailboxes, and you headed there with nothing but a towel, a coverup, and a book tucked beneath your arm. Your sunglasses kept the glare from your eyes as you pushed through the gate and made your way across the concrete deck before dropping onto an empty lounger.
It was quiet for a weekend morning, and you were grateful. For a while, you did absolutely nothing. You stretched out beneath the sun, letting the warmth sink into your skin while you worked your way through a few chapters, occasionally looking up whenever someone splashed into the water or the gate clicked open. Eventually the heat became too much, and you wandered down the concrete steps into the shallow end, sighing as the cool water climbed your ankles, your calves, your thighs. You floated around for a bit without much purpose, letting your thoughts drift peacefully in and out of your head, the cold water soothing.
By the time you climbed back out, your hair damp around your shoulders, you felt marginally more human.
While you sat up and lathered on more sunscreen, you saw a family enjoying the pool on other side, a woman in the water with her children while a man lay stretched out on a lounger nearby.
Looking at you.
You stared back, recognizing him, your stomach doing a little excited jump.
You smiled to yourself, snapping the bottle of your lotion closed and standing up. You didn't bother with the cover up, or the towel.
"Good morning, John," you said as you approached, stepping beneath the shade of his umbrella.
He looked up at you over his sunglasses, dark eyes full of mirth.
"Hey, hot stuff."
You couldn't help the smile that spread across your face. John Shen and his family lived in the same community as Robby, just a few streets down. A friendly face you didn't get to see often, but it was always a treat when you did. Shen had a way about him that made people instantly comfortable. Cool without trying to be, calm to the point that some people thought he cared about absolutely nothing. Somehow, he never seemed stressed, even at work. While everyone else in the ED ran themselves ragged, Shen drifted through the day with an easy smile and a shrug. And an iced coffee.
Shen held out his hand, and you stepped in a little closer. His palm settled against the sensitive skin on back of your calf, the contact making your blood surge a little.
"Did you come from the hospital? Or did you have off?" you asked, hyper aware of how his fingers caressed your skin.
He nodded, "Came from work just a couple hours ago, figured I'd come down and enjoy the nice day while they last. Swear I can feel the chill of autumn creeping in."
"Don't tease me." you said, "I, for one, can't wait."
"Of course you can't, crazy woman." A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth while his hand ran up, cupping behind your knee. "You always say that, then spend all winter complaining you're cold."
You laughed, shaking your head. Your gaze landed on his wife and children in the pool.
"How's Gwen?" you asked.
All three of them were splashing around together, their laughter carrying across the water. She glanced over, spotted you standing with her husband, and immediately smiled before lifting a hand. Shen and his wife had an interesting relationship, one that allowed both of them to have their cake and eat it too, so to speak. He told you the first time he'd come into the exam room that his wife didn't mind if he occasionally saw you while he worked, and he didn't mind if she had her own time with one of the other dermatologists at her practice.
You waved back. When you looked down again, Shen's hand had found its way to the back of your thigh.
"We're good," he said. "Kids look like they're trying to drown her, but she's good."
You smiled down at him wider.
"Where've you been?" he asked then, looking up at you.
"Home, mostly." you said, your teeth digging into your bottom lip.
"Mm." he hummed, thumb brushing against the top of your thigh, close to the crease of your leg. "Robby said you're taking a break."
The thought of Robby apparently discussing your month long restrictions with the rest of the residents and attendings sent a strange little flutter through your stomach. Despite how ridiculous, your thighs pressed together automatically.
A smile appeared on Shen's face almost immediately as he glanced down between your legs, noticing the shift. His hand slid up higher, until it just brushed the hem of your bathing suit. "Miss you, it's been a while."
Your hand suddenly shot out, having to grip his bare shoulder to hold yourself up as his hand slid up to cup your bum, the tips of his fingers sliding just under the damp fabric of your suit. He squeezed the sensitive flesh in his hand, making you gasp and your knees wobble.
"Do you miss me, hot stuff?"
You nodded, pressing your lips together firmly.
"Cat got your tongue, huh?" he teased, his fingers pressing a little firmer. He had such a nice smile, charming and coy as he felt you up. He barely reacted to how sensitive you were to his wandering hand, but when your eyes dropped to his lap, you saw exactly how he felt. His swim trunks had gone noticeably tighter, a bulge stretching the fabric that made your mouth water.
"Y-yes," you managed, trying very, very hard not to let out the moan that threatened to escape when he slid his prodding fingers along the seam of your lower lips. "Miss y-you too."
"I'm sure you do," he cooed. "Can feel just how bad."
Your fingers dug into his shoulder harder, your teeth latched into your bottom lip as you let your eyes close a little when his middle finger pushed just so at your entrance.
"Too bad you're grounded. I can think of so many fun things we could be doing right now, hot stuff."and then his smile brightened in wattage, and he was pulling his hand away. "S'just a shame, isn't it?"
"Johnnnnn," you whined, stamping your foot before playfully smacking his shoulder. "You tease—"
He chuckled at that, bringing his fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean as his shoulders shook, already glancing back down at the paperwork in his hands.
"As tempting as you are, hot stuff, I'm not trying to get my ass kicked by Robinavitch. Now go be a good girl and say hi to Gwen."
You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself as you turned and headed toward the pool. You heard his voice call out behind you:
"Hate to see you go, love to watch you—"
You crouched by the water, scooping up a handful and splashing it directly at him.
Robby: have to stay long. do you want to come in
The text from Robby had your stomach tightening immediately as you read it from your spot on the lounge chair a little while later, both of Shen's kids planted beside you and chatting your ear off about their summer holiday plans for Disney World. You nodded along dutifully as they argued over which park was best, but your attention snagged on the screen in your hand the second his name appeared.
You: im at the pool right now
A speech bubble appeared and disappeared while you waited, your toes curling against the warm plastic fabric stretched across the chair. You tried to focus on what Mia was telling you about Epcot, but your attention was already wandering. It always did when it came to Robby.
Then, another text from Robby: leave the suit on. come in.
"I'm sorry, you guys, I gotta go," you said, pushing yourself upright.
Both kids immediately started protesting while you laughed and bent down to hug them goodbye.
"Seriously, John, if you ever need a sitter." you said as you stretched your arms around him.
"Careful," Shen called after you as you turned to embrace his wife. "You keep saying that and we're actually gonna start taking you up on it."
Both he and his wife thanked you and hugged you goodbye, and a few minutes later you were gathering up your things and heading out.You didn’t even bother going back home or changing, knowing full well Robby loved you in your little skimpy swim suits and cover ups—sometimes more than a lacy lingerie set.
An hour later, you were walking into the ED, the AC blasting hard enough to raise goosebumps along your arms. You rubbed your hands over them as you crossed through the entrance, waving hello to Lupe at the desk. She buzzed you through without issue, and you tossed quick greetings toward Ahmad and Mike as you passed.
In the chaos of the emergency department, something felt off immediately. Though, it seemed to be dying down. Voices carried in as they shouted over one another, people burst in and out of doors while the phone rang. Monitors chirped, ranging from steady and level to chaotic fits of panic. You caught a glimpse of Samira disappearing into a trauma room with Langdon behind her with Mel and Whitaker on their heels.
Dana intercepted you before you made it halfway to the charge station.
"Hey, angel. I'm sorry. Did Robby call you in?" She hooked an arm around you and immediately started steering you toward the back hall. "As happy I am to see you, it's a bit of a mess right now."
"What happened? Is everyone okay?"
"Incident at Kennywood. Rollercoaster."
"Oh, god."
Dana grimaced while squeezing your shoulder. "Yeah."
As she turned you down a hall, she added: ""Listen, I'll stick you in a room for now. Things are settlin' down, but it could still be a while before he gets free."
"Yeah, yeah of course, D." you said.
You'd barely made it around the charge station before somebody called Dana's name from across the department.
"Shit."
"Go," you said immediately. "I'm good. I'll find my way."
"North five, angel." Dana said, pointing your way ahead. You nodded, and started walking.
Every room seem occupied the further back you went, stretchers lining the walls and IV poles clustered near doorways. It wasn't as bad as some disasters you'd heard of—Pitt Fest for one—but still. It looked rushed, blood still on the floor of an empty trauma bay. Every room seemed to hold a different injury. Teenagers with broken bones and lacerations. Parents hovering anxiously beside hospital beds. A little girl clutching a stuffed rabbit while a nurse wrapped gauze around her arm.
The emergency department always had a strange feeling to it. Grief and relief lived side by side here. In one room somebody cried. In the next, a family laughed so hard you could hear it through the curtain. It made your chest ache a little harder the further you got.
"Hey, you."
You turned at the breathless voice and found Langdon hurrying toward you, already tearing off the disposable surgical cover he'd thrown on for trauma.
"Hey. Is everything okay?"
"Yeah, yeah—" He ran a hand through his hair before letting out a tired breath. "Well, no, actually, not really. But it will be."
"That's good." you said, and you were surprised to see him still following you as you kept walking. "Frank, go check on your patients, I'm good—"
"You know, I missed seeing you around here, baby."
The words stopped you—the pet name specifically had your tummy twisting a little—and Langdon guided you toward an empty strip of wall tucked away from the main traffic of the department, just enough privacy to steal a conversation.
"Don't tell me you've been neglecting your patients over a withheld reward again, Frankie."
His dimple appeared first, deepening into one cheek before the rest of the smile caught up, still a little breathless, shaking his head down at you. "No, never."
You smiled back up at him. It felt almost normal again, like it hadn't been over three weeks of you being kept away.
"Robby said you uh…"
"Yeah." you murmured, your smile slipping.
"Takin' a break from all of us then?" he asked, something amused in his pretty blue eyes.
"Just for now." you said, a little teasing lilt in your voice. "Don't worry, I'll be back soon."
"You're back now." he said, tilting his head down at you. "Does that mean…?"
You shook your head.
"Okay," he said easily, with a sort of half nod, his eyes never leaving yours. "Okay, I'll back off then. Good to see you though, baby."
Something in your chest pinched. Maybe it was because you'd spent the last month mostly at home. Maybe it was because seeing everyone again had reminded you how much of your life existed inside these walls. Or maybe you just really had missed him. Whatever the reason, you didn't let him get far before you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around his middle.
"Miss you too, Frankie." you murmured into him, "always."
His arms settled around your shoulders almost immediately, pulling you in while his cheek pressed lightly against the top of your head. You felt the vibration of a chuckle thrum through him before he was gently pushing you away, "Careful, I'll start thinking you have favorites."
"Maybe I do." you grinned up at him, your eyes a little hazier than before, your skin warmer as you felt his long, lean body against yours. God, you really did miss him. The flirty, the easy affection. This was all familiar to slip back into with him.
"Don't make me want to kiss you," he murmured, squeezing you against him again. "I could get in big trouble."
A laugh threatened at the back of your throat. "Yes you could," you said softly.
You stood there with your neck craned back, looking up at him beneath hooded eyes while his blue gaze wandered across your face. His dimple deepened when he smiled. He looked exhausted. Hair slightly disheveled, scrubs wrinkled. There was dried blood on one sleeve he'd probably forgotten about hours ago. Still so pretty. So Frank.
For one second, you thought he might actually give in as his head bent down lower, his eyes dropping to your waiting mouth. But then—
"Langdon! We need you in trauma two!" Perlah shouted down the hall. Langdon glanced up, blinking back to reality, and slowly let you go.
"I'll see you around, baby. Be good!" he called as he started backing away.
"Bye," you murmured. You lifted a hand in a lazy wave, watching him disappear down the hallway long after he'd stopped looking back.
You felt a little thrown off course from your run in with him, your blood taking a moment to run smoothly, your heart settling. The cool air that rushed into your chest made your chest squeeze, your nipples under the thin bathing suit harden. You inhaled deeply but found it hard to catch a full breath. Fuck, you were screwed if you didn't find an empty room.
Finally, you turned on your heel, north five back in your sights.
But then—
"Bunny?"
You looked to your right and found Brendon Park stepping off the elevator.
Tall was almost an inadequate word for him. Even from halfway across the hallway, he seemed to take up space effortlessly, broad shoulders filling the opening as the elevator doors slid open. The second he spotted you, his attention locked on completely. His gaze swept over you from head to toe, taking in the swimsuit cover-up, the sandals, the just dried hair, and whatever conclusion he reached made something tense in his face.
His long strides carried him toward you quickly.
"Hey—" you started, and he was bending down before you could say anything else, pressing a quick kiss to your lips.
"How are you? What're you doing here? Were you at the theme park?"
"What?" you asked, still trying to catch up with the speed of the interaction before glancing down at yourself. Right. You could almost look like you came from a theme park. "Oh. No, no— I'm okay. I just came from home."
The relief that crossed his face was immediate, his shoulders dropping slightly, some tension leaving him as he glanced around the department. He sent a glare to a passing doctor you didn't recognize before turning his attention right back to you.
He stepped forward into you.
You stepped back.
His brow furrowed slightly, concern still written all over his face as he looked you over again, checking for something you'd somehow forgotten to mention. The movement felt almost unconscious on both your parts. Brendon kept drifting closer, drawn in by equal parts worry and affection, and you kept retreating beneath the weight of that honed gaze, your brain already struggling to keep up.
He did it again, and again, until your hips pressed into the sharp edge of a table, a little gasp coming from your mouth as he loomed over you closer still.
“Brendon—” you said, and as he leaned down again to try to catch your lips again, you turned quickly so your back was to his chest instead. It didn’t help. If anything, it only made you more aware of how much space he took up, the broad width of him filling in behind you, his shoulders so expansive they cut off the hallway on either side. He'd always been big, big enough to overwhelm, but usually it was so easy to forget because he was so careful with you. His touch was gentle, his voice gentler. Today though—he felt too big for his own good. All that focus of his predatory stare had your heart in your throat. Maybe because you knew how easily you'd give in. It had been so long, after all.
With your back turned, hips pressing into the empty desk, you closed your eyes. The wood edge dug into your skin as he crowded closer. You shivered when you felt his strong nose brush through your hair as he bent his head, tracing slow along your neck and around the shell of your ear, inhaling.
"What's goin' on with you, bunny?" he murmured. "You're trembling."
You gasped when his lips pressed against the tender skin behind your ear, your back arching before you even realized it. Heat pooled hard, throbbing painfully between your legs, your thighs tightening together for some kind of relief while you gnawed at your bottom lip hard enough to hurt.
"N-nothing's wrong," you tried to say, but it came out thin and desperate. "I—we—I can't umm…"
It was too much, too overwhelming. Too many people touching you when you weren't allowed to do anything about it.
"Can't what, bunny?" he said softly, voice so low it sent heat down your spine, his nose tracing the shell of your ear now. "Can't just talk, hm?"
You shook your head a little. His mouth started trailing down your neck, making goosebumps rise over your skin, your nipples beneath your bathing suit top pebbling even harder and your knees wobbling.
"But I've missed you, bunny."
The words went straight in your stomach, heat coiling, core fluttering. You sighed shakily, and then he stepped even closer, and you felt him—hard beneath his cotton scrubs, pressing into the curve of your lower back.
"Oh, fuck," you whispered. "Brendon, I really can't—"
"You don't have to do anything, Bunny," he whispered back, though his kisses had already turned hungrier, firmer against your skin as they went down your neck onto your shoulder. "How've you been, hm?"
"Mmm... I've been... okay..." Your thoughts were starting to slide apart, softening so quickly you couldn't quite hold onto them.
"You smell so good," he muttered, completely ignoring your answer. "Smell a little like desperation. Robby been takin' care of you, sweet girl? Been so long since I've seen you."
Your breath stuttered. "I've been..." You forced yourself to inhale deep, trying to get oxygen back into your brain while he pressed his hips slowly against you from behind. The pressure made your core ache harder. You caught yourself trying to lean away from him just to think straight. "I've been grounded."
You felt the sharp burst of breath against your neck, almost a laugh.
"Grounded, huh?" His teeth scraped lightly against the crest of your shoulder. "What's that like?"
Your face burned. You wondered if Robby hadn't told him, or if he was just pushing all the right buttons. "No, um..." You swallowed hard. "I'm not allowed to… finish. Or be shared."
Brendon went still for half a second.
Then, finally understanding, he leaned harder into you with a low growl that sounded punched out of him.
"Is that right?" he said, and you could tell his teeth were bared, shark-like, before you even spared a glance over your shoulder. "Robby doesn't want his best girl feelin' good anymore?"
"No, it's not—not that—"
Your words broke apart when his hands slid around your hips. Big hands—warm and heavy. His fingers rubbed slowly into your skin just above the waistband of your shorts and it felt so good your stomach tightened painfully around it. You could already feel how wet you'd gotten, slick heat pooling fast between your thighs, you could've sworn you felt it starting to run down your leg.
His hands didn’t stay still for long, and fuck, they felt so good. Your mouth opened in a quiet gasp when they dragged up your front, over your stomach, beneath the loose fabric of your cover-up, his palms broad enough to make you feel held and handled at the same time. He slipped a hand of them under one the little flimsy triangles that covered your breasts, and your lungs caught. His own breath was heavy in your ear, hot and uneven against your skin, the outline of his cock pressing insistent against your back while his fingers wandered and squeezed at you.
You could hardly keep up with your mind or your body,
Your thoughts catching on how you were not supposed to be doing this, on the rules, on the fact that this was Brendon Park with his hands under your clothes, while your body arched back into him anyway, little gasps and whimpers slipping out before you could swallow them. Because it had been so long. Because it had been torturous, missing these big hands on you, missing the thick heat of him pressing into you, the way he touched you like he’d been thinking about it for weeks.
And then, his hands continued their wandering back down your stomach. And then, to your horror and complete and utter pleasure, one of his hands slipped beneath the elastic of your waistband.
"Brendon—"
"Let me check on you, bunny," he whispered, breath heavier now. "Just wanna make sure you're okay. I've missed you."
His palm slid lower beneath the lining of your bathing suit until it settled heavy against your pubic bone, and then his fingers, thick and rough with callouses, dipped carefully into the soaked seam between your legs.
"Fuckkkkk," he exhaled, like the word got dragged right out of his chest with a moan.
Your hands flew to the desk, palms flattening against scattered papers while your head dropped forward in defeat. You were grateful no one was passing by behind you, that the hallway somehow had been deserted the past few minutes. You didn't want to imagine what this looked like.
"Oh my god," you whimpered.
He was barely touching you. And yet, just the pads of two fingers circling slow through the slickness of your folds and the teasing around your clit was enough to make your brain turn to mush and your legs so weak so you could hardly stay standing.
"You're so wet I bet my cock would slide right in this pussy," he muttered, voice strained and wrecked despite the filth of his words, his hips dragging against your lower back harder in a grinding motion.
Park's fingers slid further, cupping your wet mound and prodding your entrance, his palm creating pressure for your clit, and the sharp pulse of pleasure nearly made you cry out. You had to bite into your lip hard to keep yourself from moaning at the contact, the constant ache you'd been left with cracked apart into sparks that shot all the way up your spine.
"Oh god, Brendon—"
You spread your legs obediently when his knee nudged between them.
"You don't have tell Robby, baby," he breathed against your neck. "Let me take care of you."
But hearing Robby's name again snapped through the haze hard enough to make your stomach twist.
You stood upright so fast you felt dizzy from it. You grabbed Brendon's wrist and pulled his hand from your shorts, turning around to face him with your chest heaving. Despite how equally desperate he had seemed, he pulled away easily at your insistence.
"Brendon," you started, struggling to catch your breath, "I can't, I'm sorry."
He stared down at you, eyes blown dark with arousal, chest rising hard beneath the fabric stretched over his shoulders. You could still feel his thick length in the tent of his scrubs against your belly, could still see his mouth swollen from kissing at your skin. You held onto his thick hand for a moment in between the two of you to stop him. It glistened with arousal along his two fingers.
And just when you opened your mouth to explain, you heard a voice from the end of the hallway.
"Well, hello."
You turned, and your stomach nearly fell to the floor.
Black t-shirt stretched across heavy muscle. Graying curls mussed at the front. Narrowed hazel eyes fixed on Park, his jaw set so hard beneath the shadow of stubble his muscle twitched.
"Abbot." Brendon said curtly, not moving from where he stood with his chest up against yours, his eyes honed in like a predator's.
Jack walked forward, until he was only a couple paces from you. His gaze bounced around your face, then up to Brendon's. There was a faint curve to his mouth, something cheeky and almost amused, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"All okay, sweetheart?" Jack asked when his eyes found you again.
You nodded, suddenly very aware of how close Park was, of warm skin, his heart hammering in his chest up against yours. The way neither of your bodies hadn’t quite calmed down. You could only imagine what this looked like—your mouth parted and heaving, Park's chest pressed up against you.
"I was gonna grab coffee from Dunkin'." Jack said, "You wanna come?'
You looked between him and Brendon then, uncertain.
"We were having a discussion, Abbot." Brendon then said sternly.
Jack smiled, a charming dimple creasing one of his cheeks, though there was still something in his gaze—something intense and sharp that you'd never seen before. "And I'm sure it was very enlightening."
There was a stiffness to the both of them now, even as Jack shifted his weight from foot to foot, his hands in his cargo pockets. The way Brendon wouldn't move, the way Jack's smile twitched when he looked between the two of you.
"C'mon, sweetheart," Jack offered, pulling one hand from his pocket and beckoning you.
Park's arm immediately slid around your middle, pulling you against him even harder. You looked up at him, suddenly the intensity of his nickname rang true— he looked scary, serious, his face darkening as he looked over at the attending.
"She's fine, Abbot, we were just talking."
When you glanced at Jack, all amusement fell from his face.
"Brendon," you murmured, sighing and looking back up at him.
You lifted your hands up into his chest, sliding them up until your fingers gently pressed into his face, turning it towards you. You saw him soften immediately as his eyes landed back on you.
You rose up onto your toes and kissed him softly on the mouth. You could feel his arm tighten even more against you as he breathed you in, his shoulders dropping. When you finally drew back, his mouth followed yours until you fell back onto your heels.
"Not today, okay?" you murmured, wiping some of the chap stick from his top lip, "I need to sort a few things out first. But I promise, you'll be the first to know when things are back to normal."
He sighed, and threw a mean glare at Jack once more before loosening his grip, though his hands stayed on you, guiding you down.
And finally, when he turned away, it was not without lingering his hands on you for as long as possible—his hands slid down your arms, holding the tips of your fingers as he said, "See you around, Bunny. Be good."
You smiled as you watched him go.
And then, turning around with a long exhale, you looked at Jack.
You'd never seen him look like that before.
There was no smile waiting for you or easy charm, no teasing remark halfway from his mouth. Instead, his brows were set low over his eyes, his jaw still tight like he was close to cracking a molar. He stared down the hall where Park had vanished, his gaze fixed on the empty stretch of tile and fluorescent light with an expression you'd never seen on his face. Mean. You didn't think you'd ever seen Jack Abbot look mean before.
"Jack?"
He shook his head and inhaled sharply, gnawing at the inside of his lip like he was trying to stop himself from saying something he knew he shouldn't. When his eyes landed on you, you watched them travel over your face, down your form, and back up again before he jerked his head toward the main ED.
"C'mon."
When you reached him, his hand settled lightly against your back, guiding you a few steps away from the flow of people moving through the department, toward the wall where a computer on wheels sat parked with its screen dimmed and a Esme was organizing a linen cart.
"I—um—I'm supposed to go meet Robby."
Jack paused. He looked down at you for a second, and suddenly you were far too aware of how close he was standing, of the heat of him even through scrubs, of how the space between you wasn’t really space at all. God. You hated this. You hated how seeing him still did this to you, how your heart immediately started acting up, how three weeks apparently hadn’t been enough time for your mind or your body to understand what you'd done was wrong. That you shouldn't want it again.
"Robby's in a trauma," he said.
"Yeah, I'm..." You swallowed. "I'm gonna go wait for him in North Five."
"Okay."
"Okay..."
You started to turn away.
The whole interaction felt wrong. Just wrong. Three weeks ago you'd been tangled up in each other in a way neither of you had planned for, and now it felt like neither of you knew what to say, how to say it. How to be in each other's presence and not think about it.
"Hey."
You’d only gotten an arm’s length away before it stopped you, and when you turned back, he was still standing exactly where you’d left him, his shoulders squared, his jaw set. He let out a slow breath through his nose and took a few steps closer, one hand settling on his hip while he looked you over.
"Are you okay?"
"Are you?" you asked, your voice maybe a little too defensive.
His head tipped back slightly, eyes never leaving your face. You worried for a moment that he'd give himself trismus with how much he was clenching the muscles of his jaw. He seemed to be weighing the answer, deciding how much of it he wanted to give you. "Been better."
"Yeah, same." you sighed.
Jack looked at you a little closer now, and it made your breath shorten. You wished he wasn't so handsome. You wished being this close didn't remind you of a month ago in the back of his truck, memories of your face in his chest with tears in your eyes, him kissing you, both of you crossing a line you even though you knew better. You wished you could forget how easy it felt with him too.
"You seem…" he began. "Was Park being—?"
“No,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “I’m just feeling really… I don’t know.” You sighed again, your hands coming up to your face, palms pressing against your cheeks, trying to steady yourself, but the overwhelm kept building anyway, tight in your throat and at the base of your neck, your heartbeat too fast and too loud. “It’s fine.”
“Some of us have been… a little restless, I guess,” he said, voice low, his head dipping as he looked at you, his gaze staying on your face in a way that felt careful instead of hungry. “Three weeks is a long time.”
"Yeah," you huffed sarcastically, "You're tellin' me."
He looked at you a little funny.
"I gotta go but… I'm fine. I guess. Yeah. Thanks…um… Jack. I'll see you."
"Okay, sweetheart. See you."
Luckily you didn't have to sit alone in your thoughts for long.
Robby found you in north five soon enough, and even though he looked exhausted—even though the crease between his brows was deep and feathered and his eyes had that look of a long, awful day full of cases he'd remember for life—he still smiled when he saw you.
"Hi, honey," he sighed, and opened his arms for you to fall into.
You went to him, your hands sliding up around the back of his neck, rising to your tiptoes so you could tuck your face into his chest, and he let out a breath that sounded like it had been stuck in him for hours. His arms wrapped around you and held you, swaying a little back and forth in place, his weight shifting in the muffled quiet of the exam room.
For some reason, some sixth sense, some thing that had been learned after all your time with him, you knew this was what he needed. He was particular about touch outside of this—he didn't accept hugs from most, or even a high five. He kept his praise quick and detached with his staff typically with a simple thumbs up or fist bump (though, you knew there was one person other than you who was the exception to that). But with you… it was like you were the only touch that was safe for him to fall into.
And though you craved touch, not even just from him but from everyone you knew—a hug with a friend, a hand on the small of the back, a bumping of shoulders in comradery, and the explicit kind too— there was something deeply sentimental about the touch from Robby's hands. When the two of you fell into each other, it formed a nucleus from the outside world. Nothing else existed now that he was here and holding you. The noise of the day outside the four walls of the exam room simply paused.
You felt his nose sink into your hair, inhaling, "How are you."
"M'okay," you murmured. "You?"
"Yeah." he said softly.
You squeezed him a little tighter.
After a moment, you said: "Robby?"
"Yeah, honey?" he asked.
"I feel like I'm going a little crazy."
He pulled away, only enough so he was still holding you in his arms but able to look down at you and study your face. His brows pulled together for a long moment while he did, assessing for anything really wrong. You felt his thumbs rubbing back and forth over the sheer fabric of your cover up.
"How so?"
You shut your eyes, breathing deeply, trying to collect yourself. You weren't sure why, but you felt almost like you wanted to cry. When you opened them again, Robby's eyes were still focused on you, his expression full of careful attention.
"I feel like I've barely been here an hour and I'm just so—" you shook your head, releasing your hands from his neck to cover your eyes, pressing your fingertips deeply into the sockets. Bright galaxies burst across your vision, and you inhaled again, steadying the whirring of your brain as you tried to think of the right words. "Everyone is being so sweet, trying to take care of me—"
"—take care of you?"
"—but I just feel so fucking overwhelmed, and I don't know how to tell them that I can't—"
"—they should already know to leave you alone—"
"I just want to go home, but I also really don't—because I miss everyone—but still—" you snapped, "I just want to stop feeling so fucking crazy."
"Okay, breathe, please—" he said, his hands sliding from your back to your shoulders, soothing up and down on your skin.
You opened your eyes again, letting your hands drop, sucking in a shaky breath and looking up at him.
"First of all," he said, his voice low and soothing, "I'm sorry I called you to come in on such a crazy day. I… I selfishly thought of having you here, wanting you after all this bullshit and I didn't think about the others seeing you."
"Well, they saw me." You shrugged. "I even ran into John at the pool with his family."
Robby tilted his head, "Did Shen—?"
You shook your head, "We just said hi, that's all. He said he didn't want to get in trouble. Langdon said so too."
Robby nodded, "Good, good."
"But I miss them." you murmured, your eyes wide and watery up at Robby.
"I know, honey."
"And…" you hesitated, but knew it was better to just tell him. "I feel like you're getting such a good fucking deal out of the past few weeks and I'm not. I feel fucking crazy, Michael."
He sighed, squeezing your arms a little tighter, his face with an expression of knowing that you don't want to hear. "Do you know why we've been doing this the past few weeks? Denying you?"
You let your head fall back on your neck with a little groan, "Yes."
"Why?"
"Because I went behind your back, I crossed a boundary. And it's fine, I understand—I just didn't think my body would be so fucking wound tight like this—"
"Okay, I hear you, c'mere," Robby cooed immediately, gently guiding both of you to the hospital bed in the center of the room.
You went without thinking about it, shuffling across the mattress until he could pull you into him. It dipped beneath your combined weight as he settled you on his lap, one arm wrapping securely around your waist while the other came up to cradle the back of your head. You let yourself sink against him completely, legs falling open around the large breadth of his body—hips to hips, chest to chest, your face tucked into the side of his neck where his skin was warm from a long day. His fingers slipped into your hair automatically, fingertips scratching lightly against your scalp while the steady rise and fall of his breathing moved beneath your cheek.
"Okay," he murmured, pressing his mouth briefly to your temple. "Tell me more."
"No, because—" Your voice caught unexpectedly. The burn seared in your throat even worse than before, your eyes prickling, your chin wobbling in a way that only made you more frustrated.
"It's so stupid." You swallowed hard. "You're here saving fucking lives and actually doing something, and I'm sitting here complaining because people..." A humorless laugh escaped you. "People like me too much."
The laugh that left him was soft, so fond that it made you want to hide your face even further. "Oh, honey."
You pushed your lips together to keep yourself from really beginning to weep, croaking out: "Don't laugh at me."
"I'm not laughing at you."
"I know." you admitted, inhaling a deep, shaky breath.
His hand continued moving through your hair, smoothing it back from your face before trailing down your spine in slow strokes.
"I understand what you're saying," he said gently. "But let's not compare apples to oranges, okay? Somebody else's problems don't make yours disappear. If something's upsetting you, it's upsetting you. I want you to tell me these things."
You let out a long breath into his shoulder, your body settling a little heavier against him, his heartbeat steady under your cheek, something you could focus on. His fingers kept moving, combing through the strands at the nape of your neck. For a few minutes, it was just this. His arms around you, your tears drying, your breath coming back to you.
He felt you begin to relax against him and then, his voice gentle and a little raspy: "I have an idea. I know you've been a little pent up, huh? Feeling a little overwhelmed?"
He had a certain way to his voice, a lilt that could always lull you into feeling comforted and yet completely wrapped around his finger. There was a gentleness to him, a softness, a patience. So much so that even without the special set up— the shampoo and the body wash and perfume or even braid in your hair—it had a funny way of making your brain turn to mush when he sounded like that.
You nodded.
"Can you come up a little for me, honey?"
You could do just about anything when he spoke to you like that.
His hands slid beneath your thighs and guided you higher against him, pulling you closer so your chest was up against his clavicle, your nose brushing up into his hair. You breathed him in automatically, the familiar scent of his cologne mixed with hospital and the lingering traces of a shift that had gone on far too long. Beneath you, you felt him shifting, heard the quiet rustle of fabric and the metallic sound of a zipper being tugged down.
The realization of what he was doing sent a fresh wave of heat through you. You began to whine a little at the feeling of it. Of him, against your thigh, his member warm and throbbing.
God, you felt so fucking desperate.
"Think this'll help us both relax a little, hm?" he murmured against your arm.
You nodded feverishly, and his mouth brushed your shoulder with a soft kiss in answer while his hands worked patiently. He helped you out of your cover up and your shorts, untying your bathing suit bottoms since your coordination seemed to have abandoned you entirely. You lifted your hips when he needed you to, shifted your legs where he guided them, letting him take care of the details while your forehead rested against the pillow.
"Aw, honey," he cooed, "you're soaked."
You whined a little more, petulant and impatient for him.
"Okay, okay," he soothed, "I know." And as he brought you back down into his lap, inhaling with a hiss through his teeth, the blunt head of his length pressed at your entrance. "Nice deep breath for me, honey."
You did as bid, and then, on your long sighing exhale, he pushed into you completely. Robby let out a low, strained groan that dragged up from his chest, his head tipping back against the thin pillows as his grip tightened at you. Your mouth opened in a gasp around his neck, a mewling whine falling from your lips.
"Ohhh…" you sighed, wriggling your hips a little to get him even deeper.
"Sh, sh, no moving—" he croaked lazily, his hands going to your hips to still you. "Just stay like that."
Your mouth, opened and wanton, found the side of his neck again, kissing and dragging, wet and searching, your tongue pressing along the line of his carotid while your teeth caught lightly at the skin there. He tasted like sweat, like his aftershave, his skin sensitive and thin around his beard. He hummed appreciatively at the feeling.
"Okay, now tell me what's goin on," he finally said once the two of you settled in. He didn't move his hips, but you could feel the involuntary twitching of his cock inside you every now and then. You were wet enough that it spread everywhere, slick between your thighs, warm where it gathered and slipped down over his balls that fit snug against you and dampening the sheets beneath. It made you ache for movement, for more, your walls clenching around him in want, but you held still, your hands gripping at him instead.
You let out a gurgled sound, your lips swollen and tongue still laving at his neck.
"What, are you suddenly too cock drunk to have a conversation, honey?" he said, and you could hear the smile in his voice.
"Feels… sooo… mmm…" you hummed, the words trailing off as your legs tightened around his on the bed without thinking, the shift pressing you down on him, forcing him deeper. The reaction was immediate—both of you letting out a louder sound this time, your breath catching while his grip snapped tighter, his hands closing hard under your ass, fingers digging in deep enough to sting.
"No. Moving." he gritted out.
"Yes, Robby," you sighed obediently, the name slipping out soft against his skin.
He hummed pleasantly again.
"Tell me what…" you started, but your voice drifted, your mouth still pressed to his neck as your thoughts slipped, the feeling of him filling you pulling your focus under again, your body tightening around him in small, needy pulses you couldn’t quite control. "...What happened with your day."
You felt a little boneless on top of him, your kisses becoming slower, more gentle, until you were only pressing your lips into his beard. He let out a long breath, his hands easing their grip, sliding up your back, then back down in slow passes, smoothing over your skin.
"There was a bad incident at Kennywood."
"Dana told me," you murmured, your eyes blinking open a little, your voice quieter now as you listened, trying to stay with him.
He nodded against the pillow, his jaw shifting under your cheek. "It’s always… the worst when…" He paused, breath catching slightly, like he had to push the rest out. "When it’s kids."
You nodded, understanding.
"I don't wanna talk about my day," he suddenly said, though his voice was still low and gentle, "I wanna hear about yours."
You shook your head, closing your eyes again. You moved a little on the bed.
"Stop squirming so much, honey, I know what you're up to—"
You smiled into his neck. But then you heard his pager go off.
He groaned under you, his head tipping back as he reached blindly toward the bedside table, fingers fumbling for it before bringing it up to his ear. "Robinavitch, I'm busy—oh—hey."
You resumed your soft, leisurely kisses to his neck, praying he wasn't being called out into the fray again. He felt so warm, so good here. You felt so full and content, your mind still hazy and soft, lips swollen and warm against his skin.
"Yeah, hang on—" He pulled the pager away from his ear, turning his head so his mouth brushed against your hair. "Honey—"
"Mm?" you hummed, your lips still moving against his throat.
"It's Jack."
That snapped the rubberband of your brain back to yourself, eyes opening immediately, your head lifting back and your body going still on top of him.
"It's okay, it's okay—" Robby soothed quickly, one hand coming up to steady you where you’d pulled back. He shook his head a little, his expression holding. "He wants to know if he can come check on you. He said you had a hell of a day."
Your brows pulled together as you looked down at him, your hands planted on his chest, the feeling of him connected to you more heightened as you sat back on top of him.
"And… you’re…okay with that?"
His jaw tightened a little, the muscle jumping beneath his beard, but it didn’t settle into anything sharp this time. Something else passed through his face instead, quieter, held in check. "Yeah, it's okay."
You stared at him for another moment, unmoving.
"I promise," he added, his thumb brushing once along your hip. "But if you don’t want him to come in, it can just be me and you."
You worried your lip between your teeth, your gaze dropping briefly to the pager still in his hand, then back to him. There was a small, stretched pause before he lifted it again and brought it up to your ear instead.
You watched him the whole time, and he only nodded when it touched your skin. You didn't take the phone from him, only let him hold it up to you.
"Jack?" you murmured.
"Hi, sweetheart."
His voice was soothing through the device, rough and hoarse and sultry—Robby's lips twitched, not naive to the feeling of your body reacting to the sound of it. You pictured him just as you saw him a little while ago, though in your minds eye, his face had softened, his shoulders were dropped, that intense look long gone.
"Hi," you whispered, "Are you coming in to say hi?"
"Only if you want me to."
Your eyes flicked back to Robby, searching again, and he gave you another small nod, steady this time.
"Okay."
Robby took the pager back, bringing it to his ear again, his gaze not leaving your face. "North five," he said. "Don’t let anyone follow you in."
There was a beat, a quiet exchange on the other end you couldn’t hear, and then Robby lowered the pager, setting it back onto the bedside table without looking away from you.
"C'mere." he said, pulling you into him once again.
You went easily, folding into his chest, your arms tucking in between you where there was barely space, your cheek settling against him. A million questions ran through your head, but they felt quieted by Robby's arms around you, his lips at the top of your head. The way you couldn't help but notice his length swelling more inside of you.
Only a few minutes later, there was a knock at the door.
Robby reached for the hospital blanket without moving you too much, dragging it up and over your back, tucking it around your hips with one hand while the other stayed firm around you.
"Yeah," he called.
The door opened, and with it came a brief rush of noise from the floor—voices, monitors beeping somewhere down the hall, the squeak of shoes—before it cut off again as the door clicked shut.
"Hey," came Jack’s voice from across the room.
You lifted your head slightly from where it had been tucked into Robby’s neck, turning just enough to look over your shoulder. Jack stood near the door in his the same clothes, black t-shirt pulled tight across his chest and arms, cargos sitting low on his hips, his stethoscope looped around his neck, badge clipped at his belt.
Robby looked at him without expression, merely acknowledging him, before his attention dropped back to you. "I’m gonna let him come say hi, okay?"
You nodded against him. You didn’t see it, but you felt the shift in Robby as he looked up, giving Jack a small nod, a subtle tilt of his head that brought him closer.
Jack’s steps weren’t loud, and you felt him before you saw him, the space beside the bed changing, his presence close enough that you didn’t have to turn to know he was there. His hand came to your back, so broad and warm, and calloused even through your sheer cover up, moving slowly over your shoulder blades, back and forth in an easy rhythm.
"You doing better now, sweetheart?" he murmured.
"Mhm," you hummed.
"D'you tell Robby about your day?"
You shook your head. There was a pause that hung for a second, quiet but noticeable as the two of them looked at each other over you.
"Do you want me to tell Robby?"
You hesitated, your fingers shifting where they rested against Robby's chest, and then you nodded again. You didn’t have it in you to say much—your mouth parted like you might, but the words didn’t come, your focus slipping instead. Your body stayed tuned to both of them, fully aware of Jack there now, of the shift he brought into the space, but you didn’t let the nerves of a changing dynamic pull you away from that soft space in your mind you'd found only moments before. Your eyes moved between them briefly, a little slower, a little softer, before dropping again, your lashes lowering as you settled against Robby.
"S’okay, honey," he said beneath you, his hand coming up to smooth your hair back, tucking a piece behind your ear. "We can talk about it in a little. I wanna show Jack how good of a girl you are first. Is that okay?"
You tightened your hold again. You felt quieted, pacified by Robby's comforting hold, your brain still a little fuzzy despite the other presence in the room.
"She okay?" Jack asked.
"Oh, yeah," Robby answered knowingly, his voice low, that same rough gentleness in it as his hand drifted down your back again. "She gets a little overwhelmed sometimes. This helps." He glanced up at Jack. "Go grab the stool, I’ll show you."
You heard Jack move, the roll of the stool’s wheels against the floor, the faint creak as he settled onto it somewhere beside the bed, though you couldn’t see exactly where. You glanced back anyway, just enough to catch him watching you, a small smile pulling at his mouth when he caught your gaze.
"I’m gonna talk to Jack now, okay, honey?" Robby murmured close to your ear, his lips brushing your hair as he spoke. "If you have anything to add, you can. Don’t worry about being shy."
Your thoughts felt even slower now as your focus narrowed down to the way your body sat on his, your legs still spread around his hips, the stretch of him inside you constant and full. When he pulled the blanket back, the air hit your skin, cool against the warmth you'd created, and it made everything feel heightened for a second before it settled back into that same hazy heat. Beneath you, you felt him react again, a slow swell, a small pulse that made your stomach draw tight.
Jack swore under his breath when the blanket dropped, and you watched him through heavy lids as his gaze lowered, fixed between you and Robby, on the place where you were joined.
"She's a good girl, brother." Robby said seriously.
"Yeah," Jack said, the edge in his voice gone quieter, more focused. "Yeah, she is."
"Jack." Robby’s tone shifted when he said it—flat, deliberate. There was a pause as he waited until Jack looked at him fully before continuing. "I want you to understand what you’re asking for."
Jack's jaw tightened a little at that, his expression a little more serious.
"This isn't just fucking around for fun." Robby said with a tightness to him, carefully stern. "It's a dynamic that only works because what’s underneath it is solid. Because at the end of the day, this what actually matters."
Jack didn't say anything.
"Her and I work because we want the same things," Robby went on. "Trust, for one. There’s no wondering where the line is, no second-guessing it. And when something crosses it—" his eyes flicked to you for half a second, then back, "—we deal with it."
Jack's lips pursed. You squirmed a little in Robby's hold, but he went on anyway.
"There are rules her and I both follow. She knows she can trust me, and, though it may look different to the outside, she has all the control here."
"Even if you give the okay?" Jack asked, more direct now.
Robby nodded, "The only way this works is with her okay. She is the one letting me make that call. She gives it all to me, and tells me when she wants things or doesn't. She's a good girl because she willingly hands me the responsibility to take care of her, to know her best, to understand and let her be exactly who she is without question."
You weren’t sure why, but again, your throat began to tighten. You closed your eyes, pressing your face into Robby’s neck, disappearing there. It was strange, hearing them talk about you like that, like you weren’t right there between them—but it didn’t feel bad. If anything, it settled somewhere deeper, somewhere steady and comforting. You'd never heard Robby explain your dynamic to anyone, it was just something that came to be between you, something that both of you understood and needed. Even through hours of conversation, of open talks of wants and needs and dreams and desires, you'd never heard it put like this before.
"Do you remember, a few years ago, when…"
"When you planned that ego-death trip to Head Smashed In?" Jack said, a quiet amused note to his answer.
Robby nodded slightly beneath you. You’d heard about that before, it was right before you knew him, before any of this.
"I don’t think…" he started, his hand moving slow up your back, then settling there firmly again. "I don’t think I could’ve come back from that and been where I am now without this. Without her."
Your grip on Robby tightened. His arms came around you a little tighter too.
"I’m telling you all this, Jack," he went on, his voice steady again, "because if you want in, you need to understand it’s not just about getting your rocks off—"
"—I never said that was—"
"I know. But you also need to understand its not about stealing her from me, either." Robby cut in, the words heavy, as if said through bared teeth. It made you squirm again in his hold, your body clenching down and him twitching inside of you, the place between you so wet and sensitive and swollen it made your hips begin to tingle.
But then Robby’s words finally clicked in your head, and you lifted your face from his neck, pulling back just enough to look between them. "Wait—"
"I’m not looking to steal anything," Jack went on, shaking his head, his voice rougher now, less smooth than usual. "I want— fuck…" He broke off, dragging a hand down his face, fingers pressing over his mouth before he dropped it and leaned forward, elbows braced on the bed, his head dipping for a second.
You shifted again, sitting up a little more, your chest pulling away from Robby’s as you reached for Jack, your hand sliding into his hair without thinking. He reacted right away, his hand coming up to hold yours there, pressing it lightly against his head, still not looking up, his grip steady like he didn’t want you to pull away.
But when he did, the look on his face almost made you cry in earnest. There was so much there—a yearning, a loss, a sadness. And yet, so much want it made your chest feel like it cracked in two.
"You're… joining us?" you asked softly.
He took the hand you had in his hair and brought it down, guiding it to his face until your palm cupped his cheek, the rough shadow of his beard dragging lightly against your skin.
"Is that something you’d like to try?" he asked, quieter now.
You nodded, your thumb moving along the edge of his cheekbone before you could stop yourself. And when you did, he turned his face fully into your hand and pressed a kiss to your palm, his lips warm, lingering as his eyes stayed on yours before they slid back to Robby.
"I saw Park cornering her today," he said, the words coming out a little tighter, "It made me feel insane. How do you… how does that part work?"
Robby let out a small breath through his nose, something almost amused under it, even as his hand stayed firm at your side.
"I mean, right now, it pisses me off," he said plainly. "Because he's supposed to know better. They're supposed to ask first." Robby said. There was a dry edge to it, an annoyance even as his cock jumped inside of you. Then his attention came back to you. "What did he do, honey?"
You gnawed on your lip, and Jack rolled the stool so you could see them both at once. He sat on Robby’s right, angled toward the bed, his forearms braced on his thighs as he looked up at you. And from that angle, being split over Robby's member that was pulsing and swelling, feeling both of their eyes on you, it had your stomach clenching.
"Oooh—" Robby choked slightly, his hands tightening at your hips to hold you still, his grip still firm as he felt the change in you. "What is it?"
You smiled a little, reaching forward now for Jack, your fingers carding through the top of his graying hair, pushing it back. "I like this view."
Both of them chuckled a bit at that. But Robby's hands tightened on your hips again, "Tell me about Dr. Park, honey. It's time we talk about it now."
You let your hand fall from Jack’s curls, both of your palms coming to rest flat against Robby’s chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing under your touch.
"He… um…" You glanced at Jack, then back to Robby, your fingers curling a little in Robby's shirt. "We ran into each other in the hall, and he was worried I was at Kennywood too. But then he—." Your face went warm. "He said he missed me, he starting touching me—" You swallowed, eyes dropping for a second. "I think I just got overwhelmed."
"Do you miss him too?"
You bit your lip hard enough it hurt, your eyes dropping for a second before you went on. "Yes. But... I don’t know if it’s just because it’s been so long."
Robby nodded once, not interrupting, just watching you.
Jack hadn’t moved, his gaze fixed on you.
"He… he tried to—um—finger me—"
The word caught on the way out of your mouth, your voice hitching as Robby’s hips jerked up under you sharply. The movement made you gasp, your body tightening, your hands pressing harder into his chest.
Jack’s eyes flicked between you both, trying to take it all in—the dynamic, the shift of the room moment by moment.
"I didn’t let him," you rushed on, your voice thinner now. "He touched me and I was—I was getting so close too fast, but I couldn’t—I knew you’d be mad. That I was grounded."
"Grounded?" Jack asked, his brow pulling slightly.
You nodded. He looked to Robby, and Robby answered without looking away from you.
"After your little run-in," he said, calm, measured, "we adjusted things for a few weeks. Other than the no sharing, she's not allowed to finish."
"Fuck." Jack whispered.
You didn’t even realize you were moving at first. It was small, almost unconscious—your hips shifting against him, a slow, shallow rock that dragged him deeper each time. It built gently, the light press of your clit against the thatch of hairs at the base of him creating a delicious friction. Your body leaned into it before your mind caught up, your breath starting to change as it settled into a rhythm. Robby didn't seem to want to stop you this time, he just let you gently rock back and forth.
"How did it feel, honey?" he croaked, his eyes changed to a narrowed, hungry gaze as he watched you. "Having Park's fingers on you after so long?"
"Felt so good," you whispered, "too good."
"Fuck." Jack said again, but this time, it was hoarse with a thick arousal. "When I saw…" he went on, swallowing thickly. Your eyes flickered to him.
"I only saw you after the fact, but his fingers were—they were wet and I didn't realize—" Jack's hand was on his lap, tightening around the inside of his thigh. You licked your lips, rocking your hips harder against Robby now.
"I kissed him too, Robby—I'm sorry—" you moaned out louder now, pressing down harder, chasing that friction now as Robby's hands pushed you down onto him further, his lip beginning to curl back.
"I wanted to punch him." Jack growled.
You gasped, mewling at the feeling now, Robby's cock punching deeper inside you as he dipped his hips and pushed back in.
"Seeing you up against Park like that, all pushed into him—fuck—" Jack groaned, tightening his hand on his cargo pants where you could see a little stain of precome through his pants. "Robby, brother—pull down her—"
He didn't even have to finish the sentence before Robby was reaching up and yanking the little triangles of your bathing suit aside, your breasts falling, nipples peaking at the cold air. The fabric cut into your skin around the globes, so they were more pressed together as your mouth hung open, watching both of them through heavy lids. Jack groaned in what almost sounded like pain as his hand tightened around his growing bulge.
"Take it out—" Robby commanded to the attending, "Do it—"
Jack didn't hesitate, He unzipped his cargos, pushed them down to just the mid thigh, and pulled his thick cock out.
"I see what you meant, honey—" Robby quipped with a breathless little smile as he punched up into you again. "When you said he felt big—"
Jack let his head fall back onto his neck a little, but his lips quirked into a breathless little smile, "You two—you two gossiping about me?"
You nodded, "I told him you felt so big inside me, Jack, how good it— your cock—oh god," you mewled.
Your features pinched together at the feeling of tightening in your spine, hips beginning to cramp.
"No, no, no—honey—don't you fucking dare—" Robby demanded, his teeth bared up at you.
"What?" Jack whimpered. You watched his wide grip wrap around his throbbing shaft, the glistening bead of arousal growing at the reddened tip. He used it, sliding the slick with his thumb over the head of his cock while he watched you bounce on Robby.
"She wants to come—" Robby said, though it was mean, a groan, a chastising.
"Fuck it, let her—"
"No—" Robby growled.
"Pleaseeeeeeeee…" you mewled, tears beginning to blur your eyes so you could hardly see Jack, how his jaw unhinged and his body slumping over as he fisted his cock faster.
"No." Robby barked, even as his thrusts became uneven. "Hold it."
Your face pulled into a wailing grimace, the pain in your belly, your spine, of holding it back.
"Breathe, sweetheart, just breathe—" Jack soothed, coming back to himself a little, his voice hoarse and desperate and yet soothing, "easier if you don't tighten up so much, just breathe through the feeling, it's just a wave—"
You did as he said, pulling in a deep breath, trying to force your hips to settle, to loosen, and Robby’s eyes widened as he watched you. Then he was groaning low, pushing you down onto himself with one last thrust. Oh, fuck, that’s so good— he moaned, his voice breaking as you felt him fill you with long ropes of thick, hot, spend, your thighs starting to shake from it.
You heaved in long, slow breaths as you whined from the denial, your eyes locked on Jack as he worked himself faster, his mouth parted, breath coming rougher. But instead of folding in on himself, he shifted, pushing his knees wider, leaning back in the chair just enough to hold himself there, his body straining. The noises he made were shallow, deep, a desperate string of curses, of your name.
"Come, Jack, please—please come for me—" you begged, your voice catching as your hips started to move again over Robby.
"God, doesn’t she beg so fucking pretty?" Robby said, breathless, his hands coming up to push your breasts together in his broad hands.
"Yes, God yes, oh fuck—oh fuck—look at me, sweetheart, that's it, look at me when I—" Jack moaned, but the words cut off into a long, strained groan, his brows pulling tight as he came, thick spurts hitting your thigh and his hand, his fist working himself through the overwhelming euphoria.
All three of you were full of breath for a long moment, your hips still tight with the loss of any relief. But you sighed dreamily still, drawing your finger through the milky come along your thigh. Both of them watched you in silence as you lifted it, your lips closing around your fingertip, sucking the salty spend clean. You pulled it out with a small pop, glancing between them with a faint, sheepish smile at the way they were staring.
"Jesus," Robby huffed.
"Yeah." Jack responded.
And then, like it caught up to them all at once, Jack pushed up from the stool, grabbing a few paper towels, wiping his hand off quickly before tucking himself back into his cargo pants. He zipped up, turned back, and stepped in closer again, holding out the towels just as you started to lift yourself from Robby’s lap.
"Thank you," you said softly, taking them.
He didn’t step away. If anything, he closed the space, his hand coming to your elbow, steadying you as you shifted, your legs still a little unsteady. Behind you, Robby moved too, rolling off the bed, one hand still at your side. For a second, both of them had their hands on you at once: close, warm, grounding as you settled back down onto the bed, the paper towels tucked beneath you.
As you sat there, feeling the slow, sticky release from between your legs, you looked up at them. They were looking at each other now, something silent passing between them. Neither of them spoke for a moment.
"So…" you began.
Both of them looked at you from either side of the bed.
"Is this like… going to be normal? How is this going to work?"
Robby sighed, looking at his fellow attending. Both of them still were wordless as they watched each other, as if sizing the other up even after your shared moment.
"Oh, I know," you said, softer now. Your hands came up, one to each of them—Robby back in his black hoodie, the fabric worn and soft under your palm, and Jack’s bare arm, warm under your fingers. They both looked down at you then, both of them a little quieter, a little more open than you were used to seeing. You looked back at Jack.
"Why don't you come for dinner?" you said. "Maybe next week?" Your eyes flicked to Robby. "Would that be okay?"
Robby made a sort of frown, thinking.
But it was Jack who spoke first, "That sounds great, sweetheart."
"And for now, let’s just… go on as normal. Think about what we actually want. We can just… take it slow."
Jack tipped his head down a little, a small smile pulling at his mouth. "That sounds nice." He came closer to you, brushing a kiss to your temple, but you caught him before he could pull away, your hand coming up to his face, your fingers settling along his jaw, holding him there.
When you glanced back to Robby, you saw he was smirking now, watching the two of you with a renewed light ignited behind his eyes.
You looked back at Jack once again, and your focus dropped to his lips.
"I think I deserve a real kiss goodbye," you said softly. "Don’t you think, Robby?"
Robby let out a quiet laugh, folding his arms across his chest. "I think you do. She was such a good girl, after all, Abbot."
Jack huffed a breath of a laugh, his mouth twitching before he leaned in the rest of the way.
"Anything for our best girl." he said, before pressing his lips to yours.
end note (so not to have spoilers): so much love and adoration for my friend court (@pearlessance) !!!! thank you for letting me pluck the idea of split custody from your beautiful brain!
thank you so much for reading!!!
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🏷️ @realwhoreforfictionalmen, @kittymeowmeow17, @viviandarkbloom11, @kneelforloki, @kitkatrina, @dugiioh, @ineedbooksandoldermen, @spookyscaryfish, @dugiioh, @ineedbooksandoldermen, @spookyscaryfish, @anthropsych, @shawnysimp, @1-800-bobcut, @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing comment below if you'd like to be added!
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.
doing a lil reread of this one and screaming into the void because ohhh my goddd it’s so good ITS SO GOOD
the smut is chefs kiss the dynamic changes between everyone and how it feels so different between each character AND EVERYONE HAVING THEIR OWN PET NAME FOR READER!!!!!!!!!!!! need to be park’s bunny and jacks sweetheart and robby’s honey i’m on my hands and knees begging for more btw no big deal!!! just frothing at the mouth!!!!!
Pairing: Titus Danforth x fem reader
Word count: 9.8K
Warnings: Not proofread, violence (this chapter has a hunt, so blood and injury mentions too), death, mention of parent's death/grief, brief mention of cancer, arranged marriage, vomit, substances mentioned, reader is going through it!
A/N: Hi! Pretty much did an all nighter to finish this omg. I keep changing my mind about how I feel about this chapter haha. I really do hope you enjoy it and I'd love to hear your thoughts! Comments and reblogs are appreciated! I obviously don't condone what happens here, hunt/eat the rich instead <3
Dividers: by @/strangergraphics
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 5 | Part 6
The oh so generous Chester Danforth was allowing a dinner for the High Council and a single night of sleep to allow the High Council members to be well rested and adjusted after travel and timezone differences. You were in a very delightful mood when the sleek vehicle stopped in front of the main building on the Danforth estate.
Barely any conversation had filled the journey for your family, you weren’t talking much to your father for what felt like a long list of reasons that he was only adding to, your brother was pretty displeased and your father had now decided you were a brat. That both of his children were. You’d been told earlier in the week that it was surprising you’d somehow caught Titus Danforth’s interest and Chester Danforth’s approval. That went onto the list.
You're led to a room by a white, stocky middle aged brunette woman that you don’t know the name of. She didn’t introduce herself and she looks completely apathetic to any pleasantries or your existence. At least where you’ll be staying is close to your family, your brother is in the room next to yours and your father is staying further down the hall. You step into another larger room, unbeknownst to you, Titus had made sure you were placed in what he saw as the nicest of the nice guest rooms. There’s a large window, it brings in enough light and there’s a bay window to sit in. That was something Titus had considered for you, not that you’d have a lot of time for reading with the weekend’s events. But he knew from your spot in the study here that you frequented over the years that you liked windows, rooms with light and views of trees. Something he’d noticed in your home too.
After everyone is in the sitting room, Titus looked at your family for a moment and without a word he placed his hand on the small of your back, you gasped a little and tilted your head, his touch was soft but firm and he quietly guided you away from your family and towards the far corner of the room. When his shoulders nearly brushed the deep green wallpaper, he faced you, his hand lingered on the soft fabric hugging your back and then moved to hold your hand in the both of his, swallowing them up and rubbing his thumb over your knuckles in a motion that soothed him more than he could ever express with words.
“Hi,” he says quietly as he looks down at your hand.
The Danforth’s estate feels more haunting than ever, something you don’t want to ponder on but it’s hard not to feel like its cloak of shadows and blood is entangling around you. Especially not with Titus’s rough hands holding yours, you can feel other eyes focused on you too. You hate attention, if this estate was going to try consuming you, it should at least have the grace to do so in a way to protect you from the eyes of the other High Council members. But of course, it won’t.
“Hello,” you whisper back quietly, watching his face, spotting the slight dimple coming out of hiding when he gives a small smile at hearing your voice.
“We haven’t had a chance to sit down since-”
“The contract?” You cut him off and he looks up from your hand to meet your eyes, being pulled out of his moment of peace at the bitterness that’s found its way into your tone. His eyes almost look hurt, his forehead furrows but he nods.
“Yes.” He says after a moment and clears his throat, wishing you wouldn’t refer to it as a contract. Sure, there’s a contract but he wants you to think of it as something real, not just that single word that makes it feel so clinical and detached. “I’d like us to talk about it all, just us.”
Your eyes stay focused on him, he’s a man with intimidating eye contact yet right now he’s looking at you in every way he can without having to look into your irises, your pretty irises he’s too scared to gaze into.
“That’s… reasonable,” you mumble after a moment and look down. It was. And you didn’t want to be a bitch right now, but you were more than pissed off still over Chester Danforth scheduling a High Council hunt on the anniversary of your mother’s death, a woman who had been accidentally killed in the hunt, another piece of collateral for the High Council to chew, spit out and forget. You were cycling through anger, disgust, and sorrow at rates that shouldn’t be possible, but grief since you were a child had taught you that nothing was impossible or logical when it came to loss.
“Really?” His voice was softer and almost sounded surprised. With how tense you were and how you’d been the last time he saw you, part of him was expecting you to snap in some way and his heart had been struggling with the anticipation of you rejecting him in anyway.
“Just not today, tomorrow, or overmorrow,” you say a little firmly.
He meets your eyes again and smirks a little. “Of course you know that word, it’s so fucking archaic.”
“I’m serious. Extremely.” You look at his hazel eyes, they look a little darker today.
“Extremely? But you’re here for the weekend already-”
“Yes, again, another problem your father created with ruining this weekend.” You sigh and roll your eyes, you’re not going to chew his ear off over this.
“Oh?” His eyes narrow a little and his grasp on your hand becomes firmer.
“Maybe next week or the following, lunch or something. I don’t want to think tonight.” You admit earnestly and his gaze softens, taking the crumb you’re offering.
“Okay.” He nods and after a moment asks, “is it the hunt?”
After a moment you give a slight nod, yes it is because of the hunt but he doesn’t know what aspect of the hunt it is that’s upsetting. Titus, the man you’re to marry, does understand maternal loss, you do know that, but they’re very different contexts. It also doesn’t mean that you want to stand here and try to have a heart to heart about it with him, it feels wrong, he’s the man that has loved the hunts since he could join in on them.
Titus nods as he watches you, he gives your hand a light squeeze and rubs his thumb over each of your knuckles in a swirling motion that he hopes you’ll find soothing. “Nothing will happen to you, I’ll watch or you can hunt with me.”
It’s an offer that comes from what he thinks is a tender place, he’s still rubbing your knuckles. You look down at his hand before back at him, your eyes are a little glassy from the urge to shed the tears you’ve been repressing. You don’t want to hunt by his side, you want to scream at Chester Danforth, then your father and not have to do this shit this weekend.
“I… appreciate the thought but no, thank you. I can’t. I have to hunt with my brother.” You stumble a little over your words and he nods, knowing that this was what you were going to say all along. “I need a minute, sorry.” You whisper and your insides feel like breaking, something that makes its way into your voice unfortunately.
Titus squeezes your hand one more time, lifting it to give a soft peck to the back of it and then releases your hand like it’s bones made of delicate porcelain. Your stomach twists at knowing that others have seen this, you’ve always hated the way your skin feels when there’s multiple eyes looking at you. Titus commands attention and despite this room being large, it’s still only four walls with a group of opportunists lacking spines and souls.
You step away slightly and try to move like a shadow, out of sight and out of mind, as you make your way to be a fixture at your brother’s side. His eyes flick from your father’s face to yours for a moment and you nod. You look down at the dark carpet on the floor and bite your lip to stifle any sorrow from escaping out of you.
Wan Chen Xing came over, she looked at you with a smile that always felt more earnest than the ones worn at these gatherings but it started to slip as she looked over you. The worry lines on her flawless skin became pronounced on her face as she looked at you, her silence doing nothing to hide the look of stilted sympathy in her eyes as she watched you. “What’s… happening there?”
The words were carefully chosen, not too confrontational, perfectly vague and still painfully pointed with the look of pity she wore. “Hmm?” It was all you could come up with as you did your best to look at her but also avoided holding her brown eyes for a true moment. Your voice was quiet and carefully composed but you really didn’t want to invite questions or unwanted commentary. This fate of yours was already sealed and this all felt secondary to what your mind was fixated on. Your mother.
“Titus.” She said after a moment, watching your posture carefully, you answered with a small shrug and moved your arm to discreetly hold yourself a little tightly. Hopefully to anyone else it would be like maybe you were just a bit cold, but if you kept yourself together maybe you’d be able to stop your guts and every other organ of yours from spilling out. Her eyes stayed on you and she said your name calmly but with a twinge of sympathy. “That’s… That’s a death sentence.”
She’d made it clear that she thought the Danforths were particularly twisted than other families and you knew her opinion was lowest of Titus in particular. You weren’t ignorant to the fact that her conscience was probably a bit cleaner and her morals a bit sounder than other High Council members but this wasn’t what you needed right now. Because again, Mr Le Bail’s approval had already been given like the most valuable gift. There wasn’t a way out. Again, this wasn’t the top of your priorities either.
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” you whisper with a sigh and then look away towards your brother.
She looks at you, the sympathy coming out more and that just makes you feel nauseous, she gives a slight nod. Maybe the understanding is there of your reality, hands tied but at least the binding is pretty and there’s all one could want on the other side of marital vows. “Okay. But be careful, he won’t.” Is what she says as she watches you like you’re a lamb being led to the slaughter. A goat for another sacrifice. You step closer to your brother and try to further avoid any eyes that land on you.
After a dinner you’d barely been able to touch, you’d at least been sat next to your brother and unsurprisingly not far from Titus, you felt a little more like yourself and that there were less eyes locked on your every move and microexpression. Of course there was still one pair of eyes that were burnt into your every step and gesture, that was something you knew you’d have to live with.
In the sitting room, you see Daniel Le Domas leaning against a wall nursing a drink in his hand, Emilie isn’t too far from him but he’s treating the amber liquid like it’s more interesting than anything she could be rambling about.
“Should you even be drinking the night before the hunt?” Your voice comes out softer than it probably has in days as you step closer to him.
His presence is always more tolerable than most in the High Council, something that you don’t see changing anytime soon. Daniel’s harboured a disenchantment with the system since his youth, it makes talking to him easier in all honesty. His dry humour and wit is easy to sit with, especially now when you’re in a bad mood and feel like crumbling into the aged and expensive floorboards and being sucked into a black hole sitting under them. His way of being and talking will either help lighten your mood or it’ll mean he’s not an explosive if you’re going to come out more dry or blunt.
“Actually, that’s more than reason enough for me.” He says before taking a swig of the drink.
Your nose scrunches a little as you watch him drink and hear the light slosh of liquid and a slight clink, once he’s swallowed you take the clear glass from his hand, careful not to spill any of the liquid and do something that might make a Danforth maid’s life a bit harder in the morning. “Thanks.” You say while holding the glass in one hand while looking at him.
“That’s just cold,” he looks at you as you hold the glass, his eyes are surprised at your move but he’s not going to question it, if anything he’d offer you a refill.
“Shut up, I’m taking one for the team.” You lift his glass up and finish the drink, schooling your face to keep its mask of neutrality up as the amber liquid burns the back of your throat and almost scratches. You probably haven’t had enough fluids today with the journey, that and keeping the sobs down that want to crawl out and torture you, isn’t helping. Daniel snorts and shakes his head with a little chuckle as you place the glass down with a soft clink onto wood. You don’t search for a coaster, you normally would but screw Chester Danforth and every piece of his furniture.
“Little Tight-Tight is staring.” He says with a little tired mock in his voice as his eyes look at Titus across the room for a second before looking back at you. You didn’t say anything or glance over, although you’re sure Titus would be very displeased with hearing someone call him that. He’d probably punch Daniel, you have little doubt of that in all honesty. “Oh yeah, that reminds me, did Chester reprimand you for the last meeting?” Daniel looks at you carefully now, there’s a playfulness there but a glimpse of earnestness. The closest he’ll let in.
“No, not a word. But this whole hunt feels like a punishment.” You whisper shyly as you look down at your shoes. You silently hope that Chester Danforth will never perceive you again, that you could dance through life without ever seeing his particular set of pale blue eyes or hearing his voice, but you know that’s not going to happen.
“Wow.” It’s more than a fair enough word here. Chester has had many dealt with for far less.
“Wow, indeed.” You lean against the wall more and look at him out of the corner of your eye, tilting your head. “I hate when they make us stand around and pretend to like each other.”
It’s an admission you probably shouldn’t make, but it slips out. Your nerves and irritation are growing louder. Daniel laughs. “I couldn’t agree more but… are you saying you don’t like me? I thought we were friends? That’s pretty fucking brutal, I just shared my drink with you” His voice takes on a playful tease and you roll your eyes.
“You’re much more pleasant to talk to than Bill Wilkinson, congratulations.” You whisper with a slight chuckle. It feels like it’s been awhile since you’ve had one of those.
“Low bar.” He says and looks at his sister for a moment, there’s white powder dusted over her face, he rolls her eyes and then looks back at you.
“Is Charity hunting?” You ask after a moment, his wife with a heart of ice is elegantly nursing her own champagne flute, her blunt bob tipping as she nods while talking to Ignacio.
“Yes,” Daniel says and looks down with a sorrowful expression, he goes to sip from his drink but then remembers his hands are empty. You scrunch your nose up and your eyes narrow slightly at his words, it wasn’t compulsory for her as in-law and that made it so much more fucked up. “I know,” he whispers with a sigh.
This was how it worked, the eldest generation completely desensitised courtesy of the power and wealth Mr Le Bail bestowed upon them and then a next generation of various degrees of fucked up. A childhood with the High Council cult had led to Alex Le Domas cutting himself off from his family and practically going no contact, leaving Daniel Le Domas so traumatised he now self medicates. His wife Charity had happily walked into this life, her coldness made her a perfect fit, you didn’t think Daniel cared for her at all and that this made it easier, that if she’d pulled the wrong card it would’ve been okay to him. Then there was the fucked up degree of Chester Danforth raising killers with an education more violent and blood spilling than any other family’s education tenfold. Their curriculum hadn’t included guilt, you were sure of that as you’d seen Ursula’s smirk with a firearm and the ease of Titus swinging a pickaxe.
Titus is watching across the room, his eyes rarely leaving you as he’s standing with Ursula and listening to Tony Le Domas rattle on about everything under the sun that he does not give a shit about. At least that’s how it feels to him as the conversation drags on and on. Something sharp twists in Titus as he sees you stand next to and talk to Daniel Le Domas, he almost wants to storm over when he sees you take Daniel’s glass and then drink from it. What the actual fuck? He sees red for a moment and as he keeps his hands in his pockets to stop himself from doing anything, he feels deeply uncomfortable.
Titus swirls the facts and thoughts around in his head as Ursula does all the heavy lifting of listening and responding to Tony. You’re engaged to Titus and he considers you far too demure and elegant to be interested in a married man. Especially if the married man is Daniel Le Domas of all people. You’re not that type. His jaw clenches as these thoughts race around his head, he wishes Tony would shut up more than anything and that Ursula would stop asking him things and trying to drag him back into the conversation.
Eventually he just walks off, he doesn’t bother excusing himself from the conversation, after all, Titus had already decided that his manners are reserved solely for you. Ursula rolls her eyes and looks at Tony who just pauses for a moment before he continues talking. Titus gets a drink for himself and then when he sees you leave the sitting room, probably for the restroom because you haven’t said anything to your brother, he follows.
“Hiding?” He asks as he comes closer to your side, you gasp a little at the surprise of him popping up but you hide it away as your pounding heart recovers from the fright.
“No, I wouldn’t want to get lost.” You whisper as you keep walking slowly, avoiding his hazel hawk gaze.
“Soon that won’t even be a thought in your head, you’ll know the estate like the back of your hand. There’s a lot to know.” He answers as he tilts his head to watch you.
No words come out as you still walk, your mind is chewing on his words. He’s right. You know there will be a wedding and then cohabitation will follow naturally afterwards but it’s the first time the thought really comes to you of living together with him. Of the bed you’ve slept in the last few words not being the one you’ll be in in a few months time, that your life will change so much to accommodate this arrangement. That you will be in his world, that it is expected of you to fully uproot yourself and hope you can be successfully replanted here into the Danforth’s slice of Rhode Island. No true care given to your homelife, what of work you wonder? But you can’t let yourself think about that right now, there is already way too much going on.
“Will you wear it?” He then asks after a moment seeing how you’re so in your head right now, his voice is so quiet and you barely hear the words, it takes a moment for them to pull you out of your daze and then to process them.
Your head whips to look at him. “What?”
“The ring-”
Your eyes widen and you feel your cheeks heat up as soon as he says it. You want to delay this a little longer. “Titus, we said we’d talk about this all next week or- just not now, please.”
Titus looks at you, he swallows, his eyes saddening like a heartbroken sparrow. Then after a moment he asks. “And Le Domas?”
You look at him, tilting your head and you frown slightly. “Daniel? What of him?” There’s some irritation creeping back into your voice now. The gentleness that was crawling out slowly after seeing his sad expression already wants to retire over this conversation turn.
“Yes, Daniel Le Domas.” His voice is firm, speaking like boulders pressing against your temples.
“I’ve met him, yes. What is this, Titus?” You look at him tiredly. He notices the slight scrunch in your nose, how your beautiful lips pout, he knows they’ll be soft when he kisses you. Just not now.
“What were you talking about? You drank from his glass.”
“I needed it more, and I might need another if you keep going,” You whisper. Titus frowns at you.
“Are you anxious for the hunt?” It comes out quickly as he looks at you.
“It’s complicated-”
“You don’t have to worry, it’ll be fine, you’ll be safe, I promise,” Titus’s voice is uncharacteristically soft as he tries to reassure you on something he doesn’t understand. You just chew your lip and don’t say anything, what can you say? “I’m going to look after you and watch, you’re living and that’s final.”
“It’s not… It’s not about that.” You sigh and rub your forehead. “Just, goodnight, Titus.”
Before he can get another poor but well intentioned word in you walk off quickly and make it to the room you’ve been assigned. Sleep isn’t your friend this evening, you knew she wouldn’t be. So you curl up on the plush bed with a headboard that looks older than your family’s involvement with Mr Le Bail and cry. You cry for hours, you cry over every moment that your mother should’ve had, everything she should’ve been able to give you guidance over. You think about how every year you buy another bottle of the eau de parfum she’d spray on her wrists and neck, how you sometimes will just sniff it as it sits on your vanity or how you’ll spray it on a scarf of hers that now sits on your neck. How you’d panicked once and looked into fragrance manufacturers, met a perfumer in Europe so you knew you’d never have to worry if her signature scent was discontinued. How one year you gave a bottle to your brother and you both cried, never speaking of it except for when one day he asked if he’d be able to get another just in case. That some days when he was sad he’d use it like a room spray to try and keep a ghost of the feeling of her being around, how you’d said yes and told him you’d done the same on many days that felt colder than the thermostat said it was.
Tears spill over how she didn’t get to hear you play music as you grew, how you’d never get to sit and listen to her play the harp again, over how you won’t be able to hear her input on your wedding gowns, that you never got to see her with a single grey hair. Let alone the chance she’ll never get to grow old.
The next day starts off quickly and you go through the motions, grief weighing your heart down more than should feel medically possible, it’s a blur of a day that you feel yourself slipping in and out of. It’s hard to be present and you do your best to function on autopilot.
Chester Danforth announces that the prey is a former associate of the Danforths, someone slimy, you barely catch his name, Seymour, and any of the details that Chester shares with you all before the hunt will commence. It’s better this way you think, the less you know the better, the easier it will be. Ignorance truly is bliss you think. You avoid your father like the plague, only occasionally looking over at your brother.
Neither of you comment on the bags from poor sleep under the other’s eyes, or how there’s a slight puffiness in your eyes and unshed tears glistening in certain lights. It’s what the sunglasses are for, which you both wear despite the time of day. Evening approaches quicker than you’d like and your stomach does flips as you think of the long night ahead of you and how you’re far too far away to be able to visit your mother’s resting place. That on its own makes you feel like throwing up.
In the middle of the lineup outside, stands the Danforth twins, waiting, Ursula smiles and Titus’s face is more stoic but he’s watching you in his periphery. Francesca stands on the other side of them with a ridiculous looking firearm, further back is Wan Cheng Fu, who you are sure Chen Xing tried to bargain him out of this hunt. The Rajans are on the opposite side of you and then the Le Domas trio of fucked; Emilie, Daniel, and Charity. Only one of them will enjoy this.
As the janky music plays and a terrified Seymour who has barely had enough time to process what the Lawyer has said, runs to try and hide. You’re all waiting with weapons and in your ‘hunting attire’. Your brother and you wear non-rustling fabrics and water resistant steel toe cap boots, perfect for tracking in shallow water and if a boost for a kick is needed. There’s more than enough knives stored throughout your body and you hate this time of waiting, you stand next to your brother with the perfectly composed mask that you’ve mastered throughout your lifetime of restraint and hiding, the sunglasses on to hide anyone clueing on to any of the tears you’ve shed today. Each minute of the song playing is painful, but it only adds to the pit of dread in your stomach of the hunt approaching and nothing being safe.
There was nothing predictable about the hunt and that haunted you on a day like today. These hunts like this, that were supposedly more informal and not from a wedding, were interesting in how they played out. Sometimes rules were bent and reinvented, today Chester had decided to ban the infamous Danforth golf carts, saying that they made things too easy and that the hunters needed to work for it. You had wondered if this was something done just to add more of a thrill to the more bloodthirsty members and to drag it out for the victim running around like a headless chicken. You didn’t know or care but what it meant was that this would be more of a trek, especially to get to the treeline which was undoubtedly where you were heading.
When the music stops you see the Danforths quickly running, Charity trying to lead her in-laws who drift with disinterest in actually participating in the hunt. Your brother looks at you and blinks ‘trees’ in Morse code and you nod, the pair of you jogging and ignoring whatever it is the others are doing. You couldn’t care less. Hiding in the trees means you have a chance of a successful hunt but also that you’re further away from the shenanigans of other hunters, which is a pretty big selling point to the fresh air of the forest of trees waiting for you. No matter how smart the prey is, and most of them aren’t, they go for the trees far more times than not. It makes sense, it’s probably what you’d do if you were in their shoes, it’s just that they don’t know how much of a death trap they’re in.
You don’t know how long it is that the two of you are jogging to the treeline and time feels distorted as you look around and try gaging the night sky that becomes more hidden the closer you get to the trees wanting to hide you away.
When a small eternity has passed and your heart settles a little, and the trees start to hide you, you give your brother a small hug as a reminder that you both have the other, that this is insane and cruel but that your mother isn’t fully gone because the other exists. It’s something you’ll always hold onto, you’d do anything for that, for the only true piece of family you have still breathing. He gives you a small smile and nods, you nod back and you walk further into the trees slowly.
Trailing a couple of steps behind your brother, you hold the hilt of one of your knives tightly in your hand and watch him. His eyes are focused on the surroundings looking for tracks, he’d always been good at tracking, it was a skill part of your unconventional education, a private tutor and thick books as you’d go on these hikes, practicing tracking animals, people, and how to obscure your own tracks from anyone in pursuit of you. It had seemed strange at the time but been useful for this part of your lives. You weren’t terrible, you were more than competent and good at it but he was better than you, it came so easily to him. He whispers the names of the trees and bushes you walk past and you nod, looking around for any other signs of human life but there’s not much to see, yet.
After a couple of minutes he sees a fallen pine branch, he gives it to you without a word and you know what to do. You start to use the branch to brush out some of the tracks the two of you have made and to try and mimic the natural landscape the best you can. Occasionally sprinkling leaves and checking that you haven’t disturbed moss or twigs in an obvious way to a watchful eye. It’s a comfortable pattern that you two fall into silently although you know it’s unlikely that many of the other hunters are doing much tracking. You’re sure Viraj Rahan is clever enough to know how to track but it’s unlikely he’ll be coming out this way anytime soon, he seemed to stay close to the main Danforth buildings and you imagined that would be his plan unless he sprinted after the prey into the treeline. But you know for a fact that Titus and Ursula would have an eye for detail when it comes to this, they’d be capable at the very least, if not very gifted trackers.
But you were still doing your best to avoid Titus Danforth’s eyes, so you had kept your eyes on your brother and done your best to avoid paying any attention to which direction the Danforth twins were heading. Your mind didn’t have space for them in your mind, you scrunched your face up at the thought of the family you’d be bound to soon enough.
Ursula frowns at her brother while holding her crossbow close to her body as if it’s a natural extension of herself. “Where are you going?”
“They’re headed to the trees.” Titus’s voice is too calm, no gruffness or amusement in his face, he’s not talking about the running lamb with desperate eyes.
“You want to be a guard dog today, Titus?” Her voice is mocking as she looks at him with an annoyed yet amused smirk.
“Sure.” Titus speaks casually as he walks towards the trees, he’s strong, always has been and has an inhuman level of stamina.
He can easily participate in the hunt, win, and make sure that you’re perfectly safe. This is something he’d decided on long ago and it makes perfect sense to him.
“Why are you so whipped? It’s… Weird. It’s weird, Ti.” Ursula says as she walks closer to him to try and look at his expression that feels so different to her brother.
“Well, Urs, she’s going to be a mother to Danforth children one day and maybe that’ll help our father leave you alone for a minute. So be a little grateful and help look after your sister-in-law or kindly, shut the fuck up.” Titus doesn’t watch her reaction, something he’d maybe usually try to delight in but he starts to walk away.
Ursula is horrified at this, she frowns at him, quickly steps closer with her short legs and slaps his face. Titus glares at her, his cheek reddening from her hand and then storms off. He has no interest in Ursula’s words, she watches his back for a moment.
“You’re not married yet, so she’s not my sister-in-law.” Ursula says bitterly which he ignores but she follows his path, holding her chin up high. Titus continues to ignore her, holding the pickaxe with ease.
There’s a particularly large tree trunk towards the edge of the Danforth’s woods that you and your brother are leaning against. You’d allowed yourself to share a whispered conversation of your mother, trying to avoid bringing up that you were doing the exact thing she had been doing when she’d been killed. It was haunting every step you both took and each sob you muffled was adding up to a heartbreaking number.
There was a small creek you’d both come across but you hadn’t bothered sticking with it, it was quite shallow and still relatively open in the density of the trees. Your brother and you had decided that hiding away was the best option. You’d been out here for a few hours and fortunately, you were yet to catch sight of another hunter, so you both gave yourself permission to sit with this reprieve and let it wash over you both as nothing, when grief was still sitting with you both, comfortable in the shadows of night.
Then before you knew it, your brother whispered to you, mentioning the eerie silence and his hand gestured to the disturbed moss and then his hand lifted in the direction you’d both soon follow. You both walked carefully, pacing yourselves out a little and you held your knife closer as you walked behind your brother. After all, you’d follow him anywhere.
Titus looks around, he’s trying to spot anything, blood smothered or speckled over tree trunks, remnants in the leaves of torn clothing, footprints trekked into the ground. There isn’t any from their victim and none from you or your brother. He furrows his brow, frowning and then looks at Ursula. “They’re covering their tracks.”
“Seymour? I thought he’d be too scared shitless to think of that, if he even knows how.” Ursula looks around, holding her crossbow comfortably as she steps to the side and does a sweep. She looks almost bored at how this has gone on for as long as it has. But Titus shakes his head and says your name.
“No. The cameras showed them coming this way, there should’ve been footprints.” Titus says it seriously as he waves his hand dismissively, gesturing to the set of footprints they’ve left behind and the lack of prints in front of them, he then steps forward a few steps and joins his sister in doing a sweep of their surroundings.
The frown is still sculpted into his face as he tries to look for any other clues or the sound of your soft voice. But there’s nothing. He knew you were clever and he should be filled with a sense of pride that the person he’ll be calling his wife in the future is this good, that you actually know how to track and have this degree of stealth on your side. It should and it does to a degree but he can’t fully appreciate it as he’s now annoyed about how he can’t be nosey and you’ve made his unofficial job harder now. He promises himself that he’ll tell you later how clever you are and how he honestly finds it hot, but first he has to find you and make sure you’re alright and then win the hunt. Priorities.
Titus pulls his phone out again with one hand and looks at the cameras, there’s cameras hidden in some of the trees of course, something that had to be installed for purposes like this. It takes awhile before he finds footage of one camera capturing you and your brother making your way through, he sees you holding a branch and how you move it, move around to hide your footprints and his eyes widen at how clever his wife is. Yes, he knows it’s not official yet, that you’re not even wearing the engagement ring he always has on him, yet. But you’ll be married soon and he already thinks of you as his wife.
He scoffs a little and then Ursula quickly steps over and looks at his phone screen, she watches you hide yourself in the forest so stealthily, her eyebrows raise and she keeps looking at the screen, avoiding Titus. “Huh, she’s more clever than I expected.”
“Of course she is. She’s absolutely brilliant.” Titus nods, they’re the truest words he’s spoken today. He puts his phone back into his pocket and sighs, trying to orientate himself with the cameras and where you must’ve been and where you’re now heading.
It’s dark and there’s still a quietness that feels too unnatural, even in the dead of night in the middle of an isolated forest. Your brother and you keep walking as silently as your bodies and shoes will let you. There’s an ache in your body at how long this has been going on for and how your body is carrying so much sadness and pain.
But you don’t say a word of this aloud, not as you walk. You don’t need to burden your brother while he’s dealing with the same pain you are, you can see he’s doing his best to pretend this all isn’t bothering him as much as it’s bothering you. Somebody needs to keep the front of strength up and he’s decided it’ll be him so you have some small internal reprieve, you’re grateful but you can’t help but be plagued with the last memories of your mother. The announcement of her death in the middle of a hunt that she was never meant to be touched in, she was a hunter not prey. Yet she’d been impaled so swiftly and there was no hope for her, no chance of a medical intervention good enough to piece your mother back together whole and have her come into your room in the morning and greet you with a hug.
There’s a snap of twigs and your head whips to see a flash of a desperate man, pleading for his life and no longer seeing reason because why would somebody being hunted for sport by billionaires find any logic in their reality? You see him go for your brother, clearly not having seen you as you had been trailing a few metres behind your brother, the darkness and your clothes concealing you from his sight in the dark.
Seymour, a name you can barely recall, tackles your brother to the ground, more twigs snap and leaves crunch to fill the air along with your brother’s pained and shocked gasp. At first, Seymour tries to claw at your brother’s face, almost an attempt at gouging his eyes out but realises that’s too difficult as your brother tries to push him off and bite at his hand. Seymour screams out and then puts his hands down to choke your brother. There’s some blood, obviously he bit the victim well enough, so blood now coats Seymour’s hand and his neck.
For a brief second pain and fear explodes in you, you vividly remember that night of your mother kissing your forehead, tucking you in as a nanny stayed with you and your brother, she had then gone outside to compete in a hunt with your father. You and your brother were too young to compete or fully understand the true depth of loss that the hunts offered, even though your education was already consisting of weapons training and human anatomy to know the worst places to direct a blow. All supplementary to the intensive private education you spent hours in each day, in order to be as close to the best of the best as you could be.
When she didn’t come back in the morning and the nanny was tasked with telling you and your brother of her tragic fate. Your father had decided that was what was best, something you’d never be able to truly comprehend or forgive. But you didn’t have the home where you could voice that, no matter how old you became.
The loss of your mother left an aching hole in every part of your life, you felt it everywhere. No matter what you did or who you were with, her smile was missing in every photo and every memory was missing the sound of her voice. It was a large shadow over you, you couldn’t even imagine the shadow that would hang over you if your brother was gone too. And to lose him in a hunt so young and the same weekend as your mother, you’d never recover, you would no longer be human. You would be an empty husk of all that once was.
There’s a world of pain that flashes between your eyes in the short second that you witness this but it feels like an eternity long horror film you’re trapped in. You hand immediately raises and the knife flies through the air and hits him, you aim for the neck of Seymour, the blade sinks right into the carotid artery, as you’d tried to remember and visualise the anatomy books and diagrams of your childhood. Your brother loudly gasps and sits up, clutching his throat for a moment as you watch Seymour start to fall back, his hands shaking, unsure of what to do with the blade protruding from him.
You step closer like it’s second nature, you grab the hilt and push the blade in deeper, shimmy it to make sure there’s permanent damage he won’t be able to come back from and then pull the blade out so that the blood loss worsens at the loss of a plug. He’s too weak to fight you off, you don’t even bother kicking him or trying to make it worse beyond that. You place the knife away and in doing so, it gets more blood on your hands.
There’s now blood on your face, jacket and hands. You watch as Seymour very quickly dies and then rush over to your brother, he’s shocked but looks at you, all the pain in his face is at what you have just had to do and not for his injury, which seems superficial but you help him up, not acknowledging the blood that feels sticky on your skin, you’re only concern is getting him checked.
You would do anything for your brother.
The Lawyer has announced that the hunt is over and that you were the victor of this match. You don’t care or listen as the other families return to the Danforth viewing room, some of them watch an odd angle of the kill from a Danforth tree camera.
You’re in a sick bay with your brother as a Danforth doctor checks over your brother, you stand there nervously and watch, the walls are unusually pale and dull for a Danforth room and it makes it all so disorienting and just wrong. You’re still in a state of shock as you watch your brother and your mind is fixated on him being alive, he is alive, alive, alive, you keep repeating the thought to yourself as some soothing affirmation. But it does little to calm you. You don’t let the doctor come near you. Your sole focus is on your brother and so should the doctor’s be.
This doctor, a middle aged man confirms that he’s fine, there will be some bruising but it is fortunately superficial. You nod and help your brother to the room next to yours, you help him take a sleeping pill he’s been given and you stand awkwardly in the room as you wait for him to fall asleep. In his drowsy state he cries quietly and doesn’t say a word about his bloodied little sister. Once he’s asleep you take a deep inhale and then leave the room, shutting the door as quietly as possible before storming down the stairs and into the viewing room.
Your eyes land on your father and you give him the filthiest glare you can manage, his face is frozen like he’s glitching. He isn’t sure whether to be satisfied that you did well in the hunt or to be horrified that you did not clean yourself up before coming down and barging in.
Titus’s eyes widened as he saw you, he’d had some fear when seeing the footage, at how close Seymour had gotten to you and your brother, of course he’d been worried something awful could’ve happened. But there was a strong sense of pride at knowing that you’d won, you’d been so quick. As soon as Seymour was a threat to your brother you barely hesitated, the knife immediately went flying with deadly precision and seeing you like this… Titus plans to tell you one day how much he enjoyed it.
You don’t acknowledge your father beyond a glare, a silent scream brewing in you at how he’s disrespected your mother’s memory and how your brother was almost killed because of it. But your eyes land on Chester, you see him look at you, his bored expression becomes a smile and in that moment you finally, fully land on the decision that you most definitely do hate Chester Danforth with every bit of your soul, regardless of Mr Le Bail’s claim on it.
“We-” he starts and you do the thing you’ve been told you should never do when the High Seat speaks to you, you cut him off.
“It was so generous of you to commemorate a tragedy with another hunt today, to show my appreciation of your generosity and sympathies, I have a gift for you.” You pull the bloodied knife out of where it had been concealed and drop it onto the table he’s sitting at, right in front of him.
Chester’s eyes widen slightly as he looks down at the knife, his mouth opens slightly and your father looks like he’s going to combust but you pay him no mind. You give Chester a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes and then walk out before he can even have a chance to respond.
Grief seems to take away all the shyness that usually prohibits you from existing in the world that you think you’re meant to. It’s perfect for how your father wants you to exist though. You practically sprint up the stairs and into your room, your muscles ache and you don’t think you have the strength to do so but you need to disappear.
Slamming the door to the bedroom you’re staying in is the most tempting thing in the world but you don’t, only because you worry about the noise being so loud it would wake your brother. You can’t be seen like this right now and especially not by him.
You close the door silently and then walk to ensuite, you tug the shoes with dirt and mud on them off as quickly as you can. Next you peel off each layer of clothing in a rush and throw them in the rubbish bin you find in there, you wouldn’t care if they were torn in the process, you don’t want to feel them on your skin ever again. It’s your best effort to avoid seeing your reflection in the mirror, something you can’t stomach right now as you turn the shower on and wait a few seconds for the water to heat up.
Sobs start to choke you until you let them spill out more freely as you just stand under the warm water of the shower head and let the water drown out the noise of your cries. You keep thinking about your mother and then your brother, how you almost lost him and how that was the worst thing that could happen to you. How similar their fates almost were and yet how they ended so differently, you were able to stop your brother from becoming another chapter ending too soon like your mother’s story. It’s overwhelming and you barely think of Seymour.
The thought that you just killed a man barely registers in your head as you then frantically scrub at your skin while sobbing. Then you’re slapped with the strange reminder that you did just kill someone to save your brother’s life and only feelings of grief have been consuming and nauseating you, not guilt. That inspires some guilt then but for the wrong reasons. Guilt feels wrong in your mouth, it sits like nausea in your stomach and before you know it, your hands are bracing yourself against the shower wall as you start to vomit up your guilt and sob.
There’s not enough soap in the world to make you feel clean and human again. It’ll just have to sit in you next to the hole left from your mother.
The Lawyer’s startling blue eyes are always filled with an impossible level of joy, it’s unnerving and always creates an eerie contradiction to the words he’ll say on behalf of Mr Le Bail. He starts to walk away from the viewing room, he’s done for the time being, he gives a slight nod to Titus who looks at him.
Titus’s eyes narrow, his voice comes out as firm and commanding as ever. “Wait.”
“Yes?” The Lawyer responds in that ever chipper voice as his unnatural blue eyes look at Titus patiently.
“This hunt is the anniversary of something pertaining to the High Council?”
The Lawyer doesn’t need to think, his answer is immediate. “Yes.”
“What is this the anniversary of?” He looks the Lawyer, his words measured.
His tone is calm, you wouldn’t think he was talking about anything particularly troubling, his expression and tone have the same cadence he’d use for talking about the weather of a particularly pleasant spring day. He says the name of your mother first. “It’s the anniversary of the hunt she accidentally passed in.” The Lawyer watches Titus for a moment and then nods with a small, polite smile. It would seem jarring to almost anyone in the world but Titus is not ordinary, so he watches the Lawyer leave and no protest comes from him.
Once the sound of the Lawyer’s footsteps disappear, disgust and rage fills Titus and mixes with his blood, flowing through every vein in his body. It all makes so much more sense to him now, he didn’t witness it but he remembers when your mother had been killed. He wouldn’t say it to you for obvious reasons, but her death was one of many, an accident in one of countless hunts so the date had never branded itself into his mind but now it would. Titus remembers how the news spread, how you and your brother’s life had been shattered, just like how his mother’s cancer would shatter him and Ursula.
He starts to walk away, there’s no way he can sit in his father’s presence right now, it’s clear that this was some kind of test that he and Ursula once again, didn’t realise was happening. It was only a test for you this time, not them. He’s sure you passed, passed with flying colours, you killed Seymour and he’s watched the footage more times than he’d admit, it was a close call and you did good.
You delivering the bloodied murder weapon as a gift to his father was perfect. Titus is proud of that defiance, spite, and wit. It’s the very least of what his father deserves and Titus is sure it’s said one thing very loudly to every single person in that room, you are more than worthy of the Danforth name.
In the den near his room there had been a dozen bouquets of flowers already prepared just in case, he stands there to look at them. Titus’s gut told him you were the type of person who would like flowers, he thought maybe it might be something to get you to smile, that maybe he’d even try to be romantic, give you some flowers and then slide his mother’s ring onto your soft finger. He’d save the ring for another day, even to his frayed logic, it would be insensitive to try doing that with you today of all days.
A floral rainbow of various hues and blooms sits in front of him, it was then that an unlikely candidate he hadn’t truly considered stood out to him, white lilies. Flowers of death, funeral flowers, that’s how Ursula would always refer to them whenever she saw them at events that she would point out as a poor thematic choice due to whatever mood their hosts were meant to inspire. He had thought they were elegant on their own, but on a weekend when you have been forced to go through another form of hell, having scars of grief prodded and picked at, maybe a recognition of that same loss would mean something to you. That as a gesture it would be more thoughtful and validating than orchids, peonies, roses, or hydrangeas ever could.
It’s not long after coming out of the shower in the ensuite that you hear a knock on your door, you’ve barely dried yourself properly and brushed your teeth, you still feel sick. You rush to get rid of the towel and quickly put on the soft, silky pajamas you’d packed. They cover you up plenty so you don’t have to worry about being extra exposed to whoever it is, it’s probably only your father waiting to scold you.
The blood has been scrubbed off of you, you’re clean, you keep trying to repeat that even though your brain keeps telling you you’re still dirty and you can still feel the stickiness of blood clinging to your skin, it isn’t there. And the metallic smell is still clinging to you. Before you can spook yourself with a look in the mirror or let out an audible sob, you take a shaky breath and your bare feet pad closer to the bedroom door.
When you open the door, you’re surprised to see Titus standing there, even more so with him holding a large bouquet of white lilies. Funeral flowers. You look at him quietly with wide eyes and Titus has never seen you like this, your eyes are puffy and he can tell you’ve been crying, there’s still unshed tears sitting in your eyes and lashes. He can tell you’ve just showered, there’s some droplets of water visible on your skin and there’s a slight visible dampness near your hairline on your face too. It breaks his heart to see you like this.
“I’m sorry.”
“Pardon?” It’s a soft whisper he barely hears, he instinctively leans in a little to try and catch your words better.
“I’m sorry, for all of this,” Titus says with a sigh. “I didn’t know this was the anniversary of your mother’s death. I’m so sorry. This was beyond cruel of my father, I… I can only imagine how difficult this was.” He speaks earnestly as he looks at you, your eyes water more and you just give him a slight nod.
“I wanted to give you flowers… And I thought of the lilies…”
“Mourning flowers…” You whisper and rub your eye.
“Yes…” He nods and gives you a small smile. “Do you hate it? I understand if you do, I have others… But I thought this would be-”
“It’s nice,” you whisper. “It’s very nice, thank you.” You whisper.
“Maybe one day we can talk about our mothers together.” Titus says softly and you nod, he nods back and then he delicately passes the flowers to you which you take with one hand, he squeezes your other hand lightly. “I know it’s not what you want to hear right now but tonight, you were exceptional. You looked after your family.” He squeezes the hand gently again and then goes to leave.
You watch him, you think it’s the first time he’s taken your hand and not tried to make it linger, he didn’t raise your hand to his lips to kiss it like he always does. He doesn’t want to bombard you right now, especially knowing the turmoil of your grief and scare with your brother, so he does best to show his care but not crowd you.
“Titus?” You whisper hesitantly and he stops and looks at you.
“Yes?”He nods as his hazel eyes look at you.
“Thank you, really.” You whisper and then lean over to give his pale cheek a soft kiss before stepping back, his cheeks have flushed a rosy pink and he gives you a smile. “Goodnight, Titus.”
“Goodnight,” he smiles at the soft kiss and how shy that whisper was. You were utterly perfect. He then watches as you step back with the flowers and close the door.
Next Part
Four chapters and finally a cheek kiss 🤭 it was almost a forehead kiss! Am I doing the slow burn???
If you want to be removed or added, please just comment, message or send an ask! There were a few people that asked to be tagged but I wasn't able to, will try to let them/you know later today for those I couldn't tag, so maybe check your settings when asking, thank you for reading! 🫶
Pairing: Titus Danforth x fem reader
Word count: 4.4K
Warnings: Not proofread, Titus being a bit odd and down bad (very very bad), arranged marriage, probably the least angsty and closest to fluff we've gotten in the series! I think that's it?
A/N: Hello, I hope you're having a nice weekend! The longest interactions that reader and Titus have had so far! That's pretty much the whole chapter! I didn't notice until finishing how much food is mentioned here oops, can you tell I was feeling snackish while writing a lot of this? Thank you all for reading and also the comments! I really appreciate hearing what you think, it definitely helps as a motivator for writing and I love your thoughts! Do lmk what you think, comments, reblogs, and asks are appreciated. Bon appétit, enjoy💚
Dividers: by @/strangergraphics
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 6
Once the hunt had finished, a stillness that buzzed in the ears and was ripe for rumination was all that filled the guest room. The door had stayed locked and leaving it wasn’t an option, so you hid in there for as long as you could, there was a vase on the bedside table, something that had been preemptively arranged by Titus, no doubt. You padded to the ensuite to fill it with cold water, the sounds of your panicked, adrenaline crashing pants the only musical accompaniment with you.
With great care, you handled the large bouquet of lilies, they looked pretty in the ceramic vase, you allowed yourself to indulge in a sniff of the blooms even though the scent was mild at best. The flowers would stay seated on the bedside table for as long as you’d stay in that room.
It was only a fitful night of sleep as you spent most of the early hours staring at the ceiling. When your phone finally said seven thirty you quickly went to the ensuite to shower again, there was not a speck of dirt or blood on any inch of your skin but you could still feel a stickiness lingering on your skin, only one that the hunt could taint you with. You rushed through a sloppier than usual version of your morning skincare and the bare minimum of efforts to look presentable so that you could slip out and knock on your brother’s door to check on him. It’s now after eight and he might be conscious, yet groggy, after last night’s sleeping pill.
He’s practically half asleep when you go in, driving into slumber so you leave him after checking him. You won’t tell anyone that you checked his pulse four times before leaving his room, but it’s what he would’ve done too. So you went back into the guest room, locking the door again and deciding to haunt a velvet armchair by the large window and look out into the grey sky. Of course it was grey today, it was an eternity before the flight of a bird even disrupted the still sky, the trees looked duller and the promise of rein was a thinly veiled threat over the outside world.
A soft rain eventually came at 10:24AM, you checked your phone and ignored the notifications piling up, filing away the rain into your mind as if it mattered. You sat in this daze and felt out of your body for as long as the world would let you, which was only half an hour more before there was a steady and strong knock on the wooden door. One that you decided was best to ignore.
The longest and most quiet minute of nothing followed. Then you were further pulled out of your daze by hearing your name from the other side of the door, that on its own would be easy enough to ignore but it was the voice that said. It was Titus standing on the other side of the door. He knocked on the door again before you went over.
The unlocking of the door was audible and Titus quietly sighed with relief as he waited for you to open the door, which you did to be greeted by his face calmly looking at you.
“You skipped breakfast,” his tone is so matter of fact, it’s a statement not a question coming from his lips. The hallway’s darkness makes his eyes look darker today, you’ll remember that. “Is that a habit of yours?”
“No, it isn’t. I didn’t want to see anyone, to look at any of their faces.”
Titus nods at that, relieved it’s not a habit and he can perfectly understand where your mind is at. “Okay,” he pauses for a second and then leans his shoulder against the doorway. “Do you think you can stand to see mine for a bit?”
You look up at him hesitantly, a shy smile starting to peek out from the composed mask he knows you live with but has a couple of cracks starting to break it. “Yeah, I can manage that.”
You follow Titus through his home that one day soon you’ll be walking through and knowing all the rooms of like secrets passed on. There’s a silence as you walk a few steps behind Titus and it’s something you’re grateful for, it’s comfortable and doesn’t feel heavy. No bones are crushed as you walk and Titus doesn’t look back more than once, he can hear the soft click of your shoes against the floors. He’s assuming you’re only wearing shoes inside of here because of his father, after seeing your home he remembers that he needs to have someone order a shoe rack for you so his home can at least accommodate you in some way when it’s your home too.
He leads you into a dark room, all dark hardwood floors and a heaviness in the air that you immediately feel but don’t comment on. Titus turns another light on and you step in further. The floors are dark and clean, there’s no dust motes lingering in the air but the room feels forgotten, like it has existed on its own in isolation for years. A sleek grand piano sits in the middle of the room, there’s an elaborate minibar in a corner, some furniture spread around the piano, including a soft looking chaise and by it a table with a breakfast spread laid out.
Titus glances at you for a moment and your eyes meet, you feel your cheeks heat up slightly. “Eat, have some brunch, before you miss breakfast and lunch.”
You nod and go to sit on the chaise, carefully kicking your shoes off with a grace and ease that tells Titus just how natural that is for you as you bring your sock covered feet up to tuck them under yourself. There’s everything and then some on the table; fruits, crepes, french toast, several different types of eggs, slices of a couple of cakes. Titus goes to sit at the piano bench, he watches you for a few moments as you start to eat a crepe, he then turns so his back is partially facing you and he’s looking out the window. He doesn’t want you to feel uncomfortable because he’s watching you eat, so he tries to not weird you out since you’re going to be his wife and even he knows that you shouldn’t make your wife uncomfortable. He’s just glad you’re indulging this unique moment.
You lean back on the chaise and look out the window, it’s starting to rain and a soft patter falls onto the glass panes. It’s soft, a comforting sound that lulls the moment into feeling more peaceful as the sky becomes more murky. Titus fidgets with a couple of the ivory keys and you lay back on the chaise and listen, there’s a delay in his notes as his fingers get used to the cool smoothness, waiting for muscle memory to kick in. Then a familiar and lyrical trickle starts and there’s grace in his movements as he’s now recovered into a state of knowing.
Clair de Lune fills the room and you close your eyes, resting your hands on your stomach and focus on that and the sounds of the rain. An ear like yours can tell Titus hasn’t played in awhile but he’s more than competent, there’s a peace that fills the room as you lie down only a few steps away from him as he plays and there’s not a single noise except for what he’s pressing out from the piano and that of the rain.
“Was that okay? Too simple?” He asks once he’s finished, his hands hovering awkwardly over the keys as he shifts slightly to look at you. You look so pretty like that, lying down with your eyes closed and having just listened to some music, escaping from the rest of the world, there’s peace on your face and he thinks he’s learning how your mask works. But he waits with bated breath, he wants to impress you and he is worried that he’s done anything but that, he’s not as musically gifted as his future wife.
“Not at all.” You turn your head slightly to look at him, blinking tiredly as you see his face and the need to please written all over it. “Clair De Lune is pretty,” you whisper as you stay there on the chaise.
“Really?”
You nod. “Yes, Debussy had some nice work, I quite like Prélude à l'Après-midi d'un faune.”
Titus nods and smiles at that. He hadn’t asked you to play which did seem odd to you, he often asked you about music or requested you to play for him, or saying he’d like to hear you play again. That has been a consistent statement across your interactions. But you didn’t mind, for today you’re content to just listen. Titus starts to play again, notes filling the room and he smiles as you stay there, lying on the chaise with your eyes closed and humming quietly. The room has never felt so warm in his life, a light was clearly glowing and he wouldn’t let that be put out.
The lilies had stayed in the vase and had been something to greet you constantly, a gentle reminder of something that was hard to articulate into words that would make sense and could be deciphered and processed on the other end. The flowers weren’t travel friendly and realistically, they only had a few more days of life left, so it was difficult to justify the worth of the trouble it would be.
There were two books sitting in your bag, fortunately you had the habit of always traveling with books, even when it’s highly unlikely you’ll sit down or have the time to open them let alone read a few pages. Both books were hardcovers, one was thicker and had a heavier weight, it would be the better candidate for this job. There was a pair of scissors in the desk, so you’d cut a single bud off of the bouquet, you’d tried to dry any possible moisture away but knew you’d have to live with gambling in that department. You carefully removed the anthers as if you were performing a delicate surgery, doing this would prevent a mess of pollen staining the pages. This would have to do for now, until you could try to preserve this single bloom better at home.
You barely see him on the day of your family’s departure, a couple of small smiles. But it’s Ursula haunting gaze that you catch more and the looks from Chester that make your skin crawl. You don’t trust him and you know that calling him your father in law won’t change it in the slightest. After this weekend it fills you with more dread, one that you can’t quite name. Because again, how do you articulate it? There’s a slight nod before you leave and a plan for lunch with Titus, to discuss the arrangement more, something needed but something you’d been tip-toeing around for too long.
When you’re back at your home, the flower is now flattened thin and waxy like crepe paper. You’ve been able to preserve it well enough with its pressing, maybe if there’s more bouquets you’ll collect more flowers for a framed collage of every single bouquet from Titus. Or leave them pressed in between heavy pages to haunt a library of books. It surprises you that this bloom has not yet fallen victim to mold.
It’s been two weeks since you left the Danforths and that cursed hunt, it’ll be the first time you've seen Titus since then. The plan was to meet up for lunch because that was totally normal, it was what people that were going to get married did. They just usually did these things well before a wedding was even a topic of conversation. You’re stepping into an elegant but noticeably quiet restaurant, after giving your name you’re greeted with a polite smile and are being guided to a table.
There’s a few employees visible, buzzing around with different tasks that barely meet your eye. The one thing that is noticeable in a glaringly obvious way is that there’s not another soul seated at any of the tables here. It’s not a question, but simply a fact that Titus would’ve paid to clear the whole restaurant out so that it’s just his for the day. It doesn’t surprise you but it does make you feel more anxious.
Titus is already seated at the table that would’ve been considered the romantic, secluded spot on a busy night, let alone when it’s a ghost town. There’s a soft glow from the lighting that fills the space and softens Titus’s features into something more gentler. You had been hoping you’d arrive first, you were technically early, a whole twelve minutes. But it was no surprise that he was already sitting there. It still annoyed you in an illogical way, it felt like Titus had the whole upperhand, he had chosen this restaurant and him sitting at the table first felt like the equivalent of having the home advantage in your eyes.
“Hi.” You looked at him for a second and gave him a small smile as you went to sit down across from him.
Titus looked up, head tilting in surprise to finally see you again in front of him and it not be stained and crowded with family or High Council meetings. His eyes did a quick once over, taking in your outfit and he was naturally drawn to the perfect shape of your lips before darting back up from them to meet your eyes. “You look divine.”
Those are the words you remember him saying weeks and weeks ago and your cheeks heat up a little, it’s all still overwhelming. “Thank you,” you whisper a little awkwardly, struggling to know what tone and volume you’ll need for this. “You look handsome too, nice ascot.”
“Thank you,” he smiles, it’s soft and genuine. “Are you hungry?” He asks and his eyes sober up slightly.
“No.” You answer and it’s the truth, you’d snacked before leaving for this date-meeting whatever it’s meant to be, you were hoping maybe this would shorten it or you wouldn’t be overwhelmed with trying to eat and keep food down when this made you feel so nervous. Sharing a meal just with him was something that was far too normal, it was domestic in a way that felt slightly off and uncomfortably.
“Well I ordered already.” He sighs and a hand lifts to rub at his jaw loosely before dropping down again. “Engaged couples go to restaurants and eat together.”
“Have you been engaged before?” There’s a slight playfulness in your tone now and he looks back at you, you were slightly amused at his words.
“No, I haven’t and I know you also haven’t been. But I am familiar with some concepts of normalcy.”
“That’s impressive.” You whisper softly and look down at your hands that you’re holding together.
“Speaking of engagement norms.” He clears his throat and then pulls out a small black box onto the table. Titus then holds his hand out, a silent question waiting for you to answer by giving him your hand. Somehow your body knows what’s going on first before your brain does enough to process it, but you immediately oblige by giving him your left hand. The grasp he holds your hand in can only be described as delicate, he runs his thumb over your knuckles silently before he eventually opens the box and then takes the intricate ring out, gently sliding it onto your ring finger.
With a soft sigh, he holds your hand for a moment longer and looks at the ring on your hand, it looks right, like it was always meant to sit there. You don’t move your hand away, you’re unsure of what to do with this moment, so you just look down at the ring. It’s large - which doesn’t shock you in the slightest - it’s intricate and clearly old, a beautiful antique. Written all over your face sits a silent question of how sentimental this ring is to him.
“It was my mother’s.” Titus says as he rubs his hand fingers over your knuckles, one hand still holding yours, he notices the question before you could verbalise it and understands your hesitancy to ask. “I asked your family about your ring size and it’s been adjusted, but if there’s any other adjustments you want made, we can do that.”
You give a slight nod as you look at the ring, after a few seconds of glancing at the rock shimmering in the light, it could do damage in the right light. “It’s beautiful, thank you.”
“Are you… You’re happy with it?” He asks and there’s an edge of worry in his voice that you’re not quite familiar with.
“Yes, it’s perfect, Titus.” You give him another soft smile, giving his hand a soft squeeze. Titus nods, breathing in and giving you a small smile, hesitantly his hand leaves yours but his eyes stay glued to your hand a while longer.
The new weight on your finger feels foreign and odd, you shift it slightly as if you can shake away any of the slight offness that comes with it. But instead, you just catch how it shifts in the light and give Titus a tight smile.
“We have some wedding planners with the resorts, Anna Velázquez is more than competent, she’ll handle it. I’ll text you her details, in case there’s anything you feel strongly about or cultural traditions you want taken into consideration.”
“You’ve already started with that?” Your voice is timid and he sees how your eyes widen.
“Yes.” He nods and looks down at his glass, taking a sip before he continues. “Ursula is planning to subject you to her opinions on dresses and cream vs ivory. But you’re more than welcome to tell her to kindly or unkindly, go fuck herself. You can have whatever you want. But I’d like to plan the honeymoon.”
Your eyes watch him as you feel overwhelmed by this, there’s a million things you’d rather do than go wedding dress shopping with Ursula and hear her opinions, one of them being stung by bees, multiple bees. The honeymoon comment makes your eyes widen. “You’re planning a honeymoon, seriously?”
“Yes, again, it’s what normal newlywed married couples do. I’m thinking of somewhere with snow, I won’t have to bother with sunscreen.” He seems somewhat pleased with himself and you chuckle awkwardly and shake your head.
“Sure, snow.” You run a hand over your face. “It’s committing to the bit…”
Titus looks at you, his hazel eyes so focused to the point that the rest of the world is unimportant and unintelligible to him. “I am nothing but committed.”
Those words make your cheeks heat up and look away, thankfully you’re saved by several dishes being brought out and carefully placed onto the table, aesthetics very much in mind even though neither you nor Titus are the type to take pictures of that. A teapot and teacup is put down near you and you smile as a server tells you it’s hibiscus and pear, your gaze going to Titus.
“I know you like tea, the herbal ones, seemed like something you’d drink.” He says as he watches you quietly.
“Thanks,” you smile with a nod and once you know the tea has brewed long enough, you take a sip, it’s perfectly fragrant, the hot brew warms you up immediately and it’s a lovely blend.
After a few more minutes you keep quietly sipping, avoiding the thoughts of your warm cheeks as Titus sits across from you, he’s eating a creamy pasta dish quietly. A silence that is somehow comfortable and calming fills the space, part of you is glad that you two can function like this. That it doesn’t feel heavy like how silence can become bone crushing as it weighs down limbs and a whole room. That doesn’t sit on your ribs with Titus and neither does a need to fill the space with words for the sake of noise.
Once he’s swallowed a few mouthfuls of a creamy pasta dish, he places his fork down and then he pushes a plate closer to you. “You look like someone that likes persimmons.”
An awkward chuckle leaves your mouth as you look at him, you don’t know what to say to that. “That’s a very unusual assumption to make.”
Titus only shrugs as if it was a natural one, you see him lift his fork and he watches you back quietly, clearly waiting. “I wasn’t sure what cuisines you liked, so I ordered a few different dishes.” Titus looks at you, you haven’t picked up any of the cutlery so he leans forward slightly, putting his salad fork into the persimmons, pear, and pomegranate salad in front of you and lifts the fork so it hovers near your face.
“Titus,” you feel your cheeks heat up more and you’ve never been more embarrassed in your life than how you feel now, as your eyes look anywhere but his.
“Indulge your fiancé, please.” Titus raises his eyebrows as he looks at you, you meet his eyes and feel embarrassment swallow you whole. The way he says that word feels strange too, you don’t know if there’s a world where you’ll ever get used to hearing words like fiancé and wife.
“It’s very unnecessary.” You whisper one last time.
“Indulge me.” He says and you slowly open your mouth and he gently moves the fork in and stills it as your pretty lips close around it, one day he’ll get to kiss those lips and it makes the tip of his ears redden at that thought. You’ll be his perfect wife. You tilt your head back as you quietly chew, he watches you with a small proud smile and you roll your eyes, looking away. He’s not dissuaded in the slightest and you feel embarrassment burning through every nerve at the fact that you will have to look at him again after this moment.
“Happy?” You whisper tilting your head slightly with an awkward and playful smile after you've swallowed that mouthful of salad.
“Sure, but there’s always room for more joy in life.” His voice is a little hoarse and he smiles smugly and you shake your head, taking a sip of water as a reprieve from whatever game it is you two are in with the other.
“I was thinking of two ceremonies, there’s a precedent of that happening for some Danforth marriages.” Titus watches you and he taps the table a couple of times and you look down. A whole life of living in this world makes you notice the habit and your brain goes to try to see if that was Morse but it’s just Titus trying to distract from how nervous he is about you rejecting him in any way.
“Why two ceremonies?” You ask, your eyes looking up to meet his hazel eyes that you’ve now decided are most definitely more green today. It’s a pretty colour. Again, you’ll have to file this particular shade away. Somebody would have a total field day trying to paint his eyes and capture all the different shades you’ve seen, that you’ll now get to see over a lifetime.
“One for the High Council, the Lawyer, the traditional garb, that one should be first and then a second more conventional wedding,” you look at him and nod after a moment, he can see there’s a flicker of uncertainty in the most breathtaking eyes in front of him so he doubles down. “With actual guests if you wish… And it can be a photo op.”
“A photo op?” You chuckle and then run your hand over your face. You know it makes sense but it’s so ridiculous. “Okay.”
“And it would be nice for the future grandchildren to have some photos that seem normal for when they’re too young,” too young to know of hunts and that they’ve been born into a cycle that has already sold their soul for wealth. Mr Le Bail is one of the few beings in the world that could tell you the actual price of the soul, the High Council is proof of that.
“Grandchildren already?” You give him a shy smile and lean back in your seat, your head is barely wrapping around the concept of children, let alone grandchildren.
“It’s inevitable.” He says with a shrug and you look down.
Little children running around the Danforth estate, possibly with your hair and Titus’s everchanging hazel eyes fills your mind. You could see photo albums worth of memories of these lives, it’s sweet but also twists something deep inside of you. You don’t know what to do with it. But you don’t miss the implication of Titus’s words, they give the hint that he would do things differently than what he endured and that is its own form of relief in your mind.
The first Wednesday after that meeting sees you seated in your office going over emails when a delivery arrives. From a florist you haven’t heard of, it’s a large bouquet with dozens of peonies against tastefully chosen and arranged foliage to frame the delicate pink and white petals.
It won’t be long before you learn and accept that this is another thing Titus will do, large bouquets delivered twice a week, various flowers until he figures out which are your favourites. But now it’s fun, you keep pressing them in your books so that there’s always one bloom missing from the decaying bouquet as it’s thrown out, your books in your bag all carry a subtle floral perfume now. Nobody acknowledges the flowers after a couple of weeks of this, your father doesn’t say a word and the only words you speak about it are the thank you cards you start sending to Titus, first a bit as a joke but now it’s stuck and he loves how delicate and archaic that feels. He’ll keep a collection of them too.
If you want to be removed or added, please just comment, message or send an ask! There were a few people that asked to be tagged but I wasn't able to, will try to let them/you know later today for those I couldn't tag, so maybe check your settings when asking, thank you for reading! 🫶
it's just around the corner, darling. 'cause it lives in me.
you're never quite as lonely as you think. not when he's around.
title from peace by taylor swift!! (this song being on pball's langdon playlist makes me sob btw)
cw: reader has self-harmed in the past (and recently) - no active harming described, discussions of mental health, sh scars on both reader and jack, reader wears a dress, mdni because discussion of sex!! but no actual smut, fluff, jack is a darling, reader cries (it's my fic so what's new)
this is maybe my most self-indulgent fic yet so please be kind (aka i just want jack to kiss my scars and tell me i'm not alone)
wc: 1.1k
○○○
You and Jack have been together for six months now, and everything is beyond perfect. He is so sweet with you, endlessly caring, and an absolute gentleman in every regard (what kind of real-life guy buys you flowers every week?!). You’re head over heels for him, and you know he is for you, too. You can see it every time you catch his eye over dinner or run your thumb over his cheekbone. He is yours entirely.
There’s only one problem. It isn’t even really a problem, just something that niggles at you when you’re still awake at 3am and Jack’s on shift.
You two haven’t ever had sex.
Jack’s tried to initiate a few times, but each time you shut him down, terrified. He’s never pushed for it, and has said on many occasions that you never have to do it if you don’t want to, and he’d be perfectly happy like this for the rest of his life, but that doesn’t make you any less insecure about it. You know it has to happen soon. You just dread the thought of when.
It’s not that you don’t want to, it’s just… complicated. Or, at least, that’s what you’ve told him up until now.
He’s just taken you for one of the most romantic dinners of your life for your six-month anniversary and you’re making out on his couch like teenagers. Jack’s top buttons on his shirt are undone and your dress is crumpled. You let out a soft whimper into his mouth as he swipes his tongue along your bottom lip, tightening your fingers in his hair.
He pulls back slightly at the sound, cupping your face in his hands and gently rubbing your cheek with his thumb.
“This okay?” he murmurs.
You nod eagerly, kissing him again. He lets out a laugh into your mouth at the force of it.
One of his hands moves to the skirt of your dress and you tense suddenly, making him pause.
“Hey,” he whispers, kissing your forehead. “It’s okay. ‘S just me.”
“I know,” you say quietly.
Jack sighs - not frustrated, just changing the tone of the conversation for a moment. “Talk to me,” he says gently, putting a finger under your chin and making you look him in the eyes.
“I just… I can’t,” you whisper.
“What do you mean you can’t, baby?”
It was your turn to sigh, swallowing down the lump in your throat that was forming. “You’re gonna think it’s stupid.”
He kisses you softly. “If it’s tearing you up like this, sweet girl, it’s absolutely not stupid. I care about you. I always want to know what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.”
You fumble under his kind words.
“I’m not going to judge you, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he promises.
“No, I know you’re not,” you assure him. “I just… don’t… I don’t want you to see me differently. And if we do this… you might.”
He raises an eyebrow. “What kind of kinky shit are you into?” he grins, trying to lighten the mood.
“Ew, Jack, not like that.” You roll your eyes and heat rushes through your body as he kisses your nose when you do.
“Then what do you mean, angel?” he asks, his eyes so tender and kind that you melt.
You take a deep breath. “You know how we’ve talked about the ways I struggle with my mental health?” you ask slowly.
He nods kindly, giving you the space to continue.
You blink at him, kind of unsure of how to carry on.
“I guess… I guess I could just show you,” you say quietly.
Jack takes his hands off your body to let you lift up your dress. As you reveal the top of your thighs, his eyes land on a constellation of scars, each at various stages of healing. Some could have been made less than a week ago, others are years old.
He exhales slowly.
“Sometimes, when it gets bad…” you start and cut yourself off, your eyes welling up with tears.
He doesn’t say anything, just brings a hand to hover over the scars as if he’s tracing them in the air.
“I’ve never shown or told anyone before,” you whisper with a quiet sniff.
Jack looks up at you the moment he senses your tears. “Come here,” he says gently, pulling you into a hug.
You bury your face in his neck as you sob, wetting the shoulder of his shirt and ruining the makeup you’d spent hours perfecting earlier that evening.
“Ssh,” he murmurs, his chest aching. “It’s okay. I’m here, I’ve got you.”
After your breathing slows, he moves back a little to hold your face.
He rubs a thumb across your cheekbone to wipe away some tears. “I am so sorry that you’ve ever felt the need to do this to yourself,” he says quietly.
Your bottom lip wobbles and he kisses it softly.
“I want you to know,” he whispers, “that I’ve been there. And I know how scary it is.” He shuffles back and folds back the waistband of his trousers to reveal a bit of skin on his hip. To your surprise, you see old scars just like your own, all faded.
“I know that pain, sweetheart. And the thought of you knowing it too… breaks my fucking heart.” He blinks back a few tears of his own. “Please, don’t ever sit in that feeling alone. I’m only ever a phone call away, baby.”
You kiss him carefully.
“I wish you didn’t know how it feels, too,” you say tearily.
He nods. “Is this why we haven’t…?”
You nod with a shaky laugh. “Yeah. Although I feel pretty fucking stupid about it now.”
“Hey,” he urges. “Never stupid, baby. You wanted to wait, so we’ve waited. If you want to wait longer, we can wait longer.” He kisses your cheek.
You give him a soft, fond smile. “How did I ever get so lucky?”
He rolls his eyes and squeezes your cheeks, pressing kisses across your whole face to make you giggle.
“I’m the lucky one,” he grins. “I wouldn’t wish any companion in the world but you.”
He leans in to kiss you again, but you pull back in laughter.
“Sorry, did you just quote The Tempest?” you tease.
He shrugs. “I’ve been reading up on my Shakespeare since you love it so much. I was gonna quote it at dinner but it slipped my mind. Was too busy staring longingly at your gorgeous, gorgeous face.”
Your whole body heats up. “I’m gonna marry you someday, Jack Abbot,” you grin, kissing him hard and rolling the two of you over so you’re straddling him.
“So we’re doing this, hm?” he winks with a smirk.
“Shut up and get to work, mister. We’ve got a lot of time to catch up on,” you whisper as you press kisses down his neck.
“Yes, ma’am.”
i do not give permission for my work to be used to train ai! i hate ai get that away from me thank u very much
synopsis: Trinity and Dennis ask Jack about his wife
warnings/notes: Number eleven in the widow!jack ficlet series. As always, @tanely helped brainstorm. Listen, timelines are loose in this AU. things happen when they happen. so...yeah.
wc: 1.1k
Previous Series Masterlist
Trinity sat at the computer where she was supposed to be charting staring at Robby and Abbot across the room. “Hey, Crash,” she said as Victoria walked past with Dennis.
Victoria rolled her eyes but slowed to a stop. “What?”
“You did a rotation on night shift, right?”
Her and Dennis exchanged a look. “Yeah. Why?”
“What’s the deal with Abbot?” Trinity turned on her seat to face the other two.
“What do you mean?” Victoria’s gaze moved from Trinity to Abbot and back again.
“I mean,” Trinity drew the words out in annoyance, as if it should be obvious what she was getting at without her needing to explain. “He’s cool. SWAT, the leg, him and Robby are besties. Like, what’s his story?”
“Why do you care?” Victoria was so confused as to the point of this conversation.
Trinity shrugged one shoulder. “Thinking about going on nights for a while. It wouldn’t hurt to have an in with the attending.”
Victoria’s eyes went wide before she nodded once as if that made sense. “You should ask him about his wife. He loves talking about her. It’ll totally get you points.”
“He’s married?” Dennis asked.
She looked at him. “Yeah, didn’t you notice the ring?”
“Well, we haven’t really been around him much to be fair,” he said.
Trinity smiled. “Thanks for the solid, Crash.” She hopped to her feet and patted the younger woman on the shoulder as Abbot walked past them to head into the breakroom. “You’re coming with me, Huckleberry.”
“But—What? I was helping Vict—”
“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Victoria rushed to assure him, waving a hand through the air. “I’ll ask someone else.”
As she turned to hurry away, she hoped they hadn’t noticed the gleeful expression on her face.
When they hurried into the breakroom, they found the attending sitting at one of the tables with a cup of coffee. “H-hey, Dr. Abbot,” Dennis greeted.
“What’s up? Why are you here anyway?” Trinity added as she grabbed an energy drink from the fridge.
Jack looked between the two of them with a frown not saying anything. Finally, he leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest. “Morning admin meeting. Now, what do you want?”
Dennis started to stutter out an excuse but Trinity talked over the top of him. “We were wondering about your wife, is all.”
“My wife.” Jack’s voice was rough, low. His gaze darted between the two of them. “Would you like to hear about my leg next? Why don’t we just rehash all of my trauma?”
Dennis’ eyes went wide and his mouth dropped open slightly. Oh no. Shit.
Trinity sat at the table. “Yes, actually. What happened?”
Jack turned his head slowly to look at the resident, an unimpressed expression on his face. “Robby crashed his fuckass motorcycle with me on the back. They had to amputate.”
Her mouth opened and closed before she said, “Oh.” She glanced at Dennis who stood behind Abbot shaking his head and mouthing the word No. “So, what about your wife then?”
“My wife was the most remarkable woman. I have never and will never love anyone like her. I will love her and only her for the rest of my life.”
Trinity swallowed hard. “What happened to her?”
Jack blinked once. Twice. “Robby crashed his fuckass motorcycle with her on the back. She didn’t make it.” His tone was flat, emotionless.
Trinty physically recoiled ever so slightly. “Listen, I’m sorry if—”
This time it was Dennis cutting her off, just as the breakroom door opened. “Dr. Abbot, we are so sorry. We didn’t mean to bring up any trauma or whatever. Seriously, we were just trying to get to know you.”
“What’s going on in here?” Robby asked.
“We were just asking Abbot about his wife,” Trinity said as she stood.
Robby narrowed his gaze. “And what did Jack have to say about the Mrs.?”
“Just about how much he loved her. It was very sweet really,” Dennis hurried to say before pushing Trinity out of the room.
“I think Crash set us up,” she said once they’d reached the hub.
“Ya think?” Dennis asked, sarcasm heavy in his voice.
“Good for her.”
Dennis just shook his head as he watched his roommate leave to check on a patient. He glanced back to the closed door of the breakroom before walking off himself. Whatever had happened to Dr. Abbot’s wife, he obviously still loved her deeply. Dennis could only hope he’d find a relationship like that someday.
Roughly an hour later, Dennis was heading back toward the hub when he saw you standing next to Robby. He briefly considered introducing himself knowing you were the other night shift attending. His gaze caught on Abbot making his way to you, bag over his shoulder. And his eyes glued to your ass.
Dennis frowned. Hadn’t the man just been extoling his wife’s virtues and now here he is staring at yours? Dennis was oddly offended on Mrs. Abbot’s behalf. He walked over to where the older man was making no effort to hide his obvious leering and stood beside him, crossing his arms over his chest.
“I thought you’d never love anyone like you loved your wife.”
Jack huffed a humorless laugh. “You got that right, kid.”
“Then what is this?”
“This is me appreciating what’s right in front of me.”
“Are you staring at my ass again?” you asked, not even glancing over your shoulder.
“I told you if you don’t want me staring at it, you shouldn’t put it in front of me,” Jack said.
Dennis curled his lip. Abbot was disgusting. He’d actually felt sorry for him and now—The thought cut off abruptly as Abbot wrapped an arm around your shoulders and kissed your temple.
Robby shook his head. “Whitaker, have you two met?”
“No.” Dennis stepped forward as Robby introduced you.
He finished with, “Also known as Mrs. Abbot.”
“Oh.” Dennis processed what he’d just been told. “Oh!”
Jack just grinned as you elbowed him in the side. “What did you do this time?”
“Why do you always think I did something?”
You stared at him without saying anything.
Finally, he said, “Okay. Fair.”
“I don’t…I’m so confused,” Dennis said with a helpless look at Robby.
Robby put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, kid. You’ll get used to it.
Dennis wasn't sure about that. What he did know was that he had no intention of letting Trinity in on the information anytime soon.
synopsis: self-conscious after being hurt so many times, you confess your inner insecurities to Jack late at night. he hates you thinking like that.
pairing: jack abbot x fem!reader
warnings: 0.8k words, reassurance, comfort, pet names like "doll" and "baby", jack trying to be comforting and nice, neck kisses, reader has bad thoughts, soft jack, cuddles in bed, kinda self indulgent, inspired by olivia rodrigo's "honeybee"
masterlist!
It was late at night. Too late, you kept telling yourself, to be having thoughts like this.
Despite being in your loving boyfriend's arms, you couldn't stop yourself from thinking about how his face would like going. Leaving you behind like so many people had already done, tossing you away like a piece of trash that was useful and fun while it lasted. You knew he loved you, but you couldn't stop your mind from running like a hamster on a wheel.
You two were curled up on the bed in his Pittsburgh apartment, his scrubs left in the closet for the following morning. Jack breathed heavily in his sleep, not quite snoring but not quite silent either. His thick arms were looped around your waist, holding your back to his bare chest, feeling his heartbeat soothingly through the layers of skin and clothing.
If only his heartbeat could slow down yours.
One hand under your cheek, the other placed over Jack's, you lay wide awake in the moonlit bedroom. You wish you silence the thoughts in your head; what if he woke up one day and decided he didn't love you anymore? What if he found somebody better? What if you were too ugly, too boring, too simple, too much? What if he found you annoying but hadn't said anything yet? What if—
You couldn't lay still anymore. Carefully prying Jack's arms off your waist, you slid up to a stand beside the bed, tugging on Jack's sweater discarded on the floor. You padded to the balcony, glancing back to Jack still sleeping in bed, making sure he was still unconscious before clicking the glass door shut behind you.
Your bare feet hit the cold concrete as you let out a long breath, the cold night breeze brushing through your hair and causing a shiver to rack through you. You folded your arms over the balcony railing, leaning forward to look out at the houses and windows and lights of the city.
The words "I love you" coming from Jack's lips repeated like a mantra in your head, recounting every time he was affectionate, physically or orally. Every hug, every kiss, every pet name, every date. None of it seemed to silence the negativity.
He doesn't love you, and if he does, he won't keep loving you. You're worthless, stupid, boring, ugly unloveable, useless, naive—
You were so caught up in your head you didn't hear the balcony door open open behind you and Jack's footsteps coming closer until he spoke up. "Doll?"
You turned, not meeting his eyes; just acknowleding his presence before looking back over the railing.
"What're you doing up so late?" He rasped, clearly still sleepy but concerned for you.
"Just thinking." You responded quietly. It wasn't a lie, but it was a hell of a simplification.
You could feel Jack staring at you through a solid minute of silence before he stepped foward, even closer, reaching over to tilt your head to his with two fingers under your chin. Not commanding, just soft guidance.
"Don't lie to me, baby. What's going on in that pretty mind of yours?"
"Go back to bed." You mumbled, looking down at his chest instead of his face.
"Not without you, doll. C'mon."
Numbly, you let Jack lead you off the balcony, pulling you around to the bed and gently pushing you down. He crawled on after you, laying face to face on your sides. Without words, he put your hands on his shoulders before brushing one hand over your hair.
"You feeling like shit again?" Jack asked bluntly, even in that quiet tone of his. He was trying his hardest to be soft and nice, like he knew loving partners were supposed to do. Years in the military had hardened him up, to say the least.
You just gave a little nod, not trusting yourself to speak without crying.
"Y'know you're perfect, right?" Jack whispered in that gravely voice of his, low to not disturb the peace, leaning down to press soft lingering kisses to your neck and jawline. "My perfect girl. Love you so much."
"Don't lie to me." You mumbled before you could think through your words. You knew it was a terrible assumption to make, but you were too lost to truly believe him.
"I'm not lying." Jack quickly replied, pressing a firmer kiss to your pulse point. "Why d'you think I'd lie to you?"
"I'm not…I'm not perfect. I'm not the dream girl. I…it's too hard to describe this."
"You don't have to." Jack murmured against your neck, lips and nose brushing the sensitive skin, hot breath almost making you shiver. "Whatever shit you're thinking, it's not true. I love you, not some faceless chick. Only want you in my life."
"Promise?" You whispered tearfully, holding up a pinky. It was childish, you knew, but you needed the reassurance.
He took it without question. "Promise."
a/n: if you caught all the lyric drops you're a real one fr...i just love the new album so so so much maybe i'll make more fics based off more songs? i don't know yet but stay tuned!!!
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