Tags/warnings: f!reader, age gap (reader is 24, Brendon is mid-late 30s), inappropriate boss/employee relationship, high key perv!brendon, daddy kink, masturbation (m and f), fingering, hand job, angst, car crash, injury, comfort, fight/confessing feelings, dry humping, lil somno, oral (f receiving), protected piv sex
Summary: Your dynamic with Brendon is easy, comfortable, until one night everything changes and you're forced to deal with your feelings for each other.
a/n: something to get me out of this writing slump dear god
Disclaimer: YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WRITING ANYWHERE ELSE WITHOUT MY CONSENT. REBLOGS ARE ENCOURAGED THOUGH. YOU MAY NOT FEED MY WORK TO ANY AI DATABASES OF ANY KIND, USE MY WORKS TO TRAIN AI OR USE AI TO TRANSLATE MY WORK. FUCK AI.
"Daddy!"
The shrill of childish excitement lights up the surgery department in an instant, eyes and ears cutting through the sterile floor towards the sound, eager for a reaction from someone, anyone.
It's even more satisfying when Brendon Park, the Shark of orthopedics, stops mid sentence, turning swiftly to the sound, his blank expression curling into a gentle smile as he bends down to pick up the three year old in his gigantic arms.
"What're you doing here, guppy?" he teases. Brendon Park jokes, and glances get thrown between residents, interns and nurses alike.
Ah gossip, the great equalizer.
"Wanted to see you."
The little girl manhandles him, pulling and squeezing his cheeks like he's not a great white but rather a pliable flounder, reducing him to nothing more than a sucker for his kid.
"Oh yeah, where's—?"
"Jesus trouble, how do you run so fast?"
The way Brendon Park lights up for the second time practically blinds everyone. Oh this is definitely making the rumor mill rounds today. So long boring ten hour surgery to come.
"I didn't run!" the child huffs. "I ski...skiddered."
"Skipped?" Brendon looks to you for confirmation.
You roll your eyes at her antics, nodding your head towards her father, gracing him with a smile that makes everyone understand exactly why their big, mean, scary boss is acting the way he is.
The floor returns to its normal shuffle after that, one more second of inaction and the Shark would've definitely snapped.
"Hey," Brendon greets you, a little reserved, definitely surgical in nature.
"Hey Mr. Park," you beam and he instantly stills.
"How many times do I have to tell you," he starts to chide. "At least call me doctor Park."
You sigh out a laugh at that, rolling your eyes playfully as you instinctively step closer. He can smell the faint sweetness of your perfume, the spilled apple sauce on your shirt, the hint of laundry detergent on your fingers.
"I'm glad we caught you," you tell him. "We didn't know if you'd started on time today."
"Just about to go in."
You nod, clinical, like you're absorbing information and processing how you're going to get out of his hair in the next twenty seconds.
"Gotcha, well, you got what you wanted trouble," you hum, moving to grab the child in his arms.
She knows what's coming and so she throws herself onto her dad, tiny hands fisting the purple scrubs, cheek pressed tightly over his chest.
"No! I wanna stay with daddy."
Brendon opens his mouth to speak, to defuse the situation before the guilt eats him alive. But you're no sucker, unlike him.
"Really?" you frown. "You wanna stay with your daddy while he does his surgery instead of going to the park to get ice cream with me?"
In all honesty, he stopped listening to you the second the word daddy left your lips. He's certain his kid can feel his heart beating uncomfortably fast, rattling against this ribcage and threatening to burst out of his chest.
All he registers is the toddler flinging herself out of his loose embrace, almost face planting against the sterile floors and practically buzzing with excitement.
"Brendon?" you turn to him, smile turning into a frown quickly.
He springs back into reality when your hand lands over his forearm, light and grounding, like an anchor he didn't know he needed.
"Yeah, yeah," he responds, pretends, shifts out of your touch like he's already late for something that isn't even remotely time for. "I'll see you for dinner, okay guppy?"
But she doesn't care anymore.
"Okay! Bye dad."
Instead, she grabs your hand, demanding and pushy, and pulls you down the hall.
"Bye doctor Park," you tease. "See you later."
And just like that, calm and cold return to the surgery department, and Brendon Park snaps back into the sharpness that defines him.
It's late by the time he makes it home.
Too late, too tired, too...everything.
He sneaks into his own home like a teenager, light steps, a soft touch as he turns the key, even takes off his shoes by the door before he even makes it into the house.
It's not the first time either, not gonna be the last.
He shouldn't feel bad, this is what he pays you the big bucks for at the end of the day.
It's when he peeks into his daughter's room, catching the two of you snuggled together in her tiny bed, butterfly printed comforter covering her and not you, a book forgotten, Mr. Stuffles the rabbit on the floor that it hits him.
Hard.
He'd been miserable that first year after his girlfriend left him. They'd been planning a wedding, the baby being just another blessing in the string of goodness that they had been experiencing.
At least it had been to him.
It took her a year to leave, to finally crack under the pressure and run away. He didn't know how to be a dad alone, much less navigate co-parenting with the woman who had torn his heart out of his chest with her bare hands.
If it hadn't been for his mother, sisters and brothers, Brendon would not have made it through it.
But even they could only get him so far. He needed to go back to work, needed to find something to keep him going, needed...help. Professional help.
And that's when he'd found you.
Frank Langdon's occasional babysitter, full time student looking for a summer job while you got yourself situated for your master's program.
The little guppy was two at that point and Brendon simply couldn't be there for her all the time. So he poached you away from the ED doctor.
To say the dynamic had started out a little toxic would be...an understatement.
Once Brendon returned to the OR with full force, he fell hard into it, into the love and thrill and control that he could exert over his patients, his work, his process.
All the control he'd lost, the scared man that he had become—frantic and powerless—disappeared the second he got back in those scrubs.
And so did the loving and caring father that had put his kid first.
You ripped him a new one about eight days after first meeting him, a night like this, one where he came back home buzzing from a procedure well done, pupils dilated and ego through the roof.
She was young enough to not remember then, but she was definitely old enough to hold onto broken promises now, and that is what tugged at his heartstrings.
Now, tea parties and recitals were just as, if not more important than getting to do a risky procedure no one at PTMC had done before.
Of course, this time around he'd texted, let you know there had been a complication with the surgery. The shaky intern typing out the message practically stopped breathing every time Brendon asked him to erase everything and start from scratch.
They all thought it was cute how he wanted it to be perfect and gentle for his daughter, but the truth is, he needed it to be for you.
Brendon steps into the room softly, bending down to pick up the stuffy and placing it in between his kid's arms before he closes the picture book and sets it on the nightstand.
Neither of you startle at the movement, the soft glow from the salt lamp casting shadows that you knew were never meant to harm you.
It's only when Brendon places a hand over your shoulder, squeezing gently that you blink awake.
"Hi," you whisper, barely turning back to look at him.
"Hi," he smiles softly. "Are you comfy?"
You scoff out a laugh, soft enough not to wake up the kid but loud enough to make his smile grow twice the size.
"Let's get you to bed then," he places a hand under your neck then, pushing you up by supporting your back with his forearm while you tangle your hands around his other arm and pulling yourself into a sitting position.
Certain you're awake enough not to topple over, he leans over you and places a kiss to his kid's temple, watching her nose scrunch ever so slightly before settling back into comfortable sleep.
You smirk at his antics, using his body as leverage to get up to your feet, hands clumsily digging into the muscles of his back.
He groans lightly, old man that he is, and quickly retaliates, holding onto you so that you'll hoist him up with you.
"So heavy," you joke, straining to keep the two of you upright.
Brendon shrugs. "Just full of love."
"Booo," you chuckle, making your way out of her room, Brendon's hands over your shoulders to steady you. "There's leftovers in the microwave if you want them."
He hums in acknowledgment, letting you go as you make it out to the hallway.
"Eat, then shower?" he asks you.
"I'll take advantage then."
He nods. "Yours is still busted?"
"Yeah, guy said earliest he could come is next week."
"Damn plumbers."
"Indeed."
He stares at you for a long second after the conversation settles.
He's...comfortable. Too comfortable with you.
The past year has been a whirlwind. One summer quickly turning into you deferring your master's program so you could finish out the year with them. Then one semester turned into two, into you moving in, into...this.
Don't get him wrong, Brendon knows where the two of you stand. It's not necessarily healthy, but it's innocent, it's professional, it's...just a pathetic crush, nothing more. A fantasy he'll never allow himself to indulge in.
And yet, he cannot stop himself every time his eyes fall on your lips, the plumpness calling to him, beckoning him forward, demanding attention, truth.
"Goodnight then," he manages, rough and exhausted, desperate yet...not enough. Never enough.
You smile dopily at him. "Goodnight Brendon."
It's his own fault really, he should've knocked. But it's his house for fuck's sake, why should he?
So that's how he gets a complete eyeful of you taking a shower the next morning.
He got a late start which meant making breakfast, taking his guppy to school and then going to the gym, all before nine.
Unfortunately for him, earbuds in, distracted as all hell, he completely misses all the warning signs, the closed door, the steam, your clothes on the floor, the music blaring from the speaker.
He's certain he's dead and this is both heaven and hell simultaneously when he finally dares to look up and—
Jesus fucking Christ.
He should look away, he needs to look away...but he physically can't, his hungry gaze taking in every inch of skin visible through the condensation of the glass shower.
If only he would've reacted a second earlier...
You turn in slow motion, your reaction catching up late. You yelp, hands coming up to wrap around your chest, only aiding in pushing your boobs up further.
He instantly snaps into action, blush taking over every inch of his face and neck as he curses out a long string of apologies, blood pumping through his heart and his...yeah, he needs to get the fuck out of there.
"I'm sorry, so sorry," he stumbles out of the bathroom ungracefully, fast enough that he doesn't catch your own reaction, the way your chest constricts, the way your legs rub together.
Brendon manages to hurriedly hide in the kitchen, heart hammering against his ribcage, eyes wide and mind absolutely running a million miles an hour.
He needs to forget he ever saw that, needs to erase it from his brain...but his stupid erection won't let him.
The tent in his pants becomes painful the second he gives it attention, the flimsy material of his work out shorts just not helping his case at all. He needs to take care of this, needs to stop being such a weirdo before you come out.
So he rushes into your bathroom, locks the door like a sane human being does, and pulls himself out of his boxers methodically.
This isn't pleasurable, no, not at all, never. This is necessity. Emotionless, cold and surgical. He spits on his hand, wrapping it around himself without much preamble, thinking of nothing, searching for only one thing, release.
But he looks down at himself and his brain betrays him.
Imagine her on her knees.
"Fuck no."
How beautiful does she look, skin wet, hair stuck to her neck, eyes wide, mouth open?
"Shut the fuck up."
Her mouth would be so hot, come on, Brendon, give into her—
"Go away."
And yet he groans, the mere thought of you knowing what he's doing two doors away, the way you pushed up your chest, the need to paint it—paint you—white with his spend—
He's biting down on his other hand quickly after as he cums loudly, making sure to aim for the toilet while does.
You're no longer in the shower when he comes back out, your movements confined to your room. He doesn't have the courage to seek you out, so instead he just showers in silence.
The two of you don't interact at all before he's making his way into work.
You left his food prepped on the dining room table, disappearing out of the house the second you did to run some errands.
The tinge of shame and embarrassment linger deep in his bones all throughout the day, following him around like an unwanted shadow.
How would he even start to apologize? You have to talk about it, there's just no other way around it, but...how could he ever tell you it was a mistake when a part of him wanted nothing more than for it to happen again—to get a better look?
Since he made it to work late, he leaves even later. As he makes his way into his home, the same stillness from the night before greets him, only this time, it's heavy, like a breath that's been held in too long.
He goes through his routine quietly, dropping his bag by the door, checking in on his kid before walking down the hallway towards his bedroom.
But before he can make it, something catches his attention.
A breath. A gasp. A moan.
He freezes in front of your closed door, body going rigid with goosebumps, head turning almost robotically as his senses sharpen.
Your light is still on, peeking through the bottom slit of the door. Not uncommon, you like staying up to wait for him before you go to sleep.
No, what catches his attention is the distant...humming.
He steps forward, tentatively pressing his ear to the wood. It's not just a humming, it's vibrations, soft and steady.
Another shaky breath escapes you, louder than you would've liked, and you readjust the toy.
A shiver passes through Brendon as realization hits.
His cock twitches painfully against his underwear. Fuck this cannot be happening right now.
His head falls against your door, stabilizing, grounding. He can't, he will not—
Another moan from you. You're close.
Whatever resolve Brendon has snaps as he pulls himself out of his pants, hot, heavy and leaking.
"Jesus fucking Christ," he whispers as he takes himself into his hand. He begins to pump quickly, the pace excruciating and borderline painful, but he doesn't care, he needs to—
"Brendon," you huff, a breathy moan curling around his name. "Please I'm—Motherfucker!" you curse through gritted teeth, the vibrations stopping abruptly.
Brendon's heart does a leap in his chest.
Oh my god.
He can feel how frustrated you are, can hear how you shift uncomfortably over your sheets, can practically taste how wet you are as you toss the toy with a thump on the mattress next to you.
And Brendon doesn't think. Can't think, can't process a logical thought to save his life as he lifts his unoccupied hand and—
Knocks.
Says your name in that soft, saccharine voice of his that he uses when his child is throwing a tantrum.
Oh how he wishes he could see your face pale in horror at the knowledge of your boss being on the other side of the door.
"Are you okay?" he keeps poking.
You swallow thickly, shame mixing with terror.
"Mhmm."
"Can I come in?"
A broken sound leaves your chest, unprompted and definitely surprising you just as much as it does him.
"Um...no?"
He says your name again, stern and fatherly. He hears you moving around frantically, hiding all evidence of what you were just doing.
"Okay."
"Okay." A Cheshire smile curls at his lips, a thrill of satisfaction coursing through him as he tucks himself into his pants, the outline of his still rock hard dick on full display.
It's now or never.
He opens the door. You never seem to lock it, fucking adorable.
He has to physically hold himself back from pouncing on you as his eyes land on your heated cheeks, on your slightly tussled hair, on how you're gripping your comforter to save your life.
He shoots you a calming smile, boyish and embarrassed, as he steps into your room and closes the door behind him. Locking it.
He hears you gulp loudly as you notice his final movement.
"How was your day?" you barely manage to ask, your throat hoarse, your breathing broken.
He settles down on the bed by your feet, close enough to make your heart beat out of your throat, far away enough that he won't overwhelm you entirely.
"Good, good," he sighs, one hand tentatively inching closer and closer to you. "Lot of injuries today."
"I bet."
He smirks, a huff of a laugh cutting through the tension in the room.
"Listen—" he starts, looking up at you before continuing. You choke on your own breath, body becoming a statue with shame. "I'm sorry, I should've realized you were in the shower. It was very inappropriate of me and it will not happen again."
You let out a shaky breath, settling into the false sense of security, choosing to believe that he definitely did not hear you...yeah.
Brendon has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop from grinning like an idiot. God, you're just so adorable.
You nod, shifting forward, closer to him. "It's okay, I know you didn't do it on purpose. It was just...weird I guess."
You laugh, awkwardly, because what a silly predicament the two of you have found yourselves in, clearly.
Brendon doesn't follow your lead, not at all. He just keeps watching you, eyes darkening as he leans into you as well, his hand finally coming up to grab ahold of your foot over the comforter.
He squeezes enough to punctuate the moment, the tension, the heat. Your gaze snaps towards his hand, towards him, towards—
Your eyes widen without your consent as they land on his crotch, on the straining in his scrubs, on his still practically throbbing erection.
"Brendon," you exhale, confusion and desire blending together excruciatingly.
He shivers over you, his grip tightening on you.
"Don't," he warns. "Don't start something you won't finish, sweetheart."
Your gaze meets his then. He looks like a caged animal, practically vibrating as he holds himself back.
Emboldened by your lust, by the pent up frustration left coiling in your lower stomach, you get up on your knees, letting the comforter fall around your waist, the slightest sliver of skin peeking through.
"Oh I intend to finish it," you whisper.
"Unlike your vibrator?"
That breaks the spell quickly, heat rushing up to your face, neck, back instantly.
"Oh my god, Brendon!" you smack his arm, falling back down on your heels.
He smiles dopily, his hand sliding up your thigh as your brain processes all this new information. Distracted, you don't even notice when he slides beneath the fabric. It's only when the backs of his fingers graze your dripping folds that your breathing hitches.
"Fuck, sweetheart," he groans. "You're so wet."
You whimper at the feather light contact, hips bucking towards his touch.
"Please," you're no longer thinking, finally. "I need...make me cum, Bren."
The smirk that adorns his face then, all self-righteous and proud, only gets you wetter.
"Is this what you need, baby?" he leans in, breath hot against your ear as he presses a kiss just below it. "Needed my fingers to get yourself to cum?"
You moan, hands coming up to grab a hold of him, nails digging into the toughness of his arms.
In response, Brendon presses his thumb over your clit, slowly moving the pad in torturous circles. You pull him closer, opening your legs so that he has better access.
"Tell me what you need," he commands. "Tell daddy how to make you feel good."
Oh your head is spinning. A tear falls down your cheek, frustration rocking you out of control.
"Need your fingers," you pant.
He grins against your skin. "You already have 'em."
You whine, patience wearing thin. Who would've ever thought, his good girl, so demanding.
"In me, please," you choke, swallowing the drool that has gathered in your mouth before continuing. "Please daddy."
It breaks him, his ring and middle finger thrusting into you in one swift movement as his thumb picks up the pace.
You instantly hide your face agains the crook of his neck, your breathy moan muffled against him as he hooks his fingers into you, curling them over and over again against you until your legs are shaking beneath him.
"That's it, baby, such a good girl for me."
You shiver against him, melting against his warmth.
"Help daddy out, baby, wanna—" he groans. "Wanna cum with you."
He slows down his movements, keeping you right on the edge between putty and alert.
You nod against him, timid hands grazing down his torso towards his pants. The second your hand slides under his waistband, a hiss escapes him, causing a shiver of praise to boost your ego.
You manage to pull him out, long and thick and hot and heavy against your palm, you can't help but salivate at the sight. You let your drool drip down on him, his hips jerking as the wetness lands over his sensitive tip.
You giggle, overly amused by his reactions, emboldened by how easy it is to tame the Shark with just a simple swipe of your hand over his leaking head.
"Fucking hell, baby," he groans, picking up his own pace in retaliation.
You pull back to look at him then, gazes locking in silent competition.
He looks completely disheveled, broken and almost...reverent. Gratification blooms in your stomach, your hand pumping his length in tandem with his own fingers inside of you, the pace causing the two of you to slowly start to unravel together.
Your mouth hangs open in a silent moan as your body clenches around him, so close to the edge, so, so, so perfect—
"Daddy," you warn. "I'm gonna—"
He grunts, grabbing your hand and pulling it back up to his tip, urging you to focus your efforts there.
It takes him no time to catch up to you, his own body tensing in anticipation.
"C'mon baby," he implores. "Let go for me, cum with me."
A choked moan ripples through you as the coil snaps. Your legs quake, your vision blurs from pleasure, your hand stills over him as you feel his own release take over.
It's overwhelming to say the least, his hot moans heavy in your ear, his spend spurting onto your hand, painting his scrubs and your delicate skin, his warmth...oh my god he's so everywhere.
You can't think straight. Can't breathe right. Can't—
You groan as he removes his hand from inside of you, wetness running down your inner thighs as he does. Pleasure clouds your brain as you watch him bring his hand up to his mouth, his tongue lapping up your release, humming contently at the sweet taste.
Hunger flares in your belly as you do the same, lifting your hand up towards your mouth and sucking down on the spot covered by his cum.
You can feel the moan that ripples through him, his body tensing up with lust once more as he watches you.
"Fuck sweetheart, who would've thought..." he smirks, leaning down to smash his lips with your own, mouth desperately seeking to combine your tastes into one sloppy, searing kiss.
You oblige instantly, opening up for him to take whatever he pleases.
He pushes you down onto the mattress, his imposing body slotting itself perfectly in between your open thighs.
He's about to join you on the bed when you break the kiss.
"Outside clothes," you grumble, sleepy and spent.
It tugs at his heartstrings, his mouth curling into a loving smile as he strips down to his boxers before slipping back into bed with you, pulling your body to nestle snugly against his.
"I'm sorry, baby," he kisses your temple, watching you settle into sleep beside him, completely oblivious to how he licks and cleans your skin before finally allowing himself to succumb to the darkness.
You're woken up by laughter.
Soft and airy, like a gust of wind rustling outside your window.
Your curtains are still drawn, only slivers of light peeking through into your room, the warmth from outside starting to become overwhelming as you toss the comforter aside.
You sit up with a start, memories from the night before crashing through you like a downpour.
You almost, almost could've pretended it had all been a dream. Almost, if not for the stickiness lingering between your thighs, for the Brendon sized dip in your mattress that he left behind.
It's impossible not to feel his lingering presence in your bed, the way the sheets molded to accommodate him, the way his woodsy scent mixed with hospital antiseptic lingers on the cotton.
Fuck!
You're so close to spiraling, to having your chest cave in from the pressure of guilt, but then you hear it again.
That laugh, like a tug, a spark, a lifeline.
School, you're supposed to up to help with drop-off today.
You're quick to dress, pulling on your sleep shorts, hastily forgoing underwear because you simply aren't thinking straight.
It's late, too late to be thinking instead of moving.
You burst into the kitchen, ready to hastily put together breakfast and Brendon's lunch when—
"Noooooo!" the toddler screams at you from her high chair. "Go back!”
You frown at her, moving slowly around the kitchen island to catch her dad, sweatpants low on his hips, topless for added effect, just finishing up at the stove.
Behind him, a plate with a mountain of pancakes, and beside it, a tray, decked out with cut fruit, a cup of coffee, scrambled eggs, bacon, even a cup with a little flower from the backyard.
He must see the flurry of emotions taking a hold of you, so he softens instantly.
"Morning," he steps forward slightly. "We were just coming to surprise you."
Your gaze snaps up to his, searching, panicked, overwhelmed and then...grateful.
Your cheeks heat up softly, not instantly, not rushed, just comfortable, safe, loved.
"I'm sorry bug," you lean over and plant a kiss on her head, unruly curls frizzy from sleep. "But now we can have breakfast together, yeah?"
She sighs, dramatically, before she turns to you, arms high up so that you'll pick her up.
You roll your eyes, obviously doing exactly what the princess wants.
You're about to walk out into the living room when you turn back to Brendon, the expression you manage to catch across his features just barely shy of adoration.
You've done this plenty of times before but it's never felt this...domestic. And you can't help how your stomach twists, how your heart blooms—you like this.
Breakfast continues on in that same way. Stolen glances, confusing feelings and an overly energetic toddler that get maple syrup over everything, especially her hair.
One rushed bath time later, you're putting her hair up into ponytail braids, her request, when his imposing frame slides up to lean against his daughter's open door, purple scrubs hugging his body deliciously.
"Ready to go, guppy?"
The kid nods, bashful, as she takes in the little hair clips in her hair, the beads from her ponytails.
"You look beautiful, trouble," you kiss her cheek and she responds by throwing herself around you, a hug so tight it melts you right into her.
"Thank you!"
"You're so welcome."
When she finally lets you go and runs towards her dad, you catch his stare through the mirror. It's...everything. Stormy, bright, hopeful, sorrowful, angry, pleading, you can't look away.
Later, he mouths. We'll talk.
You nod, shooting him a timid smile before he's being dragged out of the house.
Your brain is fuzzy for the next half hour, your movements slow and sluggish.
You focus on tidying up around the house, going through routine out of muscle memory. Cause the truth is, your mind is far away, stuck on the night before, on his lips, his fingers, his hot breath—
Jesus fuck you have got to get it together.
The postman comes through at the perfect time, envelopes snapping you out of inaction. You sort through them absentmindedly still—energy bill, invitation to the annual hospital gala, ortho research magazine, University of Pittsburg—
Your name.
His address.
Your heart constricts, your throat tightens.
Shaky fingers tear through the sticky adhesive, almost tearing the letter within its confines.
Rabid eyes scan the corporate jargon.
Final notice. Unable to push back start date another semester. Confirm attendance or forfeit spot. And then, a deadline.
Sink or swim.
Reality pounding at the door of your carefully crafted fantasy.
It all crumbles instantly.
You've grown attached, complacent, lost yourself as you found a new place, comfortable, easy, simple. You love your life, you love how easy it is to not have to think, to just do, to soak up the joy and the tantrums and the late nights and...
Him.
He's your fucking boss for crying out loud! He can't...he doesn't...you live in his house, you eat his food, you take care of his kid.
How can you take his money and be with him romantically?
You're taking advantage of him, this is so wrong, how could you ever do that to him? To them? To yourself?
But if you leave...if you leave you lose everything you've grown attached to, everything that makes up who you are now, everything—everyone—you love.
This isn't fair. This isn't how it's supposed to go. How could you have been so stupid to—
Your phone blares, a reminder alarm goes off, effectively cutting off your spiraling but only making you even more panicked.
You're late for pick up.
You don't remember much, just that you're driving a little more on edge than you usually are. The lunch traffic is easing down, luckily, but it's just a reminder that you're late.
The school calls, you tell them you're on your way.
He texts, you ignore it.
The green light turns red after you cross—
And it all goes dark.
You're so out of it that your name doesn't sound real.
There's overlapping voices, bright lights, too many hands touching your sweaty skin.
You try to push them off, try to close your eyes for them to be pulled open, try to complain but your throat is so dry nothing remotely close to words spill out.
You know where you are before the nurses have a chance to ease your discomfort.
You can't be here. Nope, not here, bad place to be cause he's here.
You try to get up the second they transfer you into a bed, even manage to sit before Langdon's hands are pulling you back down against the pillow.
"No, nope, none of that," he chides.
"Frank—" your voice sounds so broken it scares you.
"You're okay, let us take care of you," he stares deep into your eyes, his baby blues reminding you of the exact person you're desperate to avoid. "Please."
Before you can continue protesting, they drug you. Yeah, not their finest moment, not yours either. Lorazepam, just enough to calm you down, to finish their exam.
You're lucid, you think, just...softer. It's only then that your body comes back to you, the weight of your bones, the exhaustion in your muscles.
You don't complain again, only answer questions when they're asked.
You're fast tracked to CT, nothing abnormal though you definitely have a concussion. Your body is littered with little cuts and bruises from impact, apparently a motorcyclist who decided to accelerate to sixty without thinking twice. He's being treated at Westbridge so you'll know more later.
Now...now you're just a guilty, crying mess, injuries wrapped, IV almost done, waiting for an ortho consult because everyone in the ED knows you.
But he's not here yet.
It's been hours and he hasn't shown his face.
Logically, you know why.
He had to go pick her up when you didn't know. He had to call out of work because you weren't reliable, he had to—
The curtain is drawn and a child's voice says your name.
You can't help but burst into tears again, desperately trying to hide away, to brace yourself for the impact that follows her around.
But it only makes her more afraid, more distressed, and it breaks your heart.
With your eyes shut, tears streaking down your face, you don't see him, but you hear him.
Hear how he steps into the room, how he refrains from speaking your name, how he pulls the curtain closed again, how he picks up his kid and settles down on the stool beside your bed.
And then you feel tiny, cold hands press over your cheeks, gently poking at you until you break, calling out your name over and over and over until he says it.
Low and soft, pleading.
You open your eyes, a fresh waterfall dripping onto her fingers, causing her to recoil adorably.
"Yucky," she shivers, wiping your tears on her father's shirt.
That gets a laugh out of you.
"There she is," Brendon's voice is heavy, like the emotional weight has solidified into his body and is crushing over his chest.
You finally look up at him then, relinquishing your fears and staring directly into the place you know is both salvation and ruin.
"Well hello baby shark," Dana's signature snark breaks the moment. "Y'wanna come with me and let the boring grownups talk? I got apple sauce and crayons."
Wow she's so easy to lure away it's a wonder she's still in one piece. Well...who wouldn't be, with a dad like that and a nanny who would kill anyone that even thought about breathing near her with wrong intentions.
She winks at you and shoots a stern look at Brendon before leaving the two of you alone.
He doesn't even let the room settle before he's pouncing, lips on yours simply to prove to himself that you're alive, that you're breathing, that you're still here.
You can't stop crying, can't stop shaking, can't—
He shushes you gently, warm hands cupping your cheeks and wiping away the wetness as it falls.
You choke out a half-hearted laugh. "Not yucky?"
He smiles against your mouth, kissing you one last time before he pulls back to look at you.
"I was so worried," the confession is a mere whisper but it hangs thick in the room, suspended in a web of all the things you've both left unsaid. "When Dana called—" he chokes on a breath. "Fuck, sweetheart I almost—I couldn't think, couldn't breathe, I was resetting someone's fucking shoulder and..." he chuckles at the memory. "Almost made it worse."
"The great Brendon Park, almost ruined by one phone call," you try to joke, try to lighten the mood but...it's impossible. The way he stares at you, his gaze searing, his hands holding onto you as if he's afraid if he lets go you'll disappear—"Brendon."
"I know," he murmurs. "I'm sorry, we should've—I should've—"
You shake your head as much as the concussion will allow, your hands coming up to lace with his own.
"It's my fault," you sob. "I wasn't thinking—I...I got scared."
His brow furrows but he doesn't prod, doesn't force you to speak. He just waits, patiently, like you've seen him do plenty times before with a snotty, emotionally confused toddler.
So you take a steadying breath, grab his hand tighter, and tell him everything. The letter, your panic attack, your uncertainty, your fears, your...hopefulness.
It doesn't matter that your brain doesn't feel comfortable baring your soul to him, your heart does. With each word, the clutches of doubt and panic ease off, your grip lightening until you're unashamedly fiddling with his fingers, tracing lazy patterns over his skin like he...like he belongs to you.
He sits with your confession for a while, a few seconds turning into a few minutes but he doesn't pull away, doesn't make you feel unwanted. So you don't panic either, you just trace his nails with your fingers over and over and over agains until—
He lifts your hand up to his mouth and places a soft kiss onto your knuckles.
"What do you wanna do, baby?"
Baby, like it's simple. Baby, like it's normal. Baby, like you're his.
You search his eyes for malice, for a truth that you desperately need to push on him so that you can focus on a broken heart and not the overwhelming reality of choice, of making it work.
But all you find is patience, kindness, openness.
Fucking girl dad ortho bros that are emotionally intelligent—they're the worst.
You sigh, honest and raw. "I don't know. I just don't want to lose you."
He hums in understanding, rolling closer to the bed.
"I don't want to lose you either," he states, unflinching. "We can take this however you need, you can still live with us, you can..."
He trails off as he notices the hesitancy in your eyes.
"You don't want that?"
He doesn't say it maliciously, but it still sucker punches you all the same.
"I don't know...what about trouble? She's young but she's not stupid. I don't...I don't want her to think that I'm...that I don't love her because it's not the same—"
"She's a smart kid, she'll understand," he's too quick to catch your lie. "Now if you're afraid of things changing..." he catches your guilt flash through your eyes. "Then that's okay. We can go slow. We don't have to figure it all out right now."
You nod, accepting the easy way out.
One step at a time.
You can live with that.
Recovery is...boring as all hell.
The motorcycle guy lived, your insurance companies settled out of court, nothing to worry about according to Brendon who's been fussing over you for the past five days.
He's taken a temporary leave to nurse you back to health and "take care of his girls" as he put it, settling some stupid bet that the surgery department started a few days ago.
The little bug is practically glued to you, helping out her dad in whatever way she can, which isn't much, but it's always appreciated. She's even started reading you bedtime stories, but in truth she's just making things up as she points to the pictures.
At night, when she finally knocks herself out, Brendon settles into bed next to you, those first couple of days unable to get you into bed with him but finally, after much groaning and moaning, claiming he needed the extra room from his king for his back—which is a fucking lie since he always just sleeps tangled around you—he finally comes out victorious.
It's a Saturday when it happens.
No school, no early alarms, no nothing except his steady breathing, his safe embrace keeping you flush against his front, your leg straddled over his hip so that he can pull you in closer—
It's his own damn fault honestly.
You blink awake as a hardness pressed against your front. His heat pulls you in, your sleepy brain not thinking anything other than closer, warmer...so you roll your hips and a jolt of pleasure courses through you.
You're suddenly extremely aware of everything, frustration rearing its ugly head as memories flash from that night again.
You haven't touched yourself since then. Haven't wanted or been able to. But now, this morning you're just...very aware of how much you need it.
You roll your hips again, hoping to wake him up and have him take care of you. You can feel how much he needs it too, how much his body craves yours. If you can just—
"Baby," he groans against your temple, grip on you tightening, pulling you further into him. "What're you doing?"
You huff, desperate, sliding a hand in between your bodies and accidentally on purpose raking your nails along his length.
He hisses against your skin, question answered instantly as his eyes snap open.
"Oh sweetheart," he coos, merciful it seems. "Did you wake up needy, baby? Need me to take care of you?"
You nod, pathetically honestly, but you can’t care less.
He's got you sprawled under him in the blink of an eye, his mouth connecting with yours in a searing kiss before his lips begin to trail a path downward.
You're doing much better today. The cuts have scabbed over, the bruises are starting to fade from purple to brown, movement doesn't make you dizzy, if anything, it makes you just the right amount of lightheaded.
You feel his touch everywhere. Feather light grazes over your abdomen, nails raking up towards your breasts under his obnoxiously soft cotton t-shirt.
He removes his mouth off you so he can pull the shirt off your body, the offending fabric getting tossed to the side as his mouth latches onto your nipple.
You arch into his mouth, strangled moans escaping before his hand comes up to slide his fingers inside. He presses them against your tongue and you instantly suck on them as he too continues his assault.
When he's finally satisfied, he trails lower, hot tongue licking down your stomach until he reaches your pubic bone. His hand slips out from between your lips so he can hold your legs open for him before settling his mouth over your panties, taking a deep breath in and relishing in the way your breathing hitches.
Fuck he's so beautiful like this.
"Thank you baby," he grins against you. Fuck did you say that out loud?
He doesn't let you think on it as his mouth opens up, wide and predatory, and bites down on your mound, his tongue pressing against your clothed clit, working it through the fabric.
"Bren—please, I need—" you pant, already delirious.
"What do you need baby, tell daddy what you need."
Your head spins, heat blooms everywhere.
"Your mouth," you try, hoarse and needy. "Need your mouth."
He doesn't force you to beg, it's not the time for that. Instead, he shows you mercy, pulling your underwear to the side and diving right in.
His tongue is ravenous, licking a powerful stripe from your entrance up to your clit, groaning against your folds at the gathered wetness.
"So fucking good," he mumbles into your skin before his puffy lips latch onto your clit. He sucks and licks and pulls and tugs, all the while your body thrusts into his mouth. You almost hit him before his grip on your thighs tightens and he reminds you swiftly that he's much stronger than you.
You bite down on your tongue, hard enough to feel the sting, the faintness of copper lacing your taste buds. You know you have to be quiet but fuck do you want to scream.
"Bren fuck oh my god," you whimper, your hands threading through his soft waves, the lack of gel sending another shiver down your spine. No one else gets to see him like this.
He bites down on your clit then, pulling slightly before he slides down again, his nose perfectly hitting your bundle of nerves as his tongue and mouth fuck your entrance.
He feels you cumming before you even know what's happening, the coil in your abdomen snapping without even giving you a heads up. Your hands come up to muffle your screams while your body rocks, a tidal wave crashing through you as he does his best to hold you down, to work you through it.
He's gentle, diligent, devout almost as his mouth continues to kiss and lick and suck until you twitch from overstimulation. Only then does he detach himself from you, the bottom half of his face glistening with your release.
You look at him with the most gleeful expression, so proud of yourself, of his smugness.
He settles in between your legs again, pulling them tight around his waist, just reveling in being able to hold you against his naked front.
You're so blissed out, grateful and happy, planting your lips over every inch of skin he'll let you. But you're greedy now, you need more, want more.
You press your front against the bulge in his sweats and he hisses.
"We don't have to—"
"I want to," you kiss him again, your lingering taste euphoric. "Please."
You don't need to tell him twice. He rolls over towards his bedside table instantly, pulling out a silver wrapper and discarding his pants in what feels like seconds.
You can't help but giggle, the boyish smile on his lips and the way his cheeks tinge pink quickly sending you into overdrive.
You need this man inside of you right now.
You watch in awe as he tears the wrapper with his teeth, rolling on the slick condom over his impressive length.
Yeah, he's perfect, and he's yours, there's not a shred of doubt in your mind. You don't know how everything will fall into place but you don't have to, because you'll figure it out together.
He settles in between your thighs again, his chest pressing down against yours, desperate to be as close to you as possible before he lines himself up with your entrance and slowly thrusts himself inside.
You're wet enough that with the lube, he slides right in, your ass flush with his thighs in a dizzying, all consuming instant. He's perfectly snug, fitting so perfectly inside of you that neither of you can help the moan of satisfaction that spills.
It quickly turns into a fit of laughter, easy and shy, like you're both making love instead of having sex. And that just feels right.
He kisses you softly, tentatively, letting you get used to him before he begins to move. But you're impatient, your hips rolling on their own as you seek some friction.
He groans into your mouth. "Fuck baby, trying to kill me."
You smirk against his kiss, cocky for exactly three seconds before he meets your movement with a thrust of his hips. With the air getting knocked out of your lungs, he begins to move, slow and unhurried, all the way out before he thrusts right back to the hilt.
You hold onto him like your life depends on it, pressing further into his skin, his warmth, his safety. You can't get enough of him, of the excitement of tomorrow, of the need that comes from wanting nothing more than to be close to him.
"Such a good girl for me," he praises into your ear. "Letting me take care of you, only complaining a couple times."
You huff out a laugh, remembering the first time he'd helped you to the bathroom and then waited imposingly on the other side of the door until you were done. He's lucky he never tried to get in with you otherwise you would've hit him.
His thrusts pick up the pace in response.
"Let me take care of you, baby," he pleads then. "Whatever you decide, let me help you, please."
You blink back tears, nodding against his cheek, nails digging into his chiseled back.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," you moan. "Please daddy—"
You don't get to finish as he groans, hoisting your bottom half off the bed as his mercifulness finally snaps.
He fucks into you like he needs to show you just how much your words affect him. The bed rattles, the mattress squeaks awkwardly but neither of you cares. You need this, need each other.
"Come on, pretty girl," he pants. "Cum with me, cum with daddy."
You're just as affected as him, your second peak slowly but surely sneaking up on you again as he sneaks a hand in between your bodies, pressing the pad of his thumb over your clit.
You clench around him and he hisses, leaning down to capture your lips with his in a searing kiss as warmth floods you both. Your moans get tangled in between hungry tongues and teeth, your bodies vibrate against each other in bursts of pleasure and care and...love.
You're unsure how long you're stuck there, in between real life and whatever the fuck you're feeling, but finally when your body pushes him out of you, he rolls over and goes into the bathroom.
You watch him through hazy eyes as he cleans himself up, his adonis like body always such a sight to gaze upon. He blushes crimson when he catches you watching him, the apex predator reduced to a blubbering mess by just one simple look.
But it's not simple, and you both know that.
Pride swells up in your chest as he runs a wet towel in between your legs, leaning down to kiss you over and over again before he finally deigns the day worthy enough to begin, or rather, three soft knocks on his bedroom door startle you back into reality.
"Can we have ice cream for breakfast?"
You roll your eyes, sharing a glance with him that warms your heart.
Yeah, you're gonna be alright.
a/n: thank you to everyone that participated in the poll! hope this is to your satisfaction
dividers by @/enchanthings
♡ pairing: frank langdon x fem!reader x michael robinavitch
♡ synopsis: during his time off for rehab, frank keeps in contact with you to keep up with the goings-on at ptmc. but when things go from bad to worse—abby threatening divorce & a custody battle over their children, him continually relapsing, & the worry that if he can't get & stay clean, then he may lose his license & job as a whole—he begins to lay his baggage at your feet when he believes you to be all he has left. what begins as you trying to be a good friend ends in you running to robby for help when you begin to fear for your safety due to langdon's obsession.
♡ content: mentions of drug addiction/being high, stalking, codependency, robby is protective, pining!robby, unprotected p in v sex, infidelity
Ding ding
With an exhausted sigh, you roll onto your side, despite already knowing who it is.
With a quiet huff, you throw your hand atop your bedside table and grip the plastic corners of your phone case before sliding the device into bed with you.
Peeking open blurry eyes, you squint at the illuminated glass screen and pull down on the text notification displayed.
You awake?
"God, Langdon, it's almost 2 a.m.," you mumble.
Everything okay?
typing. . .
typing. . .
Just thinking about you.
You groan while pinching the bridge of your nose.
Before Langdon's dismissal due to apparently smuggling patients' prescriptions out of the ED and back home for his own personal use, he, as well as the likes of Robby, Abbot, and McKay, were some of your favorite mentors. And when Frank was sent packing on the road to recovery, you became someone he regularly confided in.
You'd initially thought it was because he missed being at work and just wanted to keep up with the goings-on in the ED. Now, you wonder if it wasn't due to loneliness because things haven't exactly been going well for him.
Between the situation at work, trying and failing at rehab due to continually relapsing, and Abby threatening divorce, as well as taking full custody of their children... Some days, all he seems to do is spiral.
That's where you come in. It began as just the occasional text, then a random phone call, a request for a coffee meetup, and somewhere along the way, contact started bordering on obsessive.
You'll never forget the first morning you woke up to nearly a dozen texts from him—half being apologies for flying off the handle because he was in the middle of a manic episode.
That should've been the moment you blocked his number.
But instead... It's what women are always taught: you must be nice. Put their wellbeing above your own, even to your detriment. They have it so hard, after all. Their feelings are so fragile.
So you forgave him.
Now, here you lie sacrificing sleep for his benefit.
I need to go back to sleep for work tomorrow. Goodnight.
typing. . .
typing. . .
Sorry. Night.
You roll your eyes at his clipped, passive aggressive tone. All because you're not willing to stay up and entertain his feelings.
He shouldn't be talking to you like that anyway, especially given the hour.
Tossing your cell back on the nightstand, you roll onto your side facing away from it in the hopes of drifting off again soon.
You're in the midst of aiding Robby with prepping a patient for a thrombectomy before they're carted off to a specialized suite when your phone vibrates in your pocket.
Frank—that's your first thought now anytime it buzzes or chimes or anything pops up on your screen. Like when a mouse trap snaps, and you're left to assume it's caught a pest in its metal hinges. You don't know until you've checked it
Another buzz and you grit your teeth.
You need to put it on do not disturb at your earliest convenience.
Once the elderly man is deemed fit for travel across the hospital, a team comes shortly after to retrieve and wheel him away. Snapping off your gloves with irritation, you toss them into a waste bin and slip your phone from your pocket with a quiet curse—a sound that surprises Robby when he glances in your direction.
He watches as your thumbs fly across the digital keyboard and a crease knots itself right between your furrowed brows. "Everything alright?"
"It's fine," you snap—still typing.
Crossing his arms, as well as the room itself to reach you, he waits with pursed lips. "Boyfriend problems?"
You snort. "He's married, so not likely." You glance straight ahead, then press the heel of your palm to your forehead in annoyance. "We're not... He's just a friend."
Robby's attempt to skim the tiny text on your screen is futile without his readers on. "Going out on a limb, but did this 'friend' used to work here until quite recently?"
You quickly lock the device before tucking it back away and turning to face him. "He's going through a hard time and just needs someone to talk to."
Robby takes a small step forward, closing the gap between you. "Some particular reason that person needs to be you? And during work hours?"
Vibrate.
You step past him. "It's not a big deal."
"Didn't realize you and Langdon were that close," Robby remarks while following along behind.
Once you've reached your destination of the nurses station, you lean your head back and study the board above. "Frank feels alone right now, and—"
"It's Frank now, huh?" he asks with a surprised, yet humorless chuckle.
You roll your eyes before doing the same with your head, but in his direction. "I feel like you're trying to imply something."
He shrugs before glancing away and watching idly as your coworkers bustle about. "Just seemed like a heated exchange is all."
Robby looks at you again.
You exhale a quite huff of air before stepping away. "I need to grab another patient."
"You need to be careful," he calls after you.
"Always am," you mumble.
It's well past the middle of the day before you get another chance to really check your phone. You did briefly in the restroom and it only had one text from Frank:
FaceTime me during your next break ☀️
You'd raised a brow at the emoji, but didn't respond, deciding to wait like he suggested before you reached out.
Now sitting outside in the sun and fresh air, you sigh, then hold your phone at a distance from atop your knees before calling.
It's on the second ring when he picks up.
"Hey," Frank says with a smile and sleek, tousled hair falling over his brow. With an arm resting beneath his chin, you get a glimpse of a bare shoulder.
"Are you in bed?" you ask nervously.
His brows furrow. "Huh? Oh, yeah. I had a meeting earlier so now I'm just kinda...lazing around."
You nod while glancing away and watch as a pair of birds take flight from a nearby sign.
"Your day okay so far?"
You return your attention to the screen. "So far," you reply. "You asked me to call you. What were you...wanting to talk about?"
Shifting positions, you get a flash of Frank's bare chest before he leans back against the headboard behind him. "Just wondering if you wanted to grab dinner after your shift." He smiles. "My treat. I can pick you up when you get off, take you out, then bring you back."
You blink a couple times. "And talk about what?" you ask warily, already feeling like this is a bad idea.
He smiles softly. "Whatever you want, sweetheart."
A frown tugs at your lips. "You shouldn't call me that."
He chuckles. "What if I told you that's what I have your name saved as in my phone?"
Your eyes flit between his. "I would say that that's inappropriate."
He huffs and rolls his eyes. "I'm kidding, Jesus."
You kick a pebble with the toe of your shoe. "After work I usually just like to go home and take a shower." Your eyes flit back to the screen. "Get something to eat, then—"
"Look, you're gonna eat anyway, so let me take care of dinner tonight. Less dishes for you to wash," he remarks with a grin.
You shift in your seat. "I don't know that your wife would like that."
He snorts flippantly. "Well, getting her opinion would require her actually talking to me." Frank looks at his phone again. "I could always call her? Ask what she thinks? Maybe give her your number. I mean, the two of you could compare notes about me and—"
You throw your head back and groan in irritation, which earns you a laugh.
"So what'd'ya say? I won't have you out long. Hour or less. Promise."
You chew the inside of your lip.
"C'mon," he insists softly. "It's the least I can do to repay how good you've been to me since all this crap started."
"Just trying to be a good friend," you mumble.
"So am I," Frank states quietly.
This is a chance for you to seize. Being face-to-face, you'll have a better chance of getting through to him that the late-night texts need to stop, as do the pet names. And that he needs to put just as much effort into maintaining meaningful contact with Abby. That while you have no problem being his friend, he needs to lean heavily on his sponsor instead. It isn't...right to put it all on you—fellow medical professional or not.
"Okay," you relent with a nod. "But just for a little while."
He practically beams. "I'll be waiting for you in the parking lot at the end of your shift."
"There she is," Frank says with a smile while popping open the passenger side door of his vehicle.
Unlocking the trunk of your own, you quickly toss your pack inside before slamming it shut again and relocking it.
Even as you're sinking inside, Frank can't help himself from sliding a palm down your arm.
"So," you begin while pulling your ice water toward you. "What were you wanting to talk about?"
Frank leans back and you watch as a small smile plays on his lips. "Whatever you want."
You release a quiet exhale through your nose. Ok, fine. Works for you anyway. Just when you go to open your mouth, however, the waitress returns with your respective meals: a cheeseburger with all the fixings for him and grilled cheese sandwiches with creamy tomato soup for you.
You grant the woman a quiet thanks and a sweet smile, then take a bite of one of your buttery sandwiches before speaking. "I'd like for the late night texts to stop," you say gently.
Frank's brows knit together and he plops his burger back onto his plate before wiping his hands with a few cheap brown napkins.
"Just...nothing after 9 p.m., okay? It doesn't feel appropriate."
He crosses his arms. "That a rule for all your friends, or just me?"
Him getting defensive took a shorter amount of time than you thought it would. "Frank, I'm not trying to hurt you. It means something to me that I'm someone you feel safe in confiding in, but boundaries have to start being set. The same goes for my breaks. I only get a couple small chances during my workday to decompress for a moment before going back to it, and I prefer not to spend it on the phone. The ED is hectic enough as it is, and not being able to get a breather in because I'm FaceTiming or on a call doesn't help the matter."
A muscle in his jaw ticks. "Anything else?"
"No more pet names." You debate tacking on something about no more in-person meetups as well, but are unsure about it. Ones that're late like this one feel more akin to dates, which you're absolutely not alright with, but being on dayshift... Eating a late meal is really your only option, in terms of going out for food.
Frank rolls his eyes and shakes his head before taking a sip of his Coke.
"I want to be your friend. One who's there for you to confide in, but this is starting to feel like dependency at times. I mean, the night that you spammed me with texts—"
He suddenly slams his hand off the table and it causes the dishes to rattle and you to jump, as well as other customers to glance in your direction.
You sink down in your seat from embarrassment.
"I wasn't myself that night, alright? I was—"
"Using?" you interrupt. "I have to be able to rest for work."
He snorts. "Work, work, work." He deadpans. "Because you really think that place gives a shit about you? That Robby does?"
"Robby is the only reason you were put on leave to get clean instead of having your license revoked as a whole," you say while doing your utmost to keep your tone level. "So, yes, I think it's safe to say that he does indeed care."
He blows a raspberry and your temper climbs another notch from the immature gesture.
"You need to talk to Abby," you say quietly. "She's not the one who did wrong, so the obligation is on you to reach out to her. She's your wife. You have two little ones together. You need to fight for your family. For yourself."
He glares at you for a moment, then picks up his burger again, signaling that the conversation has clearly come to an end.
The remainder of dinner was a silent affair, with you replaying every word you spoke to him on repeat in your head, wondering if maybe you'd been too hard, or had overthought things he's done, and thus had an overreaction. He's delicate right now, isn't he? What if tonight only makes him worse; sends him spiraling? Gives him cause to feel all alone again?
"I really do care about you," you tell him with care. "But I'm not a sponsor—someone who's equipped to know how to handle the throws of addiction. I just...feel overwhelmed at times. I'm terrified I'm going to do or say something, and then you'll get worse and it'll be my fault."
His shoulders loosen, as well as his grip on the steering wheel. "I'm sorry if contact from me has felt excessive. I just... I don't really have anybody else to lean on." Reaching over, he settles a hand atop your knee and gives it a gentle squeeze. "Which is why I need you right now."
You speak once he's returned his hand to the wheel. "The people in NA—"
"They don't know me like you do," he states with a shake of his head. "I mean, how many of them, if I shot them a text at 2 a.m., would've answered right away?"
You knew you made a mistake in doing so.
"You're all I have for the time being. And if Abby follows through with divorce—"
"She won't," you interrupt. "I'm sure she's just saying that because she wants to know that you'll do everything you can to fight for her and the family you've created together."
He shrugs. "Or they'd be better off."
You frown. "None of them will. Tanner and Penny need their father. Abby needs her husband. And PTMC needs its doctor back. Frank, I want to see you succeed in every way possible. But you have to want it for yourself for it to happen."
He clicks on his turn signal and makes a right into PTMC's parking lot. "I just don't know if I can get through the first year, which everyone keeps telling me is the hardest. Just one week is bad enough."
"You're going to fall off the wagon," you say while unbuckling your seatbelt as he pulls up next to your car. "But what counts is whether you make the effort to get back on it."
Once he's parked and switched off the engine, he unbuckles as well, so you stay rooted to the spot incase there's something else he wishes to discuss.
"I just... I need to know that you're not going anywhere. Because some days," he says while turning toward you. "It feels like you're all I have left. I can't..." he extends a trembling hand toward you and cups your cheek tenderly. "Sweetheart, I can't lose you, too."
You swallow thickly, then swipe your bag from between your feet. "Okay, I think I need to get out now."
Dropping his hand, Frank turns and quickly locks your door from his side. "I just need you to listen to me. Five minutes, that's all I need," he explains in a rush of words while leaning over the center console.
You keep your eyes trained on him while sliding your hand along the door behind you in desperate search of the handle. "Frank—"
"Baby, just listen to me."
"H-Have you been using tonight?" you question while reeling back.
"I took a little something before I left the house." He shakes his head while taking your face between his hands. "It's not a big deal. If you just kiss me, you'll know. You'll feel what I do. It's not all in my fucking head, I know it."
You shove against his chest, but it's futile as he continues to lean in closer and closer.
And then you decide to scream. "Let me out! Now! Let me out of the fucking car!" you shout while slamming your bag against his dash. "Unlock the doors, Frank!"
"Fine! Fine! Jesus!"
Turning swiftly around, he clicks to release the locks, and you stumble out of the car a moment later.
He throws himself across the seat you've just vacated. "Listen, I'm sor—"
His apologies are cut short when you slam the door in his face and unlock your own vehicle with violently trembling hands before sinking inside and immediately locking the door behind you.
You don't even bother with your seatbelt before tearing out of the parking lot to race home.
"Hey," a familiar voice croons from behind you while a large palm is pressed to the small of your back.
You shriek and drop everything which was previously cradled in your arms and ready to be stored away in your employee locker and watch as it clatters to the floor. Swinging around with wide, searching eyes, you sigh when you see that it's only Robby.
"You alright?" he asks while kneeling with a groan before scooping up your personal belongings and handing them up to you.
You nod feebly. "Yes. Fine," you reply while hanging up a thin jacket, followed by a small backpack.
Standing again, he crosses his arms, watching as you wrap your stethoscope around your neck. "I come and find you every morning and that's never been your reaction. Hardly seem fine. Somethin' happen last night, or on your way here?"
Him showing concern is enough to open the floodgates you otherwise thought you'd put a pretty solid barricade over last night before going to sleep, which took you rather long to find as you tossed and turned—trying your very best, and subsequently failing, to calm your body's panicked response after earlier events in the evening.
You click your locker shut and shake your head while blinking away tears, because if you open your mouth, all he's getting in response is an ugly cry.
You go to step past, until Robby grabs you gently by the forearm. "Hey, talk to me."
So much for trying.
Burying your face in your hands, you start to cry. Full-on sobbing which wracks through your body and leaves you gasping for air.
Taking you gently into his arms, Robby winds them around you while you burrow into the safety his chest provides.
He presses his lips to the crown of your head and murmurs against it. "What happened, honey? Tell me what's got you so tore up this morning."
You shake your head. "Not here," you mumble while fisting his black scrub shirt in your fists.
"Let me take you somewhere that we can talk privately, then."
Now standing under the bright sun, which is covered only by a few fluffy clouds that float lazily past, you gaze across the city of Pittsburgh in all its bustling glory.
Robby is meanwhile busy watching a video on your phone which was recorded last night on your outdoor camera.
"He was out there for two fucking hours?" he hisses in disbelief before glancing up to you.
You nod. "Maybe he... Maybe he meant to scare me because I jilted him." You shake your head. "I don't know. Like I told you about all the texts and calls, it's not the first time his behavior has bordered on obsessive—"
Robby pushes off the railing. "Sweetheart, we're far past that. This?" He says while shaking your phone before planting it in your palm. "Is stalking."
You pocket the device.
"He tried to force himself on you after you made clear how uncomfortable he's made you, and then he sat outside your house for hours in the middle of the night. I think you have more than enough cause to file a police report at this point."
You shake your head so hard that it makes you dizzy. "No, Robby, I-I can't do that. This isn't him. He's not himself right now, and you know that. It's why you didn't report him yourself." You wave your hand. "Me doing something so drastic and reactionary could jeopardize not just his recovery, but his entire life: his marriage, custody—"
"Well," Robby says with a dramatic shrug. "Maybe he should've considered that before he locked you in his car, and, now, made you fear for your safety in your own home."
You sigh and throw your head back. "I didn't tell you because I wanted to give him a criminal record." You lower your chin. "I just...wanted to confide in someone."
He takes a few small steps forward.
"I want to believe that he's going to beat his addiction and get his life back on track. I have no interest in preventing it. Not when—when he was here—he was so helpful toward me and my education."
"I think you've more than repaid that kindness," he states while crossing his arms. "Don't you?"
Worried that he won't stop until he's pressured you into making a trip down to the local precinct, or at least into talking to Ahmad, you turn on your heel to head in the other direction.
"Alright," he says, yielding to your refusal. "We let it go for now. But if he does it again, then you really need to consider going a step further by filing a report. Otherwise, it's not going to stop. If anything, you'd be putting yourself at risk of things getting worse by allowing him to get away with it."
You shift from one foot to the other. "I'll think about it. In the meantime," you say while turning to head back down. "I packed a bag for a couple nights. I plan to wait a few hours before I book a room because I'm not sure yet, but I may stay at a hotel tonight, just to be safe."
"You shouldn't have to do that," Robby comments while following along behind you.
"Just for a night or two," you reassure.
Once you've opened the door to the stairwell, he holds it in place. "I have a guest room."
You pause, then turn back to him.
"You're more than welcome to use it."
A smile of thanks graces your lips. "I appreciate that, Robby. A lot. But—"
He shakes his head. "No 'buts'. It'll save you a few hundred, and make me feel better by knowing where you are. It's why I have it in the first place. I thought..." he nervously scratches the back of his head. "I thought I'd get use out of it when I got married someday. In-laws, or a bedroom for one my kids. Some place friends could stay if they visited during the holidays."
He doesn't look at you when he attempts a shrug of indifference. Attempts, because you know it bothers him, even if he's trying to pretend otherwise.
His eyes flit to yours. "Tonight after your shift, follow me home and you can crash there. For however long you need."
"This is important to you?" you question, wanting to make sure he doesn't feel somehow obligated to do this. You obviously understand a desire for privacy, especially in the moment, and you don't want to interrupt his.
He cups your cheek while nodding. "This is important to me."
Never ever ever, in your wildest dreams, did you think you'd so much as visit your attending's house, and now here you stand in the guest room right next to his own, turning down the bed after a shower.
You've expended effort to memorize every moment that you've been alone with him tonight. From standing at his back while he unlocked the front door, to taking inventory of his personal living space—which includes a considerable record collection that you pointed out, which he replied to with a humble shrug and a mumbled "Just wish I had more time to listen to 'em"—and even curiously sorting through his soaps in the shower.
It'd felt so intimate holding his razor in your hand before setting it back down and lathering yourself with a washcloth that you couldn't help but think about Robby using on himself.
Now washed and brushed and ready for bed, you're dressed only in panties, socks, and an over-sized t-shirt as you turn down the queen-size bed provided.
You're unaware, but there he stands behind you, leaning against the doorway with a small, satisfied smile which quickly morphs into pursued lips as you bend over to throw the covers back, thus granting him a generous view of your backside before your shirt slips back into place.
"Anything else you need before we both turn in for the night?" he asks quietly.
You turn back to Robby with a smile and a shake of your head. "I think I'm okay. I don't imagine I'll be doing much sleeping, anyway."
He raises a brow of interest. "Oh?"
"I'll probably spend the next few hours battling racing thoughts," you explain. As well as continually checking security cameras on your phone...
Robby considers, but fleetingly. "Would it make you feel safer to sleep next to me instead?"
Just as you're about to slip into bed, you turn back to him. A barrage of thoughts journey through your head in the blink of an eye.
Does he want that for reasons other than just making you feel safe? Why does your safety mean so much to him, anyway? Is he truly hoping you'll say yes? What is this dynamic between you, exactly? Does he see you more like a child, or a woman needing a man's protection? Is sleeping all Robby would intend for the two of you to do?
Of course it is! He doesn't adore you the way you have him since the first day you met. Shameful truth admitted? If roles were shifted, and it was him stalking you, the advances wouldn't be quite so unwanted... But you can't say such a terrible thing. No, it must remain strictly in your head.
"I wouldn't want to keep you up," is your expertly planned reply, whereas your heart and mind are both enthusiastically screaming 'Yes, now's your chance! Screw his brains out! Make him yours at last!'
You busy yourself with fluffing a pillow. "I'd ruin your sleep by tossing and turning all night."
Robby takes a small step forward, causing wooden floorboards to creak beneath his weight. "Rather you do it beside me."
Tossing the pillow back down, you go to speak again to refuse one last time, knowing he's just trying to be kind, until he twines his fingers between your own and tugs you along to his room. "C'mon, you'll feel safer with me sleeping next to you."
He keeps staring at you. Maybe he thinks you don't notice because you're turned onto your back while he's otherwise turned onto his side, but you do. You're aware of everything he does. Constantly.
Even just the whisper of his voice sends your mind afloat and your body abuzz.
Does that make you a stalker? You roll your eyes at the ridiculous thought.
You only spy on him in various trauma bays...sometimes.
"What're you thinking about?" he rumbles.
The fact that you're lying beside me entirely naked, save for a pair of briefs which I wish you'd take off, too.
With an arm thrown over your forehead, you shrug. "Everything."
He chuckles, then slides a hand all the way up your arm that's resting at your side until it's come to settle just under the cuff of your t-shirt. "Sounds like you've got a lot going on in there." A pause. "Any of it about Langdon?"
You nod.
He brushes his thumb over your skin. "You think about him a lot?"
Your brow twitches. "All the time."
His lips tug into a frown. "Is that why, then? That you're trying so hard to protect him? Because you have feelings for him?"
You smile at such a silly thought and shake your head. "No, I don't. I just want to see him succeed as a friend and coworker. He's someone I greatly admired in the ED, and I thought he, Abby, and their children made such a sweet family." You roll your head to the side to look at Robby. "Him, the prestigious doctor, and she the sweet stay-at-home mother with two little ones, a pretty house, and a dog."
"You're a good friend," he whispers.
"Maybe too good," you reply.
"That something you want? A family?"
You nod slowly. "I do. But with our schedules... How our lives revolve around work makes even attempting to find someone difficult. On my days off, the last thing I want to waste my time with is a dead-end first date. So I do literally anything else while telling myself that the right one will come along when he's meant to."
"I thought I'd have one by now," he murmurs. "A wife to come home to. Kids grown up and off to college—living their own lives. Hell, maybe even a grandkid or two... At least on the way."
You turn fully onto your side and he lies his hand between the two of you, which you rest your own atop of. "You could live another fifty years, Robby. You could still have that. I know people think otherwise, but so long as people try to take care of themselves, seventy doesn't have to be that old. You can still have a family; children you get to watch grow up."
He forces a smile, then cups your cheek while brushing the pad of his thumb over the apple of it. "I was jealous, y'know? Of the attention you'd been giving Langdon."
Your brows furrow. "What? Why?"
His smile slowly falters, but the way he's touching you doesn't. "Maybe I thought..." He sighs. "I'm sorry. I don't want to be another superior who crosses a line. That's the reason you're here in the first place."
Is he... Is he coming onto you? You've spent so long continually beating yourself over the head with the thought that he would never so much as glance twice in your direction, and yet here you lie in his bed where he seems unable to not touch you.
"Tell me," you whisper. "Please."
"You're in my house, sweetheart. My bed. What does that tell you about how I feel?"
You're practically buzzing with excitement and eagerness to climb atop him and shower him in affectionate kisses, all while telling him that you'd be more than willing to give him all those things he's seemingly convinced himself that it's too late for him to have now.
You're crazy about him, but if you go off the deep end, you'll scare him away by morphing into Langdon 2.0.
You scoot closer and press your palms against his belly while gently kneading the soft swell of it. "Do you have any idea," you begin breathlessly, since your heart is now pounding. "How elated I was when you invited me to come stay with you?"
A look of surprise paints his aging features. "Really?"
You grin while nodding. You cautiously slide your hand upward, through the smattering of dark hair that covers the planes of his stomach and chest. "All I ever wanted was your attention."
Robby moves his hand to the crown of your shoulder, then down your waist. "You've had it, sweetheart. The whole time."
Sliding your fingers into the coarse, scratchy trimmings of his beard, you can't stop yourself from giggling in exhilaration.
"You're far more interested than I thought," he states while carefully repositioning himself atop you, ready for you to withdraw.
Instead, you spread your legs to grant him plentiful room between them.
You throw an arm around the back of his neck while cupping his cheek in your other hand. "You have no idea," you sigh while lifting your hips, wanting him to undress you.
He leans down and fully settles his weight atop you, and you moan when his belly pushes you further into the mattress. Kissing your cheek, you can't keep yourself from smiling like a love-crazed teenager who's hot for teacher.
"You asked me to tell you," he groans against your ear. "So now it's your turn."
You shudder when he slips a calloused hand beneath your shirt. "What if I ruin it?" you sigh while throwing your calves over his own.
He finally presses his lips to yours. "You won't."
He says that now...
It'll scare him off, and then this perfect moment will be over. You'll lose him before you even have him. Just the thought makes you want to burst into tears.
"I'm scared," you whisper before kissing him back.
"Of?" he inquires while pushing your shirt to just beneath your chin so he can suckle at your nipples.
God, you're in Heaven.
"You stopping. Or...losing you."
He plants a kiss between your breasts. "You won't. So, tell me."
He moves his palm up your forearm before twining his fingers between your own.
Throwing your head back, your eyes flutter closed. "I think I'm in love with you."
His cock stirs, so he hooks a thumb under the waistband of his briefs. "Say that again if you want me inside of you," he rasps.
"I love you," you cry while holding tightly to him.
Robby doesn't even consider protection before sinking between your thighs.
The following morning comes far too early for you both. One time hadn't been nearly enough, so he insisted the two of you keep going until he could no longer maintain an erection. Three orgasms later, and he was finally spent while you lied there crying tears of joy as he leaked out of you and down your thighs.
You'd curled up against his body—literally trying to get as close to him as you possibly could—before drifting into a deep and peaceful slumber.
You had felt so, so safe in his arms and against his brawny chest.
And just as you slipped off to sleep, you could've swore you heard the sentiment returned: I've loved you from the first.
First what you didn't catch. Time you met? Time he looked at you? Spoke to you? All those were on the same day.
You suppose all that matters is that the feeling is returned.
When Robby's alarm sounds, you stir quietly, but don't rise. Neither does he, instead choosing to savor the moment of your limbs twined tightly around his like you're afraid of letting go. When he wakes you, it's with a kiss and an offer of a shared shower. Something you easily accept. Before washing, you stand beneath the hot, steamy water, merely holding yourself to him while telling him over and over again how happy you are.
At least with the water running, you can't make out the tears he sheds.
The two of you manage a discussion on the way to work—in his truck, no less, as he insisted on driving. You had nervously started it by already trying to roll back last night incase he felt regretful because it'd just been the heat of the moment for him. Until he reached across the center console and took your hand while reassuring you that while this may be brand new, and that you may each be unaware of the exact direction that it'll lead, he wants nothing more than to find out along with you.
So you'd held quietly to his hand for the remainder of the ride while your skin tingled from the lingering effects of his touch, including a pleasant ache between your thighs where you'd held him.
A handful of people seem to notice that something is different. At one point, Dana even makes a comment that you seem to be glowing, coupled with a knowing look in Robby's direction, but you had merely smiled and said that maybe it was the good weather.
When Cassie finds Robby staring at you for a moment longer than usual—which is truly saying something—she simply walks away with an amused grin and a playful shake of her head.
Your walking on air is cut short during your afternoon break, however, when you go outside for a bit of respite, only to run smackdab into the unexpected presence of Frank.
"I need to talk to you," he insists while holding tightly to your arms.
You stutter for a reply, but because he's taken you entirely by surprise, your mind is lagging the least bit behind as you pulls you further from the ambulance bay's sliding doors.
"F-Frank, what're you—"
He takes your face between his hands and when your eyes stare into his, which are glossed over with pinned pupils, your heart sinks. "Are you high?" you ask in disbelief.
"Doesn't matter," he mutters with a shake of his head. "I need you and I cannot lose you, okay? You are the only one who sees me. Who gets me. Sweetheart, I love y—"
"Hey!" Robby shouts before gripping him by the back of his t-shirt and tossing him to the side. "You get the hell away from her!"
Shoving you behind him, Robby stations himself squarely between the two of you.
Frank goes to advance toward you again, until Robby shoves him back once again, causing him to stumble. "I cannot believe that you would show up here of all places in this kind of fucking shape, Langdon."
Frank seethes. "Get out of my way. This doesn't concern you, Robby."
You consider making a run for it to get Ahmad to come outside and stop this before something terrible happens.
"You're damn right it does. She told me what you've been up to. Calling at all hours, coming onto her, sitting outside her goddamn house at night?" he asks incredulously. "You can't be that far gone that you think what you're doing is appropriate."
"She's the only thing I have fucking left!" Frank yells while gesturing toward you. "What's the problem, Robby? I have something that you never will? Huh? That it?"
If only he knew...
"Yeah," he says while coming closer with a malicious grin. "I've seen the way you look at her. Pulling her off other cases so she can be with you all day. You just couldn't wait to get me out of the way, could you?"
Keeping one arm behind himself and around your waist, you press yourself against Robby's back in fright.
"If I wanted you gone, Frank, I would've gone to the medical board. But I didn't, did I? Instead, I gave you a second chance. Seeing how that's going, maybe I made a mistake."
He leans in toward him. "You need to think about what means more to you: your family, job, and right to practice medicine, or her. Because you only get to choose one."
Frank's eyes flit to his. "Because if somebody posed the same choice to you, you'd have such an easy time picking. Then again, I guess you don't have to worry about the family part, given that you don't have any to lose." He sneers. "You can't keep me away from her."
"Watch me," Robby spits. "You ever come near her again—you ever put your fucking hands on her again—and I'll destroy what's left of your pathetic life. I'll go to the Medical Board, help her file a protective order, and testify in court on her behalf of how you've given her cause to fear for her safety. That'll put one hell of a wrench in staving off losing custody of your kids, won't it?"
You peek from around him while clutching at his hoody.
Frank tries to reach out to you, but Robby bats his hand away. "Go home, Frank. Get the hell out of here before I call security to have you arrested. Now!"
He takes a small step back, knowing that he's on the losing side. "I'm not giving up on us, baby. I know what I want."
Frank makes a reluctant turn and stumbles his way back to the parking lot.
Once he's out of sight, you collapse in Robby's arms in a heap of regretful sobs, feeling like this is your fault.
After the day of the confrontation, you were forced to change your number because Frank's constant contact became so excessive. He never showed up outside of your house again, at least, nor did he appear at work, much to your relief. So, for awhile you were left in the dark as to what was occurring in his life you'd once been so enmeshed in.
Things become easier before long without the stresses of his sobriety resting upon your shoulders.
With your mind back to focusing strictly on work, the only difficult part of your days becomes unruly patients, and your evenings center wholly around Robby—the center of your world.
You begin spending most nights at his place, until he finally poses the offer you had thought too good for you to ever hear: he wanted you to share his home; his bed; his life.
And you continue lovemaking without the hindrance of prophylactics. You never have a discussion about it, as it's just an unspoken agreement between you.
You're both teased about your longing looks, and lingering touches—by Jack most of all—but...you're both so very happy, so you're willing to take it in stride.
And then there's the inevitable: talk of Langdon returning so many months later.
Robby makes clear to you that he wants to you maintain a healthy distance from him, at least initially until he proves himself worth trusting again, and that if he ever touches you or makes unwanted advances again, you are to report straight to him and he'll take every step necessary to make it stop.
But to Langdon's credit, his return is rather unremarkable. There's awkwardly exchanged glances, but he doesn't trail after you or corner you by the lockers or in the restroom like you worried about the first few days.
The first time he speaks to you is almost two weeks later, in the employee lounge.
"Hey," he says weakly from the table shoved against the left wall.
With a protein shake now in-hand, you turn back to him while nervously eyeing the door. "Hey..."
Flashing his palms, he gestures that he means you no harm. "I wanted to apologize. I mean, I wanted to the first day I got back, but thought maybe I should give it a little while. Let you have your space."
You finger the plastic wrap around the bottle you hold.
"I wasn't myself. Yes, I knew what I was doing, and I knew that it was wrong, but the benzos..." he sighs and shakes his head. "I've been clean for awhile now. Every day is an uphill battle, but that day out in the ambulance bay... It was a wake-up call. I hope you know that it wasn't entirely about you. It was about me being selfish."
You toy with the twist-off cap on the bottle.
"I'm so sorry that I ever scared you. I hate myself for it. For that, for the way I hurt my wife, disrespected my family and myself..."
He glances up to you after studying his hands for a moment. "I don't expect you to forgive me. I don't know that I'm even asking for it. I just wanted to apologize. Try and make amends if I even can at this point. You were there for me at my lowest point and instead of being grateful, I took advantage. I'm so sorry that I did."
You take a small step forward. "Maybe I will in time." You twist the cap all the way off, then tighten it again. "Did you tell Abby?"
He nods. "Everything. I came so close to losing her because of it. But if I'm going to hold myself accountable, then no more lies. Y'know?"
You nod. "I'm glad that it seems like things are on the mend for you."
He nods toward the doorway, where the ED lies. "You, too. I mean about you and Robby." He hangs his head. "I drove you right into his arms, didn't I?"
You chew your lip. "Sorta. It might've happened anyway. At least something good came out of it," you say with a light chuckle.
He lifts his head again and forces a smile. "The two of you seem happy."
"We are," you confirm. "We... We live together now. And we're trying."
His brows furrow. "Trying for..." he nods. "Ah. That."
You turn toward the doorway. "Well, I should probably..."
Just as you're about to step over the threshold, he rises. "Just so you know—"
You turn around.
"It wasn't... The way I felt wasn't entirely due to the drugs."
You frown slightly. "Have you told that to—"
He runs a hand through his black tresses. "She wasn't happy to hear it, I can tell you that much."
You waver on your feet, unsure of how to craft a response.
"I don't know if that makes things better or worse, but it was something I felt like I should let you know."
You force a smile. "Thank you for being honest."
He sits again. "I'll let you get back to it, then."
"See you around," you say with an awkward wave before finally turning to leave.
synopsis Jack was just looking for an easy night, a quiet drink, but what he finds is so much better. You, sat in a seat that's his, fresh, new and young to the area, starting a new job with your dad. Jack just didn't think to ask the right questions... (5.2k words)
warning Smut MDNI! younger reader, older jack! Robby's daughter reader! oral (f receiving!) making out, language, protected p in v, dirty talk, praise king, reader is described to have longish hair, reader calls jack solider, peep the quin audio hints
authornotei locked tf in with this if i do say so myself. had this idea sitting in my drafts had to write it, if you like i would love to do a part two, the idea of dads best friend has me with a chokehold. i made up a small, tiny backstory for jack as we know so little. the beautiful jack gif credits go to @lovebugism (her fics are so good !!!!!)
pitt masterlist! another Jack fic!
Jack didn't have a specific place at the bar, but everyone knew where he sat. He got half way across the bar, dragging himself across the sticky floor before he realised there was someone else sitting in his seat. He could tell it was his stool from the slight wobble it gave side to side, and he could tell it was a young woman sitting in his seat from the sound of her laugh.
Terry, his favourite bar tender who'd seen him at his worst and best, caught a look at him and grinned.
“Hey! Just the guy I was talking about!”
Jack didn't know he was territorial about his bar. But he found himself sliding into another bar stool with a sulk. “Usual please, Terry,” he said, letting his backpack drop with a heavy thud.
“You got it, boss!”
A whiskey would soon be slid over the counter, chased by another and maybe another till a small fuzz clouded the edges of his mind and he could sleep easier. He forgot just how gruelling days could be.
But then he spotted you.
You were still smiling with the remnants of a laugh. One finger on your right hand was chasing the condensation down your emptying glass. He did a double take at you, looking past the hair falling to the smooth skin, doted with a mole or two.
You were young. The sort of young you didn't find in a bar- at least not alone. But this bar also wasn't the busiest, exactly why he liked it.
You didn't look like you belonged there. At the same time, you looked like there was nowhere else you wanted to be. Your chin rested in your other hand, your jacket was slung over the back of the stool and you weren't shying away from anything around you.
Jack's whiskey was dropped off in front of him and finally Jack got a look at you. Beautiful. There was no other way around it. He wasn't going to judge a book from its cover but he had a feeling your beauty wasn't the last thing to surprise him.
“Can I get you another drink?” he asked you once he held your attention for more than a second.
Your eyes widened, as if you hadn't expected him to talk to you. “Oh no, thanks, I shouldn't drink too much tonight.”
“What?” said Terry, pretending to wipe over a 'dirty' spot on the counter. “I thought you were celebrating, huh?”
Jack's brows rose. “A celebration?”
“She just moved to the city,” said Terry.
You smiled, bashfully. “I got a new job.”
“Congratulations,” said Jack. “And welcome, this is Pittsburgh's finest.”
“Thanks,” you said.
There was a moment passed in silence where the both of you seemed to understand the two ways the night could go. If you mutually decided to keep it there, a polite congratulations and a kind offer of a drink maybe you'd just remember him as the kind, older stranger.
You turned to him. “If the offer of that drink still stands I think I'd like to take it.”
Jack moved his body to face yours. He glanced at Terry, who waited happily. “Another one for-”
You told him your name and it chimed a bell in Jack's head, as if he'd been waiting his whole life to hear your name from your lips. He introduced himself and his fate was sealed.
“So, are you a native to Pittsburgh?” you asked, twirling a bit of hair between your fingers.
Jack lifted his shoulders. “Came her to settle down after some things.” He didn't want to get into the whole collage and tours and losing his leg and moving here after losing his wife. He didn't want to watch that pretty face of yours contort with worry or sympathy. “Are you new here, or?”
“Kinda. My dad's around her, parents divorced so I only see him sometimes,” you explained, flippantly.
“And now you got a job here?”
“Now I'm here.”
You told him where abouts you were living which had him worrying if he was any other random guy at a bar that you'd be telling him, putting yourself in (potential) danger. Or maybe Jack was special. It wasn't a very good area, the sort he never even looked at when he was moving, but he knew it was cheap.
“I passed this place driving in, looked good,” you said.
Jack chuckled and leaned in to avoid Terry's ears as he'd gone off to change the channels and some other guys requests. “Clearly your new around here. When I said it was Pittsburgh's finest.... it might have been an exaggeration.”
You laughed and Jack wondered what other stupid jokes he could make to have you laughing again. “Well, nobody's offered me the grand tour yet.” You took a swig of your beer.
There was an opening.
Jack didn't know why he was looking for one but it was out of his lips before he really understood what he was doing. “If you ever need a tour guide,” he said, gesturing to himself. Did he look dumb doing so?
You raised your brows. “You might regret that. I ask a lot of questions. I'm really into my history.”
“Good thing I know a lot about this place.” He did not, but he could read some stuff up.
“You know, you're quite the charmer, Jack,” you said, seizing him up.
He nodded his head side to side. “You've caught me on a good day. Any other day I'm an asshole,” he said, regretting the words as soon as they left his mouth. What was he doing? “I- that was a bad joke. I'm not an asshole. At least I don't think so.”
“I don't think so,” you said. “After all you're keeping a lonely girl like me company.”
“You moved alone?”
You smirked. “Are you asking me if I have a boyfriend?”
Jack usually came to this bar for a quiet one after work. At 6 am he'd nurse a whiskey, an un healthy habit he knew. Sometimes he was called in early and only had a couple hours to spare before his actual shift started he'd hang around, have a glass of water of a crappy cup of black coffee. He didn't come here to flirt with girls. Young girls who would probably attract some stares if he walked around with you on his arm.
Yet the idea of doing just that thrilled him.
“I guess so, yeah.”
A small dusting or blush rose to your cheeks. “Well, I'm alone. There was this guy back where I used to live but.... meh, he was stupid.”
Jack nodded, listening as if you were one of his patients. “He dump you?”
“He cheated on me.”
“Then he's the stupidest guy around.”
You smiled, laughing off your blush. “You know, you don't know me yet. I could be a massive asshole.”
“Well that's up for me to decide,” he said, as if he hadn't decided you were anything but.
It didn't take long for the place to fill up after that, people finishing work or deciding to end their nights of drinking there. It wasn't usual for Jack to be around at that sort of time, so the in flood of people surprised him, crowding the two of you at the bar.
That's how he ended up in a booth with you, an arm slung over the back of the cushioned seat as you sat in the ghost of his touch. You were almost leaning into him but keeping a conscious decision not to fall into his arm. The both of you were still nursing the same drink an hour later, sharing stories from each others lives.
Jack didn't ask about your new job and you didn't tell him.
“How long's your dad been out here?” Jack asked.
“Practically all his life,” you said. “But he moved when he met my mom, they separated when I was like five? He came back here so usually I'm just visiting.”
Jack nodded, briefly eyeing how close his hand was to touching you. So far he'd kept it polite. A hand helping you off from the bar stool (you did not need his help), a gentle hand on the small of your back as he led you to the booth, a finger brushing away lint that wasn't on your shoulder. He just wanted to touch you again.
“You close with him?”
You smiled, un-easy. “Well I'm about to be. I'm working with him.”
Jack made a wince and an O face.
Soon enough you were shuffling out of the booth, saying you needed to use the restroom. Jack knew stories about girls who went to the bathroom and didn't come back out, climbing through the window and leaving the guy to wonder what he'd done wrong.
He tried not to let his mind wonder. He checked himself, kept an eye on any guy wondering closely and tugged your drink closer to him, though the bottle was practically empty as well as his glass. He chucked a mint from his pocket into his mouth and chewed it down quickly.
He checked his phone once and then sat and waited.
When you got back to the table, you weren't alone.
Jack frowned as he saw the guy at your side, big enough to swallow you up and shirt so tight on him Jack had a suspicion he brought a size too small on purpose. He straightened at the pinch in your brows and purse of your lips.
The guy at your side was equally studying Jack.
The both of you stopped in front of him and you gestured down to Jack.
“Told you,” you said in answer to a conversation he wasn't apart of.
Jack didn't know what was going on and he wasn't picking up on any social cues. He lifted up a hand, grey hairs rising along his arms in a shiver. “Hi.”
“Oh,” said the guy. “That's cool, I guess. Maybe I'll see you around.”
You shrugged and took your seat next to Jack, this time tight into his side. He let his arm drape around your shoulder.
The guy took his cue and dismissed himself, wandering back to his buddies at the bar, looking back to you once.
“What was that about?” Jack asked, checking the guy one more time.
You didn't move from his side, only turned into him and he didn't move his arm. “Sorry, the guy was waiting for me to come out the bathroom. I told him I was here with... my dad.”
Jack had expected a lie you'd told the guy. Maybe you said you were already here with someone, a boyfriend maybe? “Your dad?” he chocked on his breath. Was he old enough to be your dad? Probably.
“I'm sorry, I panicked!” you said with a laugh.
It was infectious. Jack couldn't help but chuckle to, rubbing away at a wrinkle in his forehead. “I couldn't have been your partner? Or something.”
“C'mon, you think me saying I have a boyfriend will change him hitting one me?” you asked. “A guy like that?”
“You weren't interested in him?” Jack asked, looking over your shoulder to pass a small glare over to the guys. “Buff. Blonde. Young.”
You shook your head, pushing yourself further into his arm. “Nah. I like mine with meat on their bones. Darker... maybe greyer hair,” your eyes looked all over him, lingering at the lower part of his face. “Older.”
You were a treat dangling in front of him and Jack was starved.
He licked at his lips. “Well, I don't think dads do this-”
Before you could question him, Jack took a risk and kissed you.
You welcomed him warmly, your lips soft and eager against his. Where he tried to take it slow, you let him. His hand spread across your back, drawing you in as his head tilted, nudging you to be closer, closer, closer. His tongue traced the bottom of your lip and you opened obedient, tongue hot as you fought his, gasping into his mouth.
He felt the twitch of himself in his trousers, the tightening around his crotch.
Your mouth was warm, tinged with the bitter beer you'd sipped and something sweet on your lip-gloss.
He dragged himself away to catch a breath that his whole body burned for. Your lips chased his, body leaning into his.
Your lip-gloss was smeared down your chin and Jack was all too happy to swipe his thumb and wipe it off, savouring the sticky-ness of it and slight shine on his thumb.
Jack dared take a look at the bar where the guy and his pals stood. His mouth was slightly agape at witnessing the kiss and Jack was all to keen to keep his eyes on him as he kissed you again.
Jack couldn't tell which one of you was more ravenous. If his hands were fumbling with your jean buttons with more need than your own was trailing under his shirt and tugging it over his head.
He thinks it might be him but if you wanted the title he'd give it to you gladly, eager to please.
He had you leant back on the sofa left only in your pretty pink bra, your legs thighs thrown over his shoulders as he feasted upon you, boxes you hadn't un-packed building your own kingdom around you. He was a devout solider upon his queen, if anything.
Your chest heaved in a breath you just couldn't catch, gasping in the pleassure he was drawing out. “J-Jack-”
If he thought your lip-gloss smeared down your chin was a sight your arousal slowly making a mess of his face as he licked into you was a new delight entirety.
He wanted your slick mess to slide down his chin, down the greying hairs of his chest and all the way down to where his cock stood at attention under his trousers.
Jack's hips were bucking, chasing any small friction in his denim. “You like that?” he asked, flicking the tip of his tongue into you.
“Yes, yes, I do.”
He puckers his lips and slurps up your arousal, fingers digging into your thighs and keeping them open, supporting you as your hips bucked up helplessly.
He looks up, the bliss on your face a small indicator of your end coming soon. Jack lets you come, coaxes it out of you with avid sucks and licks.
You came on his tongue on gasps of his name. He'd heard his name yelled before, heard it whispered in dying urgency. Heard it snapped in anger but nothing was better than the sweet call of his name from your lips, drunk on your first orgasm.
He crawled back up you once your body had started to calm. Jack pressed his mouth into your own, sharing the taste of yourself as his hands were skilful in sneaking around your back and un-clasping your bra.
You sighed into him at the freeing feeling and his hands cupped you at once, messaging your breasts.
Jack kissed at you, moaning at the softness he felt in the palm of his hands. “You're so-mmph- so fucking beautiful.”
You toss your hair over your shoulder and look down to him, bringing him back up with your hands on his cheeks, his stubble rubbing into the palm of your hands.
He licked into you, groaning at the taste of your mouth. At every taste of you it was new, like he'd forgotten what you tasted like before and it was the first time.
“Wanna-” he said, breathless pulling away. “Wanna kiss you all the time from now on.”
“Is that a promise?” you said, grinning and pecking his lips.
Jack smiled too, your teeth clashing as he nodded.
He let himself be led like a dog to your room. There was a mattress on the floor, a suitcase or two pressed up against the wall and a box left open. Jack wanted to peak inside, wanted to see what else was about you. He wanted to know everything.
Your lips promised more, more, more.
Jack's hands fell useless at his sides as he felt the brush of your knuckles go to his belt. He closed his eyes, letting you work. He heard the clatter of the belt whipped off and thrown aside carelessly. He bit down on his lip with a smile.
He only opened his eyes as he felt you tug off his jeans, the fabric catching at his prophetic.
You looked at it for a second before looking up at him.
He hadn't felt insecure about his leg in years. It knocked on his consciousness then, keen to enter. He couldn't think of what to say. “Urm- yeah-”
He was calmed when you slowly sank to your knees and kissed over the lingering scars there, your nails scraping down his thighs. His cock twitched happily in his boxers and you could see the excitement leaking from him early.
“Come here,” he said with a rumble of his voice.
You were up on your feet and he was kissing you again, holding your mouth open to just taste you. He pulled off his boxers, kicking them away before his hands traced up the sides of you.
“I have- I have condoms,” you said, hands pushing him away lightly. “Make yourself comfortable, soldier.”
Jack was glad you'd turned your back to fetch condoms you'd packed luckily in the easy and already open box in the corner of your room. It gave him time to ease himself down on the mattress and watch as you bent over to find the condoms.
He was shocked he wasn't tasting blood as he bit hard down on his lip. If he wasn't so desperate to feel your warmth around him he'd have given himself a little tug, but he was too scared he'd come too soon.
Settling comfortable on your mattress on the floor, Jack tugged on the condom and sat himself up to brush your hair back.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
You nodded and leant into kiss him.
Jack wrapped a light hand around you neck and urged you back, looking in your eyes. You knew what he wanted.
“Yes, Jack. I'm very, very sure.”
He smiled and was ready to move when you stopped him with hands on his thighs.
“Can I... I want to be on top.”
Was Jack supposed to say no to you? You may as well have asked him to build your mattress, un-back all your boxes, re-paint your walls. If you'd asked, he would have done anything for you at that moment.
When you gripped the base of his cock he held his breath. When his tip was pushed into you he exhaled with a loud groan.
“Ssh,” you laughed. “I don't want to get noise complaints from the neighbours already.”
Jack held onto your hips, supporting you. “Fuck your neighbours.”
He focused on the feel of you as you lowered yourself all the way, his cock stretching you open.
“Oh shhiiiit... god,” Jack gasped, seeing where you sat flush on his lap, the head of his cock twitching inside of you.
Your head was leant back, eyes screwed shut in pleasure.
“No- look at me, look at me,” he said, lifting his hand to pinch your chin and drag your gaze back down. You opened your eyes that had turned dark with desire. “Yeah, just like that. Keep your eyes on me.”
And you did as you leant back onto your hands, slowly dragging yourself from him and then back down, setting a pace you were comfortable with.
Jack let you take the lead, lying there and taking it with mutters of encouragement and groans of disbelief. He laid his hand upon the bottom of your stomach, almost being able to feel him inside you. That- or you were driving him crazy.
When the sound of skin on skin sounds you switch your tactic, leaning over him and grinding down.
Your eyes were fluttering in pleasure, your mouth left open. You were still trying so hard to keep your eyes on him just as he'd told you to. “Oh fuck, Jack, it's-it's too much.”
“No it's not, honey,” he coaxed, brushing back your hair and holding your cheek in hand. “You're being so good for me. Just a- just a little longer.”
You whined, walls fluttering around him and sucking him in.
Jack didn't know where he was finding the restraint not to come from. It had been a while for him, since he'd talked to someone as pretty as you, since he'd been in a bed that wasn't his. Since he'd had something other than his own hand to come onto.
Your grinding became un-stable, your thighs squeezing around him. “Jack, I think- I'm gonna come.”
He wrapped an arm around you and drew you in till you were held against his chest. The sweat against your bodies rubbed and mixed with the saliva shared between your mouths in kisses where you both fought for dominance.
At the angle of you pushed down on top of him his cock was deeper. He was so close to you, so close in more ways than one.
Jack groaned out your name, his cock twitching inside of you, begging to be released. “Come for me, honey... come for me-”
With a loud moan into his neck you let go around him, walls clamping down on him.
Jack let go of his restraint, planting his good foot on the mattress and thrusting up into you at an odd but delicious angle, once- twice! Before he came, slumping down on the mattress.
The both of you laid there, his hands brushing down your back and bringing out shivers.
“I have never come like that in my life,” he panted, catch his breath.
You looked at him. “What? On your back, on a mattress on the floor with boxes piled up. Or was I just that good?”
He hummed and pretended to think about it. “How about all the above?”
The both of you laughed.
Once you'd both used the bathroom and had returned to your room Jack was still naked while you'd thrown on his shirt, drowning in the smell and feel of him. He'd never wished he was younger and could get it up quicker than in that moment.
You fell back down on your mattress, nodding and inviting Jack to lie down next to you. To stay the night. So, it wasn't that kind of one night stand. Good. He wanted it to be an every night stand.
Jack got down on your mattress but resigned himself to the bottom, slowly pulling apart your legs, taking his time like he hadn't been able to bring himself to do out in your living room.
You propped yourself up on your elbows, looking down at him. “Jack, what are you doing?”
“Ssh,” he said, finding himself between your legs again. “We don't want noise complaints from the neighbours, already.”
Jack woke with his body like soup. His body was drifting in bliss, the sort one got after swimming all day, leaving limbs sleepy with exhaustion and the activities still sat in your bones.
His body ached with you. With the feel of your hands tugging at his hair as he had you coming on his tongue a second time, your hands on his chest as you moved on top of him.
He reached for you, finding an emptiness with nothing but the smell of you left on your pillows.
Jack inhaled sharply before he heard the shower turn off and door thrown open. A cloud of hot condensation and the scent of your shampoo hit him as you stepped out, wrapped in a towel.
Jack rolled over, peering at you through sleep. “Morning.”
“Hey. Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you, I was hoping to let you sleep in for... like, ten minutes,” you said.
“Don't worry about it. I'm an early riser,” he said, checking his phone for the time. Half six in the morning. It wasn't technically a lie. He was up at this hour, finishing his shift. “First day at the job today?”
“Yes, and I'm working with my dad so I cannot be late.”
Jack pushed himself up, finding his boxers. “You get ready. You want me to make some coffee? Providing you've un-packed it.”
You rose a brow, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “You trying to make a wife out of me, Jack?” you teased.
He smiled down at you when he stood, almost challenging.
“Coffee pots on the side, it was one of the first things I un-packed.”
Jack kissed your cheek before sleepily making his way through your place, manoeuvring with far less grace than lust had him moving the night before. He flicked on lights, started the coffee and took the extra couple minutes to peer into boxes that had been ripped open. There wasn't much, clothes, a couple trinkets and such. Text books that were so large and piled up he couldn't make one from the other.
He'd just caught a glimpse of you as a kid, hands in between two other people. One, a woman he assumed was your mother and the other he didn't get to see before he heard your trainers squeak on the floor and was backing up from the boxes.
He poured you a coffee and handed it to you, watching you take large gulps.
“Thanks. I'm sorry, I wouldn't usually do this but I really got to run,” you apologised.
“That's fine, I'll dress and I could give you a lift in?” he offered. “I'd really like to see you again.”
You smiled, cheeks popping. “Well, I'd really like that too. But you don't have to give me a lift in, I'll drive myself, otherwise I'd have no way of getting back.”
Jack was seconds away from offering to pick you up too. Any excuse to see you before he realised he was back on nights tonight. Would it even be plausible? To be able to spend more time with you?
He'd move heaven and earth to make it possible. He'd got his first sip of you and was addicted.
“Take your time,” you added. “Shower. Eat left over takeaway in my fridge. You can steal from me if you want but I warn you I have very little worth taking.”
Jack sighed playfully. “I'm sure I can think of something you'll miss. You have your phone?” he asked, holding out his hand.
You handed it to him, un-locking it first.
Jack typed in his number, adding his name as a contact and in brackets added- guy from bar/a good lay. Just in case you forgot. “You can call me when you want that tour of the place,” he said, as nonchalant as possible, wishing at once he'd slid his jeans on just to be able to slide his hands in the pockets.
You read what he saved himself as and laughed. “A good lay, you were a bit more than that, solider.” You slid your phone into your jacket pocket, hiding your inform or something underneath.
Jack smirked, leaning in. “Really?”
“Really.”
He leant in and kissed you. He wasn't forcing your mouth open, he wasn't grabbing at you although he wanted to do both. He knew, maybe more than most, the importance of getting to work on time. But he could almost imagine this was his life. Waking early to make you coffee and food, kissing you and sending you on the way to work. Coming home to find you waiting for him, his name laced on your lips.
“I really have to go,” you mumbled against his lips.
“Then go,” he said, kissing you again.
He walked you to the doors, quick kisses being shared, small touches he dared tempt himself with before you were fleeing, practically running away to not regret leaving.
Jack did take you up on your offer and had a very cold shower.
The rest of the day Jack thought about you, teased himself with you. He'd never felt so infatuated before. He returned to his place in the late afternoon after spending time just breathing your things in. His apartment felt shockingly empty, too neat even though Jack hadn't cleaned in a while. It didn't feel lived in, loved in. It was probably painfully obvious it was a bachelor pad.
However he didn't have to linger long. He showered again and dressed in scrubs, checking his phone once and finding a text from you.
I've been thinking, a good lay really doesn't cover it, a solid nine out of ten.
He smirked down at his phone, tutting.
Only a nine?
Your reply came almost instantly.
Well, there's always room for improvement.
I'll show you improvement. Maybe a nice dinner would get me to an 11/10?
Already got yourself a 9.5 solider :)
The smile that wasn't an emoji tugged at his heart strings.
Jack didn't know how he was supposed to take you to a dinner when he worked nights and your job was a day thing apparently but he'd work it out. You wouldn't have to worry a thing.
By the time he was clocking into work that evening he was so distracted in checking the best restaurants around (what had the best food, or the best views, which played nice music, which were expensive...) he was so distracted he didn't even notice he was in early.
“Brother!” Robby called, greeting him with a wide grin and hug.
Jack was slow in hugging him back. Hiding his phone in his back pocket from your texts before hugging him back, worry pulsing in his veins. A happy Robby always worried him. “Hey, you're cheerful.”
Robby pulled away, shrugging. “Yeah, I guess I am.”
“Nobody die today?”
“No, two people dead.”
Jack frowned. “And we're happy about that?”
Dana called his name from the nurses station, urging him over.
Robby's hand was steady with a firm grip as he led Jack over. “Glad you could make it in early, there's actually someone I want you to meet.”
“Someone, huh?” Jack wondered if Robby had finally decided to ditch his seven week itch thing and maybe try seven months, maybe even get to a famous seven years. Had he been waiting till it was serious to introduce him to the special woman?
“Picked them up from the airport yesterday while you covered my day, thank you.”
Jack had only just dropped his back at the counter when your name was called.
And suddenly there you were- glancing up at Robby in a way that gave no shock to hear him call you.
You looked at Robby then found Jack.
Scrubs. You were in black scrubs just like him, a navy top underneath. Your hair was scraped back from this morning, showing the expanse of your neck that he remembered nipping and licking the night before. Your eyes were plain, expression dropped as you stared at him, feet carrying you over to Robby on autopilot.
Jack watched as Robby's hand laid on your shoulder like it was always meant to be there.
And I'm working with my dad so I cannot be late.
Oh, god no.
“Jack, this is my daughter,” said Robby, saying your name with practised ease and a proud grin. “This is Jack Abbot, night attending. My best friend.”
guys thank you all so much for the incredibly sweet comments on the previous parts of this and on everything always!! I'm seriously in shock every time that people like to read what i'm posting it makes my heart explode :')))
summary: when jack abbot runs into you at a bar after your shift on the fourth of july, he teaches you what it means to unwind and you teach him what it means to feel loved again. (6k)
characters: jack abbot / fem!loser!reader, trinity and mel at karaoke, baran al-hashimi
contents: friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, jealousy, age difference, power imbalance, so much yearning, jack abbot hasn't had sex in eight years confirmed cw for mentions of trauma and grief, and smut 18+ (MDNI)
( NAVIGATION ) | ( MASTERLIST ) | ( AO3 )
The bar pulses like a living thing with a heartbeat. The buzzing of a hundred different conversations and the wailing of a distant guitar sting overhead presses hard on either side of you. If you concentrate real hard, you think you can still hear Mel and Trinity butchering another Alanis Morissette song back in the private karaoke room — which isn’t nearly private enough, considering the way their drunken devotion bleeds out into the main hall.
You left them a while ago to order a drink, which melts slowly in the sweaty glass between your fingertips now. You bring it to your lips and try to take a sip, but something in your throat refuses. The taste feels wrong; the burn feels wrong. Actually, the more you think about it, everything feels wrong — like your body is still calibrated to the relentless rhythm of the ER, to the work you can never quite seem to leave behind.
Even now, as your eyes meet your reflection in the mirror behind the liquor bottles, you look like something you don’t quite recognize — dressed in a velvet red number pulled from Trinity Santos’ closet instead of your usual scrubs; with your hair done instead of carelessly shoved back. It’s like looking at a stranger wearing your own face.
“Long time, no see, Doc—” A masculine voice cuts in, so familiar that you wonder if you’ve been thinking about the PTMC so long that you’ve begun to hallucinate your coworkers.
Your head snaps over your shoulder. Your tired eyes widen at the sight of your attending sliding in beside you. Jack Abbot is still donned in his scrubs, you find, as he leans against the bar — black uniform, brown undershirt, and navy pants — like he dressed himself in the dark before he came into work. His freckled biceps strain against the short sleeves as he folds them across the polished wood.
There are two glasses half-full of amber liquid before him. He lifts one in his right hand and eyes you over the top of it. “How long has it been?” he quips with narrowed eyes before taking a quick sip.
You blink away the shock of seeing him here, all casual, like he wasn’t just elbows deep in a trauma with you.
“About…” You lilt and glance at the clock behind the bar. “Half an hour ago, I think?”
His mouth curves with a slow, suspicious smile as his steady gaze refuses to waver. “What are you doing here all by yourself, huh? Gotta hot date I don’t know about?”
You scoff a quiet laugh and turn away, looking down at your untouched glass as you spin it in an anxious hand. “Yeah— If that’s what you wanna call watching Trinity and Mel butcher Alanis Morisette’s entire catalog…”
Your head tilts to your shoulder to flash him a lazy grin, which falters at the edge when you catch his unflinching stare. You clear your throat, remember that you’re talking to an attending, and stammer out, “Uh, what— What about you?”
Jack bounces a lazy shoulder and lifts the glass in his right hand. “This was the nearest place to get a good whiskey, so…” he trails off before taking another sip.
His eyes never leave yours as he peers at you from over the rim of the glass, studying you almost, analyzing you in a way that makes your skin feel too tight.
Your nose scrunches in protest of his staring. “Why are you looking at me like that?” you wonder through a breathless chuckle.
“I don’t know…” he admits, quieter now. “It’s just the first time I’ve seen you out of your scrubs…”
His light eyes flicker over your form again — from your bare shoulders and exposed chest, to where your dress clings to your ass and stomach.
“It’s different…” he hums. “A good different…”
Heat crawls up your neck. You turn away on instinct, finding it very suddenly difficult to meet his stare, as a disbelieving laugh slips from your mouth.
“What are you laughing at?” Jack presses with a chuckle of his own.
“Nothing,” you dismiss with a shake of your head. “I just… I think you might be a little tipsy there, Dr. Abbot…”
“This is only my second glass, I’ll have you know,” he argues, playfully offended. “What? You think I can’t handle my alcohol.”
He straightens slightly and takes a step closer. Still leaving several inches of space between you, though it takes a lot of strength from you not to slide off your bar stool entirely.
“No! I just—” You stumble over yourself as the words tangle on your tongue. “I just feel like you probably wouldn’t be talking to me like this otherwise.”
“I talk to you every day,” he scoffs.
“Well, yeah, but you don’t flirt with me every day.”
His brows raise as something short of amusement flickers across his face. “Oh. So you think I’m flirting with you?”
An awkward silence drops like a leaden weight upon you, like an anvil in one of those ancient cartoons. It knocks the breath out of you accordingly.
“…No,” you answer after a few long moments. “Of course not.”
Your grip tightens on your drink as you turn away from him again. You hardly think twice before bringing it impulsively to your mouth, downing two long sips of the watered-down gin and tonic. Your face screws at the bitter taste and at the burning sensation on your tongue, which turns into a dull sparkle when it settles in the pit of your stomach.
“Well, I was, so…” Jack quips, too casual for his own good. “I guess I’m gonna have to try a little harder now, aren’t I?”
His eyes cut to you, expecting you to laugh at him, or to stammer out another one of your painfully shy replies. You forget to respond entirely, though, too focused on the way the alcohol singes your tongue. (You spend a long moment debating whether or not it’s numb or swelling in your throat with a thousand-yard stare.)
Your silence is not reassuring.
“Unless—” Jack’s voice tightens slightly as he clears his throat. His charming resolve slips as he stammers, “Unless you don’t want me to. Obviously. Then I can just, you know, fuck off—”
“No, it’s not that!” you blurt. “It’s just…”
He leans in, just slightly. “Just what?”
You hesitate for a moment, calculating the words, though they seem to slip off your tingling tongue before you can stop them.
“I feel like I haven’t… learned how to be a real person yet, you know?” you confess with a sheepish, lopsided grin. “Like… People my age are supposed to go out for drinks, and sing karaoke with their friends, and flirt with cute guys—”
You don’t notice your slip-up, but Jack does, and he hides his smile behind his glass.
“But I think I’ve just been working so much that… That I don’t know how to do anything but work, you know?”
“Yeah…” he hums softly. “Trust me. I know the feeling—”
There’s a distant call of his name. A faint “Abbot,” half-swallowed by the thrumming music and surrounding conversation. Your head turns in the direction of the sound to find Dr. Al-Hashimi appearing from the crowd. Her fluffy brown curls are out of their usual clip, languishing now at her shoulders. Her lavender jacket is gone, too, to reveal her lean body beneath her slim scrub top.
You blink owlishly at her for a few moments, unused to the sight of her outside the white walls of the E.D.
“You were supposed to be bringing me a drink,” the woman quips drily, smiling as she reaches for the touched whiskey next to Abbot. “Not holding it hostage.”
“Shit…” Jack exhales. “I’m sorry. I-I got distracted…”
“Dr. Al,” you greet with a waver in your voice. “I… I didn’t know you were here.”
“Yeah, well…” she shrugs. “I heard this was the best place to get a glass of whiskey, so…”
You nod slowly, suddenly unsure of yourself — of what to do with your hands, your voice, with Jack. You swallow hard as your eyes flit wildly between the two attendings standing before you. You struggle to shake the feeling that you’ve interrupted something.
“I’ll, uh— I guess I’ll get out of your hair then…”
You muster an artificial smile and abandon your gin and tonic as you slide off the bar stool.
Jack calls your name, but it gets lost in the crowd that swallows you whole as you disappear out of sight.
You stomach through one and a half more songs that Mel and Trinity shout into the void of the private karaoke room. They take a quick break from “You Oughta Know” to sing a strikingly heartfelt rendition of “Head Over Feet” that very nearly brings a tear to your eye.
It’s not their sloppy singing, exactly, but rather the reminder of how alone you feel just now — the only audience member on the pleather sofa, bathed in the strobing neon glow from the overhead lights, watching the fun from afar while your friends forge an unlikely bond.
While Jack and Dr. Al laugh over drinks together—
You rise abruptly and catch them between verses to tell them you’re heading out for the night. Their protests come wrapped in song.
“But we’re having so much fun!” Trinity whines in drunken slurs, then locks in when the chorus hits. “You’ve already won me over, in spite of me! So don’t be alarmed if I fall, head over feet—!”
The song follows you the entire way out of the bar, where the night air outside washes over you like fine silk. You catch yourself humming the tune as you shrug on the brown bomber jacket you borrowed from Trinity’s closet — just in case you felt the need to hide. You falter when your fingers brush something in the front pocket.
You reach in with a pensive twist to your features, surprised to find a crumpled pack of cigarettes and a silver lighter shoved inside. You stare at it for several long moments and wonder briefly what it would feel like to smoke one. (You’re unable to shake the impulsive thought from your brain until you’ve done it.)
You pull one cig free and stick the orange filter between your lips. You flick the lighter three times before it finally strikes. You hold your free hand over the flame like they do in the movies and inhale when it finally lights.
You regret it instantly.
Grey smoke billows from your mouth as you cough. You double over on the worn sidewalk like a total loser, eyes watering and chest burning as your lungs rebel against your very poor life choices.
“Those things kill, you know—?” Jack’s voice cuts in again.
(He has a way of finding you in the most embarrassing situations, it seems.)
You blink away the tears in your eyes and turn to find the older man standing just a few feet away with his hands in his pockets. He watches you attentively, with something close to amusement twisting his scruffy face.
“I can tell—” you rasp as your coughing fit ebbs. “There’s no way this is enjoyable for people.”
“Eh,” he shrugs. “It’s not so bad when you get used to it.”
His sneakers scuff the cracked pavement as he saunters over to you, holding his hand out with a glittering look in his eye. “Can I?”
You don’t think twice before passing him the lit cigarette.
“By all means...”
Jack pinches the stick between his thumb and forefinger. He places his mouth around the filter, inhales once, holds the breath, and exhales through his nose a second or more later.
You can’t seem to stop staring at the silver hair on his tilted chin; or the tendons in his corded neck; or the singular vein in his freckled forearm when he snuffs the cigarette out on the brick wall. He drops it into the receptacle there when he’s done.
“So…” He exhales the remaining smoke from his mouth, which leaves in grey wisps that hang in the air between you for a few lingering moments. “I guess you’re headed out now?”
“Yeah…” you sigh. “Guess so…”
He observes the empty sidewalk for a moment before wondering casually, “Want me to walk you home?”
“No, it’s okay,” you shrug. “You’re busy, and I… I only live, like, a block down the road, so—”
“So, then, it’ll be quick?” Jack presses with raised brows.
Your eyes narrow. “…You’re not gonna take no for an answer here, are you?”
Jack shakes his head, lips smoothing into a knowing grin. “Not this time, kid. No.”
The walk back to your place feels borderline suffocating, though you can’t exactly place why. The air is made of thick satin as the heat of the day washes away, leaving something silken and breathable in its wake, as the wind ripples in your dress. Everything smells very distinctly of summer — of dewy grass, and gunpowder from distant fireworks, and the faint sweetness of something that’s just been barbecued.
You can hear the fireworks crackling somewhere in the distance, though you struggle to see them from the buildings overhead. You can feel each thundered boom in your chest, along with the heavy bass of a passing car playing music far too loud as it barrels by.
There’s something oddly peaceful about it. Intimate, even, as your shoulder brushes Jack’s broader one with each step. The silence is not particularly awkward, but you can’t shake the feeling that you should say something. You rack your brain for a conversation starter, and end up blurting out the one thing you didn’t want to say out loud—
“So…” you lilt, tripping over the conversation like a loose wire. “You and Dr. Al…?”
“…Are very good coworkers, yeah,” Jack nods, silver curls turning gold beneath the amber streetlights. He catches your uncertain gaze and shrugs. “She had a tough first day, you know? Figured I’d treat her to a few drinks.”
“That’s nice…” you murmur with an averted gaze.
“It was nothing,” Jack assures you.
Your apartment building comes into view around the corner, painted a garish canary yellow with vivid orange doors, aptly named Sunset Tower. It used to be a motel, you assume from the layout, probably before you were born; and was renovated into an apartment complex likely not too long after you were born.
You don’t think twice before starting up the rusty staircase to your third-floor apartment — not until you notice the slight hitch in Jack’s step as he follows behind you, favoring his prosthetic limb more than he realizes. It must be hurting him, you figure, after being on it for hours at the PTMC.
“Shit,” you huff. “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you.”
“Told me about what?” Jack scoffs despite his grimacing as he swings his leg another step. “I can handle a few stairs…”
“I can’t make it up on my own, if you—”
“Hey,” he snaps, a little harsher than he means to, as he glances in your direction. A far-off firework glimmers in your gaze, soft and sympathetic around the edges in a way that makes his chest ache. “I’m good. Don’t worry about me, alright?”
You continue the ascent despite your better judgment, despite the way Jack’s steps lose rhythm just beside you. You catch him stumbling in the corner of your eye when he steps up a beat too early. His prosthetic twists unnaturally, angering the already raging skin of his amputated knee.
You’re at his side without blinking. Your hands reach for his arm, steady him with your fingers cradling his wrist and elbow.
Jack nearly protests, but stops himself short.
You hold onto him the rest of the way up.
Your place is exactly how he imagined it would be — not that he’d been picturing what the inside of your apartment looked like, of course, because he’s not a total creep. He just finds a very apt representation of you wedged with the quaint walls of the old, old building. It’s cluttered but not messy; with numerous blankets and books and potted plants strewn about. There are half-used candles littered on just about every surface, filling the air with a sweet scent of musky-vanilla-raspberry.
The grass green couch pushed against the wall caves under his weight when you ease him down onto it. It smells like a mixture of your perfume and the side of the road you must’ve pulled it from when you moved in.
“Wow…” Jack hums, if only to conceal his wincing as he adjusts himself on the cushion. “Nice place…”
“No, it’s not,” you scoff an awkward laugh and stand to full height above him, adjusting the skirt of your dress from where it had ridden up. “Do you, uh— Need anything?”
“No. I’m good.”
“‘Cause I have some first aid supplies if your prosthetic is bothering you—”
“Really. I’m good,” he echoes. “You don’t mind if I take it off, though, do you?”
“Of course not!” you blurt. “I’ll, um… I’ll go get you some water.”
You scurry the short distance to the kitchen. The hissing faucet pervades the silence as you fill two glasses at the sink, along with the soft clanking of the heavy prosthetic as Jack unscrews it from the limb. You find him massaging the scar when you return.
“Do you— Do you need me to call you an Uber, or…?”
Jack tilts his chin to smile up at you. A playful laugh tumbles from his mouth. “Wow… Trying to get rid of me already, huh?”
Your face floods with horror. “No! O-Of course not! I just— With your leg, I— I don’t want you to walk all the way home, you know?”
“I think I can make it, sweetheart,” he tells you, and only vaguely notices his slip-up. “I just needed a second… Thank you—” He nods in appreciation when you set the water down on the coffee table in front of him.
You keep several inches between you on the sunken couches as you sit gingerly at his side — very palpably tense, like you’re a stranger in your own home. You wring your clammy hands together in your lap as a long silence stretches thin between you.
“And I wasn’t— I wasn’t trying to… kick you out. Or anything,” you add, softer now.
“I know, kid,” Jack assures.
“Good…” you breathe a sigh of relief. “‘Cause I— I don’t want you to leave… Wait, that sounded weird— I just meant that… I like your company. I’m not, like, trying to hold you hostage or whatever, I swear.”
Another awkward laugh spills from your mouth.
Jack’s lip quirks with a smile as he sits up straight again. “I wouldn’t mind it if you were, to be honest…” he hums, only halfway joking. “But unfortunately, I do have SWAT early in the morning, so… If you could free me around 6 a.m, that’d be great.”
“Oh, right,” you scoff and bring your water to your mouth. “The side hustle where you get shot at for fun?”
“It’s good to have a hobby,” Jack shrugs and leans back against the sofa, throwing a strong arm around the back of it, as he studies you with narrowed eyes. “What do you do for fun, hm? Outside of work, I mean.”
You think for a long moment, spinning the glass between your fingers. “…I once watched Love Island for thirty-one straight hours. That was pretty fun.”
Jack snorts. “So what I’m hearing is, you don’t have any hobbies?”
“Work is my hobby.”
“So what do you do to… unwind?”
“…Have panic attacks in the supply closet at work,” you confess. “What about you?”
“Get shot at,” Jack quips in the same gritty tone.
“Well, at least you get to do something outside of the E.D…” you monotone with a far-off stare. “This is the first time in months I’ve been somewhere other than here and the PTMC. I mean, I have my groceries delivered now— I’m too boring to even go shopping...”
“What do you mean?” he scoffs. “You’re young— You should be going out every weekend.”
“Well, I don’t…” you huff mournfully and slouch back against the sofa. The thin sleeve of your velvet dress slips off your shoulder, giving Jack a brief glance of the top of your breast before you adjust it back over your collarbone again.
“What about dates?” he presses with his chin to his shoulder. “You don’t go on any of the apps?”
“Well, first of all, no one calls it the apps. And second of all, god no,” you laugh drily, then flash him a sheepish look from the corner of your eye. “What about you?”
“Nah…” Jack shakes his head. “I haven’t been on a date in about… Eight years—”
“Eight years?!” you blurt before he can properly get the words out, leaning forward with wide eyes. “Jesus. How does a guy like you go around without getting hit on for eight whole years?”
(You’re starting to think those three sips of gin from before are getting to you now.)
“Well, it’s a lot easier than you think,” the older man deadpans. ‘Cause it’s not like he was actively avoiding dates; he just wasn’t exactly seeking them out.
He lost the urge to after his wife died, and then, when the urge to live came back around, he’d catch himself flirting every now and then, but never wanting to do much more than that. Then he blinked, and eight years had passed without him noticing.
Eight years with nothing but his own hand to get himself off — though, it only starts to seem pathetic when you look at it that way.
“What about you?”
“What about me?” you scoff. “The last time a guy showed even a modicum of interest in me was… in med school, probably.”
“Okay, well, that’s just not true,” Jack argues. “That vitrectomy patient from earlier definitely had a crush on you.”
Your eyes narrow in a cynical squint. “He was drunk. With half a bottle rocket stuck in his eye. That hardly counts.”
“Well, I’ve had… About a whiskey and a half,” Jack calculates. “Do I still count?”
The air thins in an instant, or maybe his words have just knocked it all straight out of your lungs.
Your skin burns red hot beneath the dress that feels suddenly way too tight, ‘cause you think he must be joking — that taking the piss out of your obvious crush on him is his idea of playing around.
“That’s not funny,” you tell him with a wavering smile.
“I’m not trying to be funny,” the man insists with a scoff. “I haven’t been funny since 1994.”
Another laugh sputters from your mouth. A real one this time — not the fake ones you’ve been giving him just to fill the silence, or to try to seem less nervous than you really are. It makes him smile wider than he probably realizes.
“There you go…” Jack hums with a proud nod.
“There I go, what?”
“You’re unwinding…”
You scoff, still grinning wide despite yourself. “Am I?”
“Yeah,” he hums. “And you’re doing a great job so far— a solid B-minus.”
“B-minus?” you echo. “I’ve had a 4.0 GPA since I was in fourth grade.”
“Well…” Jack shrugs with a knowing grin. “Better step it up then, kid.”
Something inside you tips in that moment. It’s his teasing, maybe, or just the way he’s looking at you. Either way, you catch yourself leaning forward before your brain has properly thought it through. You close the distance between you in a flicker — brushing a chaste kiss to his mouth before pulling away just as fast.
You can feel your pulse pounding in your throat as you quip, “What does that get me?”
Jack blinks for a second, momentarily caught off guard. He fights the urge to lick his lips, to try and actually taste you. “Probably a couple HR violations?” he jokes after a few moments.
Your stomach drops. You find yourself praying that this old couch swallows you whole, or that the world would just end altogether, because even that would be a kinder fate than this.
“Oh. Shit. I-I thought that— I thought we were... Fuck, I totally misread this whole thing—”
You turn away entirely and drop your face in your hands, utterly mortified.
His laughter doesn’t make it any better.
You feel the sofa caving beneath you as Jack shifts to your side. His hands are warm and softly calloused as they cradle your wrists in a firm and gentle grip, urging them downward so he can see your face again. He ducks his head to meet your wet eyes and flashes you a reassuring smile.
“You didn’t misread a damn thing,” he assures you with a shake of his head, voice lower and smoother than honey. “Of course, I want to kiss you— I always want to kiss you.”
The mournful twist in your features never wavers. “Then why don’t you?”
“Because it’d be wrong,” he shrugs. “I’m your attending. I wouldn’t want anyone thinking that I— that I pressured you into something.”
“Well… We both know you didn’t, right?” you argue softly, eyes glittering with hope as they dart back and forth between his. “And, I mean… It’s not like anyone else would have to know. We’re not getting married, we’re just… unwinding. Right?”
“…Yeah,” Jack hums, softer now, with something mischievous squinting his gaze. “Right...”
You’re not making it easy for him.
Jack’s trying not to cum in his pants before you’ve ever even touched him, and you’re making it damn near impossible.
He drags you into his lap when you lean in to kiss him again — for real this time, licking sweetly into his mouth so he can taste you truly — and you knee him right in the thigh before you can straddle him properly. You pull away with a smack when he groans in pain against your mouth.
“Shit…” you pant with his spit still on your lips. “I’m sorry.”
Jack shakes his head until the words catch up to him. “It’s okay,” he assures through uneven breaths, knotting his fingers in your hair to pull you into him once more. He kisses you again, hard, like it’s muscle memory for him — from a life he hasn’t let himself live in a long, long time.
He cradles one hand over the crown of your head and the other just over your spine, where your dress dips down in the back. He keeps your warm weight pressed flush against him while the kiss turns languid and heavy, full of tongue and teeth and spit. You curl your fingers into his greying curls to keep him impossibly close all the while.
You feel his chest hitch with a startled breath beneath you when you grind down over his lap. Your velvet dress rises over your hips from the angle as you move down his thighs and up again — you can feel the ghost of his erection hardening beneath his scrubs with every pass.
There’s a noticeable hesitance in the way you move. It’s not graceful or entirely practiced. It’s laced with a palpable uncertainty, rather, as you struggle to navigate the honeyed moment you’ve stumbled so suddenly into.
And Jack can hardly take it. ‘Cause hasn’t let himself want like this in years; he hasn’t let himself reach out for anything other than his grief or his work. For so long, his life has been defined by restraint and the careful art of not needing anything. And now you’re here, moving clumsily on top of him, completely undoing him.
It hits him all at once, how suddenly sensitive he is, after so long ignoring the touch of another. The friction, the pressure; the smell of you, the taste of you. It’s all too much. He knows he won’t last long if he keeps going this way, so he pulls back.
And he hates himself for it.
“Hey—” He clears his throat when the word comes out a little rough. His adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he swallows. His glassy eyes dart back and forth between both of yours as he peers up at you through a layer of honey. “Hey, you… You have condoms, right?”
You blink back at him for a long moment, slightly dazed at the sight of your spit on his rosy mouth. You nod with a stuttered breath. “Uh, yeah. Yeah— I think— Somewhere…”
(There’s an unopened box collecting dust under the sink in the bathroom, but he doesn’t need to know that.)
He mourns your warmth when you slide off his lap, rushing off down the hall with your dress still caught around your hips. The sight of your plain cotton underwear cradling the curve of your ass makes his chest tighten as you disappear down the dim hallway. You toe off your shoes halfway down, and the sound of your padding footsteps echoes in the quiet.
“Jesus Christ…” Jack huffs and slouches further into the couch.
He drags his hands down his face and tries to regulate his breathing, tries to think of anything other than the aching erection in his pants. He stares up at the ceiling and attempts to will his body into something resembling composure when you return.
Your dress has fallen back down over your hips, but the right sleeve is still slipping down your shoulder when you stand before him. You’re not sure what to do with the condom in your hand, so you toss it to him over the coffee table. Jack catches it against his chest.
“Take that dress off…” he tells you with a voice like honey. “I wanna see you.”
You try and fail to reach for the zipper, which Mel had helped you with at Trinity’s place before you left for the bar. So, instead, you worm your arms out of the sleeves and shove the fabric down your hips with trembling hands. It hits the floor around your bare feet with a dull thud, leaving you in a heart-patterned bra you’ve had since high school and a pair of plain pink panties.
You’re hardly a thing worth looking at, really, but Jack didn’t seem to get that memo.
He beckons you forward with heavy eyes. “C’mere…” he murmurs.
You take slow, tentative steps towards him.
His calloused hands are warm and slightly trembling when they curl around the backs of your thighs. He leans in to press his mouth to the silk bow in the middle of your underwear, and his mouth waters at the wet spot gathering in the center of the cotton.
His scruffy chin brushes your stomach when he turns to look up at you, lidded eyes glimmering with a desire you didn’t know you were capable of drawing out of a person.
“I wanna make you cum with my mouth,” Jack murmurs. “Can I?”
You nod wordlessly, and can’t shake the feeling that you’re dreaming when his pointer finger hooks through the hem of your panties. You feel a little cold when he slides the cotton to the side, only for him to press his warm mouth there a second later.
Your knees threaten to buckle when his tongue slots through your silken folds, and Jack doesn’t miss a beat. He braces your ass in one wide hand while his other slips down to the bend of your knee, urging you to prop your foot on the couch beside him. Your moan swells throughout your empty apartment at the new angle, which allows him to lick at your sensitive clit with greater precision.
He forgets to take things slow with you, too busy trying to make up for this time. He drags an orgasm out of you like the world’s soon to end, and the last thing he wants to do on this earth is to taste you on his tongue.
You cum on his mouth with your head tipped back and with your fingers knotted in his hair. He’s wearing your glittering slick down to his chin when he’s done with you.
You fall gracelessly into his lap when your legs turn to jell-o. You straddle his waist, ball his shirt into your fists, and bury your burning face into his neck — still whimpering as your high is slow to ebb.
Jack cradles you against him the entire length of your comedown, running his warm hands up and down your spine. His scruff brushes the delicate skin of your shoulder when he presses a chaste kiss there.
“That wasn’t too much, was it?” he pants into your ear.
You shake your head until the words catch up to you. “No… No, it was— It was good…” you stammer through uneven breaths, and pull just far enough away to meet his eyes. “I wanna ride you now… Is that okay?”
And who is Jack to deny you of a damn thing?
You brace yourself on his shoulder with one hand and use your free one to line his bulbous tip at the entrance of your weeping pussy. His cock drools an embarrassing amount of pearly precum — he can feel it all underneath the condom — and he’s momentarily grateful that you can’t see any of it.
You exhale a wavering, punched-out breath as you sink down over him and take a long moment to get used to the distant stinging sensation.
Jack’s grateful for that, too.
His jaw hardens to choke down the groan that rumbles in the bottom of his throat. He tilts his head against the back of the couch and squeezes his eyes shut to fight away the overwhelming desire to explode entirely. He holds you in place when you try to move again, with fingers that threaten to leave bruises on your thighs.
“You okay?” you pant, eyes darting wildly over the pained twist on his scruffy features.
Jack nods, jaw clenched tight. His words come out half-strangled.
“Yeah, yeah. I just… I wasn’t lying about the whole eight-year thing.” He exhales a hard breath through his nose that’s supposed to be a laugh, though there isn’t really a smile to accompany it. “I don’t wanna… I don’t wanna cum too soon, you know? I wanna— make it good for you. That’s all.”
Your fingers brush over his temple and through his silver curls, in a touch so gentle it nearly makes him cum right then.
“It’s already good for me,” you assure him. “I want it to be good for you, too.”
You grind over him with the same hesitance from before, down his thighs and back again, slowly finding your rhythm. Jack’s hands grip hard at your hips, like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered. He can just barely find the strength to keep his eyes open to watch you chase your orgasm on top of him.
His eyes flit from your blissed-out features to where his cock disappears inside of you. The thatch of curls above his cock glistens with your honey — he can feel it wetting the hem of his scrubs from where they’re shoved beneath his heavy balls. You’re bound to cum just as quickly as he is, no doubt.
He can feel it in the way your pussy flutters around his twitching length — in the way your pacing falters slightly on top of him.
“Nuh-huh. Don’t run away from me,” Jack mutters in your ear as he shifts underneath you, slouching further to hit somewhere deep inside of you. He cradles your head with one hand and grips hard at your ass with another, helping you move on top of him.
Your whine gets buried in his sweat-slick neck.
Jack smiles into your hair. “Yeah. There it is, honey. There you go…”
He feels a little proud of himself when he manages to hold off just long enough to feel you cumming around him, twitching against his chest and tugging hard at his silver curls. He follows right after — going rigid underneath you a second later as his cock jerks wildly within your fluttering confines.
His groan mixes with your whining as you milk him of his orgasm, in a sinful symphony that swells throughout your silent apartment.
Then the room goes quiet, with only the sound of your heavy breathing to fill it. You rise and fall with each of Jack’s panted breaths beneath you. Your limbs are loose and borderline boneless; tension ebbs from your body like an unwinding thread. You think you’d turn into a puddle on top of him without his hands smoothing up and down your back, molding you back together again.
It’s the only way Jack can stay anchored, really — with his hands on you, and with your weight settled on top of him. It’s foreign and familiar all the same: the strange absence of urgency he feels underneath you. The way his body, usually wound tight with panic, dissolves in time with yours. For the first time in eight years, he feels his heartbeat finally steady.
Until a far-off firework rattles the walls and sends the two of you jerking against each other.
The honeyed moment shatters in an instant. Jack holds you tighter when you flinch on top of him, laughing through a grumbling moan as you clench instinctively around his softening cock.
“You okay?” Jack mumbles against you, before pressing a brief kiss to your temple.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay,” you nod, half-breathless, as you pull away from him for the first time in several minutes.
You blink away the haze of your dwindling orgasm while Jack swipes drool from the corner of your mouth with his thumb. You lean instinctively into his palm and exhale a breathless laugh.
“I just… I don’t know what normal people do in this situation…” you confess through uneven pants. “Like, I feel like we should… high-five or something.”
Jack scoffs a tired breath but doesn’t say a word.
There’s a fleeting moment, then, where you worry you’re maybe being too much. Your stomach aches with it, too, because you think your stupid half-joke would’ve ruined the moment for anyone else. Anyone other than Jack. His hand slips from your back and lifts lazily for a high-five without a second thought.
You cage your bottom lip between your teeth and clap your palm against his.
Your breathless laughter fills the quiet apartment.
“We make a good team, don’t we, Doc?” Jack hums with heavy eyes.
“Well, you make a good teacher…” you answer sheepishly, pulling at a rogue thread in his scrub top. “You know, helping me unwind, or whatever…”
“Right, well…” Jack trails off, mouth curling into a sly half-smirk as his eyes narrow into thin slits. Your stomach pools with red-hot warmth once more at the look he gives you, then, and at the words that spill from his lips like honey. “I think I still got a few more lessons in the chamber, sweetheart…”
includes: pregnancy, unexpected pregnancy, angst, insecurities, protective!brendon, actually let's call it for what it is: overprotective!brendon, fem!reader, slow burn, she fell first but he fell harder.
❝what was supposed to be just a few nights of good sex with a handsome man you met at the bar turned into an unexpected discovery. now you and dr. park have to navigate how to be parents.❞
an ongoing series.
i. big girl pants.
ii. big man shoes.
iii. big first emotions.
iv. big, scary, intimidating shark.
v. big gossip town.
vi. big reveal.
robby has been sent on a mandatory sabbatical to an all inclusive tropical resort, yet can't seem to escape what he really needs a vacation from- himself.
young, beautiful reader has her own set of life's issues to take a getaway from, and would like nothing more than to do so with the handsome stranger she's been watching at the resort pool.
💌dr. robby x f!reader💌
contains: michael (robby) robinavitch x f!reader, no specific descriptors used for reader, vacation au, reader gets a bad sunburn and obviously good dr. robby has to help with this OBVIOUSLYYY, robby on sabbatical but like not the self-sabotaging concerning kind, reader is a teacher on summer vacation, age gap (reader is late 20searly30s, robby is early 40s), robby BEFORE THE HORRORS*** because this is my happy fictional world and I say so, think robby 5-7 years before the pitt, but still lowkey an asshole obviously, brief mention of blood (reader gets minor injury), reader is embarrassingly down bad for that old man, that old man is embarrassingly down bad for reader, summer fling (or IS IT), commitment issues for everyone, one night stand (OR IS ITTTT)
💌word count: 6.7k💌
it had been nearly three hours now, since you'd come down to the pool. there was no chance the sunscreen you'd haphazardly applied on yourself was still doing much of anything at all against the blazing sun, and the previously full area of screaming children and drunk adults had filtered into the quiet hum of only a handful of guests besides yourself. you could even hear the birds again.
nearly three hours, and you hadn't managed to catch the eye of that handsome, frowning man on the pool recliner one single time.
you'd seen him the second you stepped down onto the pool deck, his tall, relaxed form stretched out across the blue and white striped chair and a ragged paperback book in one hand. the other had been pulled up behind his head, giving an insanely inappropriate view of his straining bicep pulling at the white sleeve of his t-shirt.
if nearly every single spot hadn't already been taken when you'd come down, you might've been brave enough to set your things down next to him. but alas. you'd dropped your resort issued beach towel and tote stuffed with your belongings under the first umbrella you saw, staking your claim for the day against the rest of the vulture-like guests looking for an open spot. you'd gone back to observing the mystery man then, discreetly, behind the cover of your giant sunglasses and the distance of the pool between you.
he was handsome. and yes, it may have partly been the you need to find someone to be attracted to on this trip so it isn't boring as hell virus in your brain contributing to your attraction, but still. he really was. tall, like, so tall that even laying down you could tell he was much taller than you. tufts of curly brown hair sticking out from under the baseball hat he was wearing. skin glowing under the sun in a way that made it clear he didn't spend much time out in the sun like this but was getting a nice sunscreen protected tan. older. quiet. hot. had been wearing the same pensive frown since you'd first laid eyes on him this morning. did you mention he was hot and older?
and so you'd watched him. and then you'd ordered a drink from one of the pool boys and waited for it on your chair and watched some more. then you sucked down the blended fruity concoction, stood up, and stripped the cover-up dress you'd donned for the walk down much slower than necessary. he still wasn't looking. you rolled your eyes a bit to yourself, cheeks a bit flushed and feet burning on the cement.
then, you'd splashed in the pool and chatted with groups who floated by cheerily about stupid, pointless vacation stuff and drifted back and forth through the water right in front of his chair. you'd lounged on a floaty bed and then lounged on the floaty on your stomach and even, at one low point, pretended to fall off of the floaty and made a loud splash.
he still didn't even glance up from the book, the only movement being made the idle crossing and uncrossing of his calves and the occasional slow sip of water.
and so now, now that nearly three hours had passed, and the resort pool was nearly empty, and your stomach was growling angrily, and the man still hadn't even moved his head in your direction- you were annoyed at yourself and a bit embarrassed and also a bit annoyed with this stranger who apparently didn't know a beautiful young woman in a cute swimsuit if she was splashing around right in front of him.
gliding to the far end of the pool, you slowly emerged from the water. you were immediately hit everywhere with the evening air, significantly more chilly than when you'd gotten in. in a rush for your towel, you clearly somehow managed to forget everything you'd ever been taught about navigating slippery pool decks and forego any sort of self preservation- because the heel of your bare foot caught a particularly wet patch that sent you careening toward the ground.
you landed flat on your back, not even able to catch your breath before a sharp pain jabbed its way through your foot. a few seconds later, you felt the vague sensation of heat seeping around your toes, though you couldn't currently see them from your position laid the fuck out on the pavement.
as if things could possibly get worse, a hurried set of footsteps were unmistakably making their way toward you. you try to sit up with a groan, but are interrupted by a deep, concerned voice speaking from behind you.
"woah, woah, woah, careful. are you okay?" big warm hands on your shoulders and the slight glimpse of brown hair from the corner of your eye.
"'mfine." you groan again, reluctantly allowing the voice to help you up to your feet. a deep feeling of dread settled over you, the kind where you already know that exactly what you don't want to be happening is exactly what is.
when you're on your feet, you immediately turn and plop down into the chair holding your belongings.
standing in front of you is the man. the man from the chair. the main who's attention you'd been trying to get all day like some boy crazy teen girl off two pina coladas. the man is standing in front of you and he is most definitely without a doubt looking at you now.
well, actually- he's looking at your feet. which is odd. not in a like, avoiding eye contact because he's shy or something way, in a very obviously examining your feet type of way. you glance down, momentarily self conscious, and see the pool of blood trickling from your left foot that has perhaps caught his attention.
"oh shit." you say, at the same time as the man says
"nice one."
your eyes snap back up at him, unamused and more than slightly annoyed at this whole stupid situation. you assume the frustration must show on your face, and can certainly feel the heat beginning to radiate from it, but the stranger mistakes it for embarrassment.
"don't worry about it. I think I'm the only one who saw." he adds, throwing you a quick smile that, if you weren't currently bleeding out via big toe, would have made your stomach twist. okay, maybe it still did a little bit.
"go figure." you huff in response. because really, go figure that you'd spent the last three hours doing amateur water aerobics for his attention, and the only thing that had finally gotten him to look up was you eating shit.
"what?" he's still looking down at you with the slightly amused smile.
"nothing."
"wait here, i'll be right back." he simply responds, already turning and jogging back to his own recliner on the opposite side of the pool. why wasn't he slipping in a cartoonishly large puddle of water?
he rifles through the small bag left resting on his chair and holds something up to you proudly, but you just shake your head, you have no idea what's in his hand all the way over there.
when he finally makes his way back over to you, you see that he's holding a tiny first aid kit. you swallow the smile you feel surfacing at the stupid grin on the stranger's face.
"here we go. never go anywhere without it." he hums, and then he's squatting down in front of you like he honest to God believes he's gonna wrap up your foot right here at the resort pool.
"what you think you're some kind of doctor or something?" you laugh nervously, foot jerking away in a motion that drags the raw skin across pavement and makes you hiss in through your teeth.
now the man is fully smirking at you, already pouring some sort of liquid on a cotton pad as his eyes flit up to you.
"yes I am." he replies matter of factly, before holding the cloth against your foot and beginning to gently wipe up the blood smeared all over it.
"you're a doctor?"
"dr. michael robinavitch, at your service."
"you're fucking with me."
"I am not."
"what are you doing here then?"
"they let me out of the hospital for a few days. for enrichment." he deadpans, this finally getting him to look up from his careful ministrations on your foot.
your cheeks flush at the stupidity of your own question, and then all at once your entire body heats at the sudden realization of the situation you've found yourself in. the man you found so attractive you'd spent three hours floating around and staring at him was now on the ground in front of you, foot in his hands as you sat dripping water and blood in nothing but your bikini. the realization has you jerking back like a spooked animal, hands planted on either side of your chair as you push yourself slightly back.
he jerks back too, clearly alarmed by your sudden reaction and searching your face in concern.
"did that hurt?" he asks, looking down at the innocent wipe in his hand with mild confusion. you let out a shaky breath and reach for your towel, quickly wrapping it around yourself.
"sorry. no." you reply awkwardly. "I got cold."
he looks at you for a moment with the same curiosity before shaking his head, it's fine, and going back to your foot without a word. he pockets the now bloody cloth, which has you actually believing that maybe he is a real doctor, and quickly wraps the deepest part of the cut in bandage gauze. slapping his hands lightly against his thighs, he stands to his full height.
"alright then. that should hold you over. i'd put a band-aid on it after you shower later. they sell them in the convenience store here." he pauses for a moment, then adds "they sell aloe there too." there's a soft smirk tugging at the corner of his lips and he's failing to hide it.
"what?" you ask, partly confused and partly annoyed that he seems to be making fun of you, though you don't even know what about.
"I'm just saying. you've been out here for, what, three hours? you're gonna be toasted by tonight."
"am not!" you huff.
"you didn't reapply sunscreen one time." he shoots back, brow raised and hands coming to rest on his hips. his incredibly tall and broad frame are almost blocking what's left of the sun, and you have to crane your neck up to see his face. "did you?"
you roll your eyes then, slightly infuriated that he's right and that you can already feel the prickly, tight sensation on your cheeks and shoulders from being in the sun for far too long. but then, it hits you, and creeps across your features in a growing smirk to rival the man in front of you.
"how do you know how long i've been here, hm michael? were you watching me?" you ask slyly, leaning forward a bit and, fine, yes, even letting the towel fall a bit loose around your shoulders. you peer up at him with wide questioning eyes and your stomach does a somersault of pleasure when you see his gaze stutter for a moment, cheeks a modicum rosier than they were a second ago.
but then the man leans in, eyes flashing down to your lips momentarily before meeting your eyes again, and whispers.
"don't act like you weren't trying to get me to."
your mouth drops open slightly, brain buffering in search of a response as he, michael, gives you another once over then takes a step back, and then another, and then turns on his heel and begins heading back to his own pool chair. he slows for a minute and catches your eye over his shoulder, and you can see his lips pull up just slightly when he sees you still watching him.
"fresh bandaid after you shower. and aloe. doctor's orders." he winks. you gather your things with a huff and slip out the gate before he reaches his chair.
"you're a doctor?" you asked incredulously.
robby tried his best to not be immediately offended at your clear disbelief.
he'd been trying and failing miserably for the past however many hours to sit in his pool chair and pretend he didn't see you, but the fact that he'd been reading and re-reading the same few pages of his book for the past forty minutes was pretty solid proof that that wasn't working out too well for him.
it was only his second day of this stupid sabbatical thing, and he was already fairly certain that relaxing vacations were a hoax created by some sort of insane person that liked being alone with their thoughts for an extended period of time. robby certainly didn't fit in the category.
"dr. michael robinavitch, at your service." he grins up at you, trying his utmost gentlemanly best to keep his eyes anywhere but your tan, dripping, bikini clad body sat on the chair in his direct eyeline. he focuses intently on patching up your bleeding foot, if for no other reason than to have anything else to focus on.
yes- for the past three hours, robby had been laying out on the pool deck and fighting every natural instinct in him to let his eyes drift from the pages of his book to where you were floating languidly in the pool. or say hi to you. or be so insane as you get in the water with you, which he'd almost worked up the courage to do twice before talking himself out of it. and thank God for that, for that very small shred of dignity and morality robby seemed to be dragging from the depths of himself that was keeping him away from you.
because here, now, sitting just a few inches away from you and really taking you in- he had absolutely no business with you. you were young, certainly too young for someone like him. and you were beautiful. he'd thought you were beautiful the second your loud flip flops had carried you out onto the pool deck- obviously, but you were truly gorgeous. big sparkling eyes peering down at him shrewdly as he worked on your foot, soft glowing skin and a bright smile even as you continued to doubt whether he was truly a doctor and very verbally critiqued his skills as he attempted to wipe up the trickling blood.
robby was fairly certain that if he didn't get his hands and eyes off of you as quickly as possible, he was going to do something he would most certainly regret.
and so he did, finishing up and standing swiftly, hands planting on his hips. a brief suggestion of how you should care for it going forward, as well as suggesting you put some aloe vera on your rapidly developing sunscreen.
you did not like that.
"how do you know how long i've been here, hm michael? were you watching me?" you asked, a mischievous tone to your voice that had his checks prickling with a faint blush. you leaned forward just slightly, and the towel you'd wrapped around your shoulders a few minutes ago slipped loose, revealing far too much and making robby's strictly contained gaze stutter- just for a moment, cheeks going even redder. you notice, he can tell, and it only makes you smile wider.
figuring that he's already let himself slip up this far, robby leans in a bit toward you, allowing himself the indulgence of his eyes flashing down to your lips just momentarily before whispering
"don't act like you weren't trying to get me to."
it's your turn to buffer then, to robby's self satisfaction, and your mouth drops open a bit as he takes a step back, and then another and another until he's turning on his heel, only slowing for a moment to peer over his shoulder and catch your eye one last time. he can't help the quiet grin his lips pull into when he sees you still watching him too.
robby was... stuck. for lack of a better word. he felt stuck in his own life. in the hospital, in his routine, in his sad lack of a life outside of work. he was stagnant, and bored, and, fine, a bit lonely.
sure, he had friends. even a few very close ones. but he worked with all of them. and there were some aspects of a relationship that even jack didn't really make the cut for. things like... well, things like all of the things he wanted to do with you, the beautiful fiery young girl he'd become enraptured with at the pool today.
when you'd left, and robby had made his own way back to his room not long later, he'd hoped that the fond memory of you would quickly fade, simply an attractive stranger and a silly interaction. unfortunately, your eyes and your smile and your shiny hair and the way your soft skin had felt under his hands as he'd brushed it cleaning up your foot decidedly did not leave his mind; no- they in fact seemed to have taken sole residence in his train of thought and were incessantly circling, circling, circling.
making him wonder what you were doing, how your foot was feeling, if you'd come here alone or with someone else. no- you couldn't have, not a partner at least. for all that robby had tried to ignore you down at the pool, he was mature enough to admit that you were most definitely trying to get his attention, splashing around like that for hours. you were far out of his league, but it wasn't the first time he'd been hit on by a woman before.
that wasn't the problem. the problem was that he was a forty something year old doctor seemingly going through mid-life crisis who couldn't even relax or enjoy a vacation at an all inclusive resort; even when the alternative was microwaved meals for one at his apartment in Pittsburgh and a fourteen hour shift in hell. this was the first real break he'd taken since he could remember; each time gloria had approached him about a sabbatical in the past he'd brushed her off with a laugh. she hadn't asked this time.
and so here he was, on a beach thousands of miles away from the only semblance of a life he had- a few check in texts from jack each day and the occasional chatter of the day-shift group chat that he checked embarrassingly regularly for someone who was meant to be "out of office". and the problem was not that a gorgeous, seemingly single, seemingly kind and funny and overall great woman had obviously spent the better part of the day attempting to flirt with him. it was that he was him, someone who had absolutely no business being flirted with by someone like you.
you, who couldn't yet be in your mind thirties, who had your entire life ahead of you and a light in your eyes that was reserved for individuals who hadn't sold their soul to a drowning hospital or spent the past few decades burning themselves out completely instead of fostering any sort of personal life. you, who had sat there in your bikini, hair dripping everywhere, foot bleeding out on the concrete, yet been so clearly focused on him. the way you'd blushed and shifted under his gaze.
it was only because you didn't really know him, robby kept telling himself. if you did, if you really got to know him and his bad habits and how much he worked and how uninteresting it could really be to date a doctor after the first few weeks... you'd look at him the same way the rest of the women he'd tried the whole relationship thing with had. certainly not with the wide eyes and blushing cheeks you'd had today.
you were too young, and too sweet and pretty and truly just a complete stranger that he would never see again after checking out of this resort on saturday. he had no business thinking about you any longer, or wishing to run into you ever again.
this is what robby repeated in his head over and over as he trudged downstairs from his room in search of something for dinner. he kept repeating it as he sat down at the same grill he'd eaten at last night and ordered a bear, and caught himself looking around to see if maybe just maybe you were there too. pathetic.
but when you appeared in the stool next to him about fifteen minutes later as if out of a dream, and looked up at him with that same wicked grin... robby wondered if maybe, just maybe, a bit of connection with someone he'd never see again was exactly what he needed.
doctor's orders. doctor's orders. you replayed the annoyingly smug parting comment from the stranger over and over in your mind, making his voice sound more annoying each time. a doctor. please!
how ridiculous. shouldn't a doctor be out doing important things or saving lives or whatever? not bothering your peace during your vacation. really, what kind of doctor was so comfortable posing a risk of drowning to the general public- laying out by the pool looking so hot and distracting like that? it was borderline criminal!
you weren't really sure why you were letting a complete stranger bother you so much. you were supposed to be enjoying this stupid vacation. you'd never taken a trip like this, at least not since you were a kid who couldn't appreciate what it really meant for your parents to bring you to a fancy resort. but you'd been teaching for eight years now, and hadn't taken anything more than a road trip out of state in terms of vacation. you'd been saving up for something like this for a long time, and after the year you'd had you certainly deserved to enjoy it.
your relationship with your long-term boyfriend, like- followed you to college out of state and got an apartment with you after graduation long term- had ended rather unceremoniously last fall, and it had unfortunately only been the set up for an overall shitty school year. shitty paying twice as much rent as you'd had to before, shitty students, shitty social life... shitty shitty shitty. you'd let yourself fall into a funk and ride it all the way through the year, and when summer had crept in you'd finally realized that you needed to pull yourself together and become a functioning social being again. and so here you were, trying to pour into your own cup as they say.
it was fine.
but you were restless. you'd spent the last ten months pretty much going to work and going home, intermixed with infrequent visits to the gym or grocery store runs. you were fairly certain you could count on your fingers the amount of times you'd actually hung out with your friends this year, let alone make any sort of more than friendly connections.
maybe that was why you'd become so obsessed with the man at the pool. michael. it wasn't like you hadn't seen a single other handsome man in the past year. but it was something about the vacation air, the need for something to spice up your solo trip a bit. and the fact that he was just super hot. you'd never been with someone that much older than you before- not that he looked ridiculously older, but he was definitely older. there was something interesting about him, something that pulled you in and excited you. if only you hadn't completely fucking embarrassed yourself falling on your ass like that.
he was a bit snarky though, wasn't he? you're flustered with frustration at the stranger's brashness all over again, remembering how you'd blushed so embarrassingly when he'd called you out for trying to get his attention in the pool.
the same train of annoyance was flitting around in the back of your mind as you slipped out the door of your room. the incessant pain of your sunburn only served to make you even more frustrated, every brush of your flowy white sundress against the tender skin making you hiss quietly. thankfully your toe was completely fine now; though again only served as a reminder of the infuriatingly handsome and annoying man that had patched it up for you.
you pad down the covered hallway of the resort, the soft sounds of chirping birds and water cresting surrounding you as the sun began to set. this place really did live up to the expectations of paradise. after waiting for the elevator for only a few moments, it takes you down to the main level of the resort, where you're now tasked with the decision of where to find dinner.
the resort was adorned with a handful of formal dining options, along with a few quicker options that you could bring up to your room or take with you to lounge outside, as well of course as the bars. you were fairly set on grabbing an order of the delicious fish tacos you'd had last night and cozying up in your bed where no one could see you grimace over your sunburn with each bite, but a figure catching your attention from the corner of you eye quickly diverts this plan.
your feet are carrying you in his direction before your mind can decide it's a bad idea, and you pull out the stool beside none other than Dr. Michael Robinavitch where he's sitting solo and enjoying his own dinner.
"good burger?" you ask, and his head turns toward you slowly, as if he'd already known exactly who'd sat down next to him. he continues chewing, eyes flicking over your face briefly before swallowing, slow and deep.
"great." he grins in response. something about his smug expression and seemingly abundant self-satisfaction makes you want to bite.
"yeah, I can tell." you reply dryly, dropping your eyes pointedly to where a smear of bright yellow mustard colors his cheek. he sits up a bit, hand coming up to his face then quickly reaching for a napkin. in a pathetic attempt at cleaning himself up, the man smears even more sauce on his face in a display that would be a bit repulsive on anyone less annoyingly attractive. "here." you say, rolling your eyes a bit as you reach for a fresh napkin from the dispenser in front of you.
you hold the clean cloth out to him, brain buffering a bit when he simply stares back at you, that same stupid smirk pulling at his lips.
"help me out?" he questions, voice soft but gravelly in a way that sends a shiver up your back. "you owe me one, I think." he then adds quietly with a wink, and you're rolling your eyes again.
you reach out, and with a matching smirk coming across your own lips, wipe roughly at the man's cheek a few times before dropping the napkin unceremoniously onto his lap and swiping a french fry from his plate, popping it in your mouth.
"there you go!" you grin. "all even now, doctor."
he's staring back at you with eyes that are burning with more than the soft amusement he'd been sporting a few moments before. you find yourself wanting to know more about what exactly is making him look at you like that.
the waiter behind the bar comes up and greets you before you can find out.
"good evening, miss." the man grins, leaning over the bar a bit as he speaks in a way that makes his loose hawaiian shirt fall open and reveal tan, toned skin. he's handsome. you feel the burning sensation of eyes on the side of your face as you greet the waiter in return. "what can I get for you?" as the man lists the specials, you let your eyes flick over, just for a moment, to peer at the man beside you. michael, just as you suspected, is all but staring you down from his spot beside you. when he catches you eyeing him, you pull a slow, sly smile and turn back toward the waiter silently.
"I think i'll take what he's got." you hum, head tilting slightly toward the man sitting beside you and the half finished burger on his plate. "and a watermelon margarita, please." you add, smile sticky sweet as the waiter goes off to put in your order. only when he's left do you slowly turn back to Michael, who- to your great pleasure- is still staring at you.
he looks almost contemplative, stuck in thought for a moment as he studies you before speaking again.
"moved on to flirting with the bar boy now, have you?"
your jaw goes slack.
"excuse me?" you ask incredulously, cheeks burning even stronger than before.
"it's not a judgement. just an observation." Michael says matter of factly, leaning back in his chair and taking a sip of his beer.
"it certainly feels like a judgement." you huff, only quieting your voice slightly as the waiter returns and places your margarita in front of you with another too bright grin.
"s'not." he shrugs again. you just roll your eyes and ignore the small smile the action gives him. "you roll your eyes a lot."
"any other observations to share today?" you huff, turning away from him and taking a long sip of your own drink.
"well, I do have a few actually. but i'm not sure you really want to hear them." he replies simply, and when you eye him he's already backing to eating his dinner like you're having a casual, friendly dinner together and not two complete strangers in the midst of some sort of built up tension battle of wills staredown. you plant your cheek on a hand and look at him in an unamused gesture to go on. "I see that sunburn is working out well for you."
if you hadn't been frustrated by his attractiveness before, the slow, raking graze the man drags down and back up your body makes you stiffen in your seat.
"didn't feel like listening to me?" he goes on, voice getting all soft and quiet as he leans in. "doesn't look like you put any aloe on that at all." you feel the strange sensation of being watched by some sort of predator as you stare up at the man's glinting eyes and smile, but you're exactly where you want to be sitting here.
"I didn't have any." you mumble, shuffling on your stool a bit and trying desperately to hide your grimace at the burning sensation every movement sparks on your crisp skin.
"I told you the resort store carries it." he responds, and you take another deep sip of your margarita.
"geeze, are you always so bossy, doctor?" you grumble, glaring at the man. He stares back at you in silence, eyes making the same thoughtful, dark flicker over your face as he chooses not to respond and takes another bite of his food. at the same time, the waiter returns with your own plate, placing it with a flourish in front of you and pulling you out of your daze.
"how's your drink? can I get you anything else?" he asks, and you feel somewhat guilt for the sharp annoyance that flickers in your chest as he leans against his side of the bar, clearly in no hurry to leave you alone.
"it's great, thanks. i'm all good." you reply, a bit too sharp and short, then pointedly avert your gaze to your food in hopes the man will get the point. he seems to, mumbling something else about enjoying your food before departing to serve the other patrons filing in for dinner.
when you look up with a sigh, gaze returning to Michael's as you pop a fry in your mouth, he's already staring at you again.
"hm." he hums, as if reading between the lines of something you don't even know you've done.
"what?" you ask between swallows of french fry, somewhat defensive.
"nothing." he says with that same stupid smirk, but the spark of something exciting is back in his deep brown eyes.
your back slams against the door frame, cold in the night air and sending a searing shock over your sunburned back. Michael was fumbling with his key card on the handle near your hip with one hand, the other raking through your hair and pulling you into his mouth as if needing you impossibly closer. you only break apart when he tries and fails for the third time to open the door with a soft groan, and accepts he has to actually look at the thing to open it.
when it swings open behind you, you back peddle slowly into the dimly lit room, michael's hands slipping from your body as he swings it shut behind him and flicks a switch near the door.
you stand in front of him, arms loose at your sides and chest panting softly as you try to steady your breath. the two of you had all but devoured each other every step of the way from the bar to his room. now, standing in the middle of it in your flimsy white sundress, hair mussed from his hands and the weight of his gaze pouring over you from across the room- you start to feel a bit nervous.
when he takes a slow step toward you, and then another and another until he's right in front of you again, broad hands coming to rest on your hips, your stomach flips with an entirely new type of nerve.
"this okay?" he asks, and you're nodding, wide eyed and puffy lipped as you stare up at him.
"yes." you add, just a whisper. "yes."
and then he's kissing you again, hands pulling gently at the soft cotton and lace of your sundress and leading you gently backward until your knees hit the edge of his bed. you let yourself fall back, now sitting back on your arms and peering up at him. but he's looking at you with different eyes now, ones that seem full of distant concern and slight amusement.
"what's wrong?" you ask, hand coming up to tug on his loosed button up shirt. his eyes flick back to yours then with a quick shake of his head, before he gestures for you to wait a moment and disappears into the bathroom.
too overcome with the reality of the situation to question it, you fall back to lay on the bed and stare at the ceiling with hazy giddiness. in all of your preening in the pool earlier, you hadn't truly expected tonight to end like this. you certainly hadn't expected it when you'd spent the better part of two hours snipping at each other at the restaurant downstairs... until your banter had melted quickly into something much more charged and sparking and neither of you seemed to be able to drag your eyes away from each other. and then you'd let your hand drift up onto his bicep, then his shoulder, then the scruff of his hair- and he'd looked at you with eyes that showed he was fighting with all he could not to give in before he finally did. his hand on your knee, then your waist, and then and then and then. and then you'd kissed all the way up to his room, so frantically you didn't even remember the walk at all.
lost in replaying your memories of the night leading up to now, you don't hear Michael reappear in front of you. you do however, jerk to startled attention when big, warm hands juxtaposed by something chillingly cool begin rubbing up and down your lower legs. you sit up quickly, hands planting behind you to hold yourself up as your eyes fix on the sight in front of you.
michael, kneeling on the ground at the foot of the bed and gently massaging aloe vera gel over your tender red skin.
"wha-?" you start, but are cut off by him softly shushing you.
the sensation of the gel coating and instantly soothing your skin has your head dropping back with a soft sigh. you can hear the quiet chuckle from michael where he remains on the floor in front of you, but it feels too good to be embarrassed or even acknowledge at the moment.
"told you you needed it." he mumbles, voice somehow still cocky when he speaks so soft and sweet like this, and your eyes drop down then to see the familiar infuriating smirk on the man's lips.
"bossy." you hum again, though you can't hide the way your eyes stay glued on his hands or the soft smile your own lips pull into.
the two of you spend the next few minutes in silence as you allow him to continue the tender application of cooling gel to your legs, your tired eyes even blinking closed eventually as you lay back comfortably on his bed. when you hear Michael stand slowly, your lashes flutter open to see him standing over you.
from his towering position, he looks down at you with a gaze of appreciation and palpable want that sends a molten warm feeling all throughout your body that has nothing to do with the sunburn.
"what?" you whisper eventually, squirming a bit under his silent watch. he blinks and runs a slow hand through his brown hair.
"just looking at you."
after a few more quiet moments, Michael circles the bed, your neck craning to follow him as he comes up behind you and mounts the bed on his knees, bottle of aloe vera still in his hands. you sit up, crossing your now sticky legs and keeping your gaze on him. when he settles down behind you, long legs splaying out on either side of your knees, you raise a brow in question.
"may I?" he asks, gesturing with the bottle toward your back. it only takes you a split second to register what he's asking, and whether it's the overwhelming desire suddenly coursing through you to feel the man's hands on your skin again or... no, no it's definitely that- you nod earnestly. so earnestly that it makes him chuckle a bit, and you smack his leg with a huff.
the short lived annoyance fizzles straight out of you when you feel your hair being gently brushed to the side and over your shoulder. you reach up with a somewhat shaky hand to help him, pulling the rest of the wavy, sun-dried strands to the front of your shoulder and fiddling with them nervously. when his hand then settles on your shoulder and begins to gently push the flimsy white strap of your sundress down, you're more grateful than ever that you aren't facing him. you fight to keep your breathing steady.
the thin white cotton falls against your upper arm, then followed by the other strap, and you can see the stark tan lines left behind from your bikini top earlier. the silent rustling of the bottle being opened alerts you before his touch returns, this time coating the hot skin of your upper back with the soothing gel. you can't help the dramatic shiver that racks through your body at the feeling.
"sorry." you laugh softly.
"don't be." the response comes out gruff and quiet, nearly choked compared to when michael had spoken to you just moments before. you chew your lip and bite back a smile, craning your neck once again to peer at him. his hands are lower now and getting lower still, brushing first shyly under the top of your sundress before pushing further, spreading the aloe down until his broad hands are brushing your hips and trailing up and down the length of your spine.
michael doesn't seem to even notice your gaze at first, entranced by watching his own hands rub up and down your soft skin. when he does meet your eyes, his are blown out and sparkling with something new, something different.
when your lips crash into one another this time, you can feel it under the surface, the building and burning and wanting that can't be contained any longer.
a/n: what up baddies guess who's writing anything other than the series she's supposed to be working on again ayyyyy
this was supposed to be a short one shot don't even know what it turned into hope u enjoy pls let me know what u think!! love love love ya - reef🩷🍹🧜🏼♀️
pairing: Jack Abbot x surgeon!f reader
summary: when Jack arrives in the ER in his SWAT uniform, he is surprised to see a new surgeon. and right away, he takes a liking to your brazen tone and notices your skills. he finds you intriguing. except, you hate everything about his hobby, and you aren’t afraid to let him know.
warnings: ACAB! her attitude gives enemies-to-lovers vibes, but Jack is mostly flabbergasted; mentions of a shootout, deaths and guilt; some hurt/comfort (while he’s shirtless...), PLOT TWIST. also, I added one slur (to indicate that the character is racist, not because I would ever use that word irl). P.S. please don’t get offended on Jack’s behalf. he’s fictional, he can take it. / words: 7K / author’s note: guys, I know no one asked for this... but it came to me in a dream. it was also fuled by the rage I feel daily bc I have to work with men. and yes, I love it when Jack is touch-starved and yearning ♡ READ ON AO3 / MASTERLIST
Sweat tastes like salt, and gunshots smell like fireworks, and the loud sounds still echo in his head. Jack takes deep, measured breaths. The car shakes as it takes a turn, but he is staying calm. Collected. He keeps his hand on the bag valve and presses rhythmically to force more air into Hiro’s lungs. His gaze is focused on the deep wound on his neck, the bandages soaked through.
Blood is just blood.
Wet, warm, staining the skin with crimson.
The splatters of it dried up on his hands and vest. It’s been a while since he had to treat an injury this bad. Out in the field, under active fire, with the adrenaline blazing through his bloodstream. Except, that feeling he once loved and chased has recently become less thrilling. More unnerving. And underneath the layers of the synthetic fibers and his years-old restraint, a heaviness has settled in his chest. Jack knows it’s not about the bleeding — at least, not the one he did manage to stop.
Because as they ride through the tunnel, the light flickers — from bright to dull fluorescent one — and Hiro’s face is momentarily replaced by someone else’s.
Someone way younger, in his twenties, his eyes widened in horror, his mouth opening to push the panicked words out. His teeth are colored red —
Then Jack blinks. The sunlight floods the car again.
“How are we doing back there, doc?” Levington asks him from the driver’s seat.
“Those damn beaners got him good. But your guys will patch him up, right? 'Cause I’m supposed to be one of his groomsmen, and let me tell you, those tux rentals ain’t cheap —”
“Lev, can you just shut the fuck up and step on it?” a gruff voice interrupts.
“Got it, Sarge!”
The engine roars.
The weight in Abbot’s chest sinks deeper. But he is nothing if not pro at pushing his emotions down. So he does just that.
They ride straight to the ambulance bay, and two paramedics help them transfer Hiro on a gurney. The numbness in Jack’s wrist gives way to tingling as he moves his hand a little; he keeps his fingers clasped around the bag. He keeps his calm. Pretending that he doesn’t feel the pain stinging his shoulder blade, a deep graze where the bullet missed him.
And there’s some relief in coming into the ER, a safe space with the well-known faces — Robby’s the first to greet him, already on alert.
“Intubated neck wound, sats not great,” Jack explains, his hands moving on autopilot — one pressing on the bag, the other checking Hiro’s pulse. “You got a trauma room open?”
“Trauma 1,” Robby nods, helping to move the gurney in the right direction. “What’s the story?”
“Officer Hiro, high-velocity GSW. Warehouse robbery gone sideways,” Jack lists, avoiding further details.
Because if he says more, he’ll have to deal with questions he has yet to find the answers to. Because he’s used to making clean cuts, having a clear conscience, taking a clear course of action. But the truth is messy. And he doesn’t have time for that.
Instead, Abbot takes notice of Hiro’s barely moving chest, just as they roll the gurney in, Santos and Perlah already in the room.
Trinity’s gaze flits between two men in uniform, not with dismay but with her usual curiosity. With the excitement some might consider odd. Jack doesn’t. He also wonders when was the last time his job made him excited. He can’t remember. Definitely not today.
“Did you do this intubation?” Santos takes the bag from him.
“Under active fire, yeah. I go in with the team in case there’s an injury,” Jack tells her casually, a pair of scissors already in his hands, the metal blades hastily cutting through the bandages.
“That’s badass,” Trinity notes with a small grin, her eyes bright with amusement.
Jack only shrugs. His face expression stays unfazed. Behind it, there’s a roaring concern: with how much air he’s been pumping into Hiro’s lungs, they should inflate way more. They should make his chest rise and fall, a steady breath-like pattern. A vital pattern.
The monitor goes off.
“Sats down to 85,” Robby warns.
A respiratory failure means that they have to act fast. It also means that he missed something. And getting confirmation hurts Jack way more than being shot at.
“Shit, his trachea’s transected,” he grunts as he removes the dirty bandages, “I didn’t notice.”
“So if we intubate again, it will come straight out the wound,” Trinity guesses from behind his shoulder.
“Bingo. Need another plan,” he takes the plastic tube out of Hiro’s mouth, and she promptly puts the mask on him, with the same bag attached to it.
It’s the same working principle: her fingers squeeze the bag, the air goes in. And Jack helplessly watches as it leaks through the neck wound, blood bubbling at the edges.
The beeping doesn’t stop.
Robby shakes his head. “Sats down to 83.”
“He’s not moving any air,” Jack mumbles, “Can’t send him up like this.”
Robby catches his gaze, hums, thinks it over. “How about a neonatal mask?”
“A neonatal?” Santos sounds confused. “But how can it —”
“Put it to his neck,” Jack realizes. “Seals the wound, allows the air to go where it’s supposed to.”
Trinity nods. Then runs up to the supply cabinet, and just a tiny bit of her excitement does rub off on him. Jack lets out a breath, sweat beading on his brow; his heart is still restless with worry. Seconds drag out while he waits, and the neonatal mask actually works — sats climb up to 98, the oxygen finally filling up the lungs. But Abbot knows it’s not a permanent solution.
Robby knows, too. He steps back to give a call to the OR.
Jack figures out a way to keep his hands busy in the meantime: a syringe with a needle and two ampules he asks Perhal for — lidocaine for numbing and epi to reduce the bleeding. He carefully works around the wound, peppering it with injections, as Trinity checks up the lungs.
“Good lung sliding, no pneumo,” she reads the monitor.
This is good news. They are unfortunately followed by Robby hanging up the phone with a loud sigh.
“The OR is packed, they can take him in 20 minutes at best.”
“Wish I could say I am surprised,” Jack huffs, feigning a tone that will not give away how much he hates it — wait, and uncertainly, and feeling like he’s failing someone. “It’s always on this day when people collectively decide to lose a few of their limbs.”
“More like a few of their brain cells,” Perlah mutters, earning a laugh from Santos.
“Think he can hang in there for 20 more minutes?” Robby asks.
“I don’t want to sit and wait,” Jack counters and puts the syringe away. “Any suggestions?”
“Mine would be to sit and wait.”
“That’s just lazy, man.”
“Well, sorry I’m not a wellspring of ideas, some of us been working since 6 a.m.”
They aren’t seriously bickering — it’s just a way to keep Jack’s mind distracted, an impromptu grounding technique. Robby’s aware, so he plays along. Jack welcomes it.
“What do you think I’ve been doing? Does this camo make it look like I returned from a vacation?”
“I’m starting to think you just enjoy watching people shoot at each other.”
“Says the guy whose definition of fun is riding a bike without the damn helmet.”
“Which only happened once, meanwhile you continuously —”
The door swings open, putting their conversation to a halt.
And then a smile stretches Robby’s lips as his eyes land on someone else.
“Do you ever take breaks?”
“Do you?” you quip and hastily throw on a gown. “Cause you aren’t leading by example, that’s for sure.”
Jack instantly turns to the sound. He doesn’t recognize your voice — confident, brazen even — nor your hair color. He only glimpses your profile before you put a mask on, your movements quick, honed. Not hesitating once. He’s yet to learn your name, but your dark scrubs give him a hint: you’re a surgeon.
The one Robby already seems acquainted with. He keeps his gaze on you while you reach for the gloves.
“And why is it always you who comes down to us?”
“That is a weird way of saying thank you.”
“I just don’t want our promising new hire to burn out too fast. And I am seeing some troubling signs.”
“What you are seeing is eight hours of sleep paired with a healthy dose of caffeine. Not that you’d know what it looks like,” you scoff at Robby, mirth in your voice. “Also, promising? What a compliment.”
“We’ve only been working together for two weeks, I can’t go soft on you. Or people will start talking,” Robby steps back to let you take his place, like he is used to it. Like there is a rhythm you two have learned to fall into.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” you tell him bluntly, but your attention is on Hiro — you quickly look over his bloodied chest and wounded neck, a slight furrow between your brows. “The neonatal mask was a good call.”
Then finally, you spare Jack a glance.
Your eyes catch on his uniform for a perceptible few seconds, then dart up to his face. And Jack involuntarily, immediately tenses. Because it feels like he is staring down the barrel of a gun, and your gaze is loaded. Like there are words you want to fire at him, a shot that will be deadly.
His heartbeat stutters.
But you don’t say a thing.
You silently look back at Hiro. And suddenly, a thought comes to Jack’s mind: something about you is incredibly familiar.
Robby stands right behind you, oblivious to any tension and still smiling. “You aren’t gonna let me win, will you? Emery warned me —”
“You bring her up so often, I’m starting to suspect you have a crush, Robinavich,” — you throw a look at Trinity, “Santos, help me cut down a 6-0 ET tube,” — then, back at Robby, “Sorry to break it to you, but you are not her type.”
“Is it the beard?”
“Among other things,” you chuckle.
Jack really wants to interfere with your banter — it feels like things are slipping out of his control: no one is asking for his opinion or his help, although it’s his friend who is about to bleed out on the table.
But you’re a natural at multitasking.
You talk while your sharp gaze does the inspection, while you draw up a plan. You tell Trinity where to cut the tube and ask for clamps, your fingers pulling up the mask from Hiro’s neck, your gloves already covered in his blood.
“The problem must be in my erratic working schedule,” Robby muses teasingly, watching you work.
Your eyebrows flicker up at his remark. Behind your mask, there’s an expression that Abbot guesses is a smirk. “No, I’d say it’s more about your pathological refusal to commit to a serious relationship and instead fucking around and calling it casual. Which does sound funny coming from a man in his fifties,” you deadpan.
Perlah gives Robby a pointed look, not hiding that she does agree with you. Santos is trying very hard (and failing) to hold back a laugh. And unexpectedly, despite his whirlpool of emotions that are far from funny, Jack feels his mouth smiling too.
You keep your focus on the wound and add nonchalantly: “Please tell me you haven’t been casual with anyone in this room.”
Robby is blushing — profusely, from his ears to his cheeks. “You overestimate my charm.”
“I’m yet to find any. But somehow that doesn’t stop so many other women,” you tsk. Then mercifully grant him some reprieve. “His sats will tank, he’s in need of an airway. Trinity, come help me with the tube.”
“Allow me,” the words come out before Jack can rationalize them, his body leaning slightly toward yours across the table.
Like he is following a pull.
You don’t object. But now that he is standing closer, Jack catches how your eyes dart to the side, your brows pinched together. Almost as if you fight the urge to look at him again, to say something.
But for the second time, you don’t.
And even though Abbot is not inclined to think about it too hard — of how he looks and how he carries himself, and what effect it might have on people — he cannot help but wonder if your discomfort comes from that. Maybe you also feel the pull, maybe you’re trying to be professional about it.
He doesn’t mind the quiet. It drapes over you two as you work in accidental tandem: Santos gives Jack the tube, and he waits patiently for you to find the distal trachea. He checks the monitors. Although he’s drawn to keep his eyes on you. As much as Abbot is still worried, he is also undeniably intrigued.
His tension slowly eases —
Until the door creaks open, and Levington clumsily pushes half of his body in. The holster on his hip bumps against the wall, the handle of the gun making a dull sound.
“How’s it going, guys? This one didn’t kick the bucket yet?”
Jack doesn’t want to get distracted — or worse, to distract you. Not when you’re concentrated on the task, the metal shanks bloody and gleaming as you rotate them, trying to grip the windpipe and leave everything intact. Abbot looks up at Robby.
Robby first looks at you.
He then loses his smile and the amiability he usually uses around patients. Which is weird. He turns to Levington.
“It’s better if you wait outside, and we’ll update you once he’s out of surgery,” Robby says dryly. His voice drops slightly when he adds, “Should be more careful with the gun.”
“The safety’s on,” Levington brushes off, then chuckles. “Wouldn’t want to shoot myself in the leg and end up on the table too.”
“Weapons of any kind aren’t allowed in the ER,” you say without looking at him, way louder than Robby.
And there’s a stark change in your tone — it’s lacking playfulness, it is completely void of any warmth, each word spoken so firmly that you sound almost... Angry. Jack catches on to that.
Levington doesn’t.
“Oh, I’m a big boy, I can handle —”
“Wasn’t exactly a suggestion,” you cut him off. “You aren’t allowed in here, period. Go flash your gun some place else. Am I being clear?”
For just a second, you do look at him, a brief turn of your masked face in his direction.
And Levington — six feet tall, almost two hundred pounds of chiseled muscles and blissful ignorance — flinches under your stare. He throws both hands up.
“S-sorry, already leaving,” he stutters and backs out of the room.
The sats drop down to 91.
“I got it,” you say in the same second.
Jack’s part is easier: he only needs to place the tube in. Gently, securely. His face inches closer to yours, his gaze grazing the high points of your cheeks, the lines of your throat. You surely can feel him staring, but you don’t move away. Eventually, he does.
“I’m in. Balloon up.”
The chestpiece of Robby’s stethoscope glides over Hiro’s chest. The number on the monitor is climbing up. Everyone shares a sigh of relief.
“Good breath sounds,” Robby confirms, a corner of his mouth curling. “Not bad, you guys.”
But when Jack tries meeting your gaze, you don’t give him the satisfaction, your face not softened one bit. Nor is your voice when you say coolly:
“Good thing that whoever shot him couldn’t aim for shit.”
That scratches off some of Jack’s pretense. Most of his nonchalance. Because you masterfully fish out not only the trachea, but also the damned memories he has been trying to suppress.
The rows of corridors, the piles of packaged and hastily abandoned goods. Shadows that move across the floor, hide behind structured rows of shelves. Hushed conversations. Hectic decisions. They are on the run.
Hiro’s voice booming.
“Kid, you don’t even know how to use that thing! Just put your weapon down!”
Shots fired — intentional, precise, hitting the targets as expected. But one is sudden, accidental, the bullets ricocheting off the metal with bright tiny sparks.
Hiro gets hit.
His hand clasped weakly over his neck, red pouring through his fingers until Jack can apply more pressure. Until they rush him out of the building.
There are two dead bodies left behind.
The third one is still fighting against the imminent demise. Convulsing limbs and bloodied teeth and scared eyes — looking straight at Jack.
Robby’s palm on his shoulder brings him back.
“— don’t have to stay for this,” he repeats, “We can take it from here.”
He sounds more cautious, like he can finally feel that something’s off. But he can’t figure out what exactly. Robby steps to where you’re standing.
“I’ll sew the trachea to the skin. Can’t let you do all the work around here.”
You don’t argue. But your gloved hand brushes Hiro’s half-naked body, your fingers moving to his side. You pull away the piece of his torn t-shirt. There is a spot beneath his ribs — big, blooming violet.
“Missed a bruise. Left upper quadrant.”
Santos picks the ultrasound transducer. “Wasn’t he wearing body armor?”
“High-velocity projectile doesn’t have to penetrate to damage,” Jack notes.
He stays to help Robby with suturing. You take the transducer from Trinity, maneuvering your body and your hand to move around Abbot so you can get an image while still keeping your distance.
And this doesn’t feel like you are fighting an attraction to him, no. It comes off as avoidance. Dislike even.
But why?
“No fluid in the suprasplenic space. Looks like a subcapsular hematoma of his spleen,” you say, ignoring Jack’s existence as if your arm isn’t bumping into his.
“So he needs an abdominal CT,” Santos suggests.
“CT angio of the neck first. Then CT chest, abdomen, pelvis.”
“Geez, I wonder what the other guy looks like,” Trinity mumbles.
Abbot pretends he didn’t hear the question. But now that he’s the one ignoring something obvious, you glance at him. He feels it — your gaze comes with the safety off. And he remembers that he also has a gun. The chances that you haven’t noticed aren’t very high. Which may be what’s been bothering you.
“How did that even happen?” Santos wonders, and this one time Jack wishes she could be less curious. Trinity adds, a tad bit awkward. “I mean, if it’s not a top secret.”
Since everyone is staring at him, he can’t help but talk.
“Some guys naively thought today was the day to rob a goods warehouse. Didn’t think about how long it would take to load the appliances,” Jack explains half-heartedly. “They panicked when the SWAT rolled in. All hell broke loose.”
“His recovery will also feel like hell,” Perlah nods toward Hiro with a small, sympathetic frown.
“Good thing someone else didn’t catch a bullet,” Robby remarks, both disapproving and concerned, his gaze fixed on the wound.
Out of the corner of his eye, Jack notices you move away. As if you aren’t very interested in this discussion. But Perlah is — she squints at Jack, and there’s more confusion than disapproval in her words:
“Why’d you volunteer for something like that?”
You snap your gloves off, one then the other; then your mask.
“My therapist said I needed a hobby,” Abbot says.
It’s an excuse packed as a joke, but both work poorly — there is a glaring proof of how unsafe the job is, with Jack’s hands still on Hiro’s wounded neck. Proof that it isn’t just a fun, carefree pastime.
Because there’s no enjoyment in watching someone die.
And Jack has seen too many deaths already. He doesn’t know how long he can keep pushing it all down, deeper, until he will start cracking at the seams. So he has made it into a habit to talk his way out of situations he struggles to process.
“I mean, they just need someone to help them if things go south,” he continues, seemingly unruffled. “It’s a high-risk job. These guys put their life on the line.”
There is a sound — a huff mixed with a laugh, not airy and mirthful but instead cold and sharp. The sound comes from you.
“Do they really?”
His head snaps in your direction, and there’s no hiding how flabbergasted he is by your tone. You give him no chance to recover.
“You mean the men in military-style tactical gear who usually show up armed to the teeth? In teams, with vests, shields and helmets? Which, by the way, they get paid really well for. So how high is the risk exactly?” You glance at Hiro. “At least this one came in one piece. How many were brought in body bags today thanks to you?”
The room goes silent.
Jack’s face grows hot. And only now, belatedly, he realizes: for you, there is no pull. The only urge you’re fighting is to tear him to shreds.
Correction: you aren’t fighting it.
“Shit happens,” Abbot tries to argue. “You point a gun at a police officer, and they’re allowed to engage.”
“Are they allowed to negotiate first? Or do you usually prefer to skip that part? Sorry, my bad — not you, your team buddies.”
The truth is, he’s not really involved in the decision-making. He stays back and he follows orders, and there is no time to question them. He does sometimes, though. It has been happening more often.
You stare him down like you can read his thoughts.
“Are you allowed to help the other guys? Like, if some criminal is bleeding out on the pavement. Or does the Hippocratic Oath apply only to the upstanding citizens with a clean record and high morals?”
His heart pounds, no doubt fueled by adrenaline that’s triggering the body’s “fight or flight” response. Jack’s always been a fighter, he has learned to be — he went from jumping into fights at school to jumping out of helicopters straight into war zones. But none of that experience can help him.
His vest, his self-restraint, his wit are suddenly all useless against you.
“There are priorities of life. Civilians first, then the acting officers,” Jack forces out, because it feels unbearable not to fight back or at least try to. “The criminals come —”
“Aren’t they innocent until proven guilty? Pointing a gun at someone isn’t against the law.”
“Shooting at people is.”
“Undoubtedly, yes. Shouldn’t they be prosecuted for that?”
“Undoubtedly,” Jack echoes, not wryly but warily, like he’s afraid to walk into a trap. He does.
“Would be hard to do that when they are dead,” you note swiftly, your voice level, but your gaze is burning. Always on him. It makes Jack’s grit falter, so when you change topics, he is caught off guard.
“Where’s that warehouse you mentioned?”
Robby is finishing the stitches, his brown eyes glancing between you two with ever-growing apprehension. Perlah and Trinity are gazing at you like they just got front row tickets to some drama show. Jack doesn’t find any of this entertaining.
“I’m not sure I can disclose that information.”
You let out a hum. Dismissive. Like that’s exactly what you expect from him, like your expectations of him aren’t very high.
“Since he didn’t bleed out, and your hand didn’t fall off from pumping air into his lungs, it can’t be too far. The warehouse in Millvale sounds about right.”
Abbot’s jaw clenches. Your mouth twitches, as if you’re about to sneer.
“Isn’t that the one owned by Amazon? I’m sure one of the world’s richest men is ugly crying over a few boxes of packaged goods someone tried to steal from him.”
There’s so much tension in Jack’s face, he is about to start grinding his teeth.
“I don’t think we should let people steal whatever shit they want.”
“And I do not encourage stealing,” you retort, easily grinding on his nerves, “I’m saying you should take guilty people to court. Not kill them on the spot.”
“You ever heard about self-defence?”
“You ever tried not shooting people in the head?”
“I don’t shoot anyone. Or give orders to.”
“But you work for the men who do. Kinda sounds like you don’t have a problem with it.”
An irritated deep sigh burns his throat, but Abbot holds it back. So you push on.
“I’m not judging,” but it sounds like you are. “The job probably pays well. Wouldn’t hurt to get an extra check in this economy.” He doesn’t buy into you being conciliatory. You prove him right when you add. “I heard that ICE is hiring.”
There’s an immediate shift in the air. The silence deafening, all eyes on Jack again, as if he has to actually prove that he’d never consider that job offering.
“Since you’re so fond of law enforcement —”
“I’m not gonna join fucking ICE,” Jack hisses as he fully turns to you.
Your words send redness creeping across his cheeks, the color of both embarrassment and indignation. You turn a blind eye to his feelings.
“Oh, you have a moral compass? Would you look at that.”
The guilt is back, and now it takes the shape of a dumbbell, the weight so heavy, it’s threatening to crush his chest. At least, that’s what it feels like. His voice comes out a little strangled.
“You seem to like rushing to judgment.”
“I was merely asking. ICE loves recruiting cops.”
It’s in this moment when Robby tries to interfere. He walks closer, his eyes moving from Jack to you and back. “Guys, maybe you should —”
“They will recruit any uneducated douchbag, it has nothing to do with what the SWAT does,” Abbot insists.
“The unit of the public institution that is responsible for quarter of a million civilian injuries a year? I think my judgment is just fine,” you say, adamant in your aversion. “Those are the same guys who do forced-entry raids and treat human rights like a suggestion they are free to ignore.”
“They don’t —”
But Abbot finds himself unable to finish that sentence. We wants to say they aren’t like that, except he actually can’t be certain. He and Hiro did form a surprisingly tight friendship, but Jack has never cared to hang out with the rest. He has a schedule and a full-time job, he gets tired faster, he sometimes feels too old to get their jokes.
He’s getting irritated at how effortlessly you can sniff out his hesitation.
“You don’t know that for sure.”
“But you don’t know it either, do you?” you challenge.
For him, it takes a lot of effort — to push back his emotions, to stop himself from bluntly asking Did something happen to make you so uncompromising? There is a lot of sense in what you’re saying. But Jack sticks to his own version of truth.
“From my experience, many of them are not bad people.”
It backfires. As quickly as if he stepped on another mine. You tell him, ruthlessly straightforward:
“From my experience, half of them choose that job to flaunt their power, the other half just love cosplaying their old army days because they are adrenaline junkies who can’t be left alone with their thoughts.”
Your words land like a punch into his sternum. Because you read him like you’ve got a PhD in Jack Abbot’s supposedly complex internal turmoil. He exhales sharply. Takes a breath and bristles.
“Are you a therapist now too?”
“Am I wrong? Sorry, did it hit too close to home?”
“Guys!” Robby barks out, and that does shut you both up.
You and Jack look at him, and he glances intently at the table. At Hiro, who you two almost forgot about. You only now notice that he’s starting to wake up, his eyelids fluttering as his head moves slightly to the side.
Abbot is sombre and distrustful — he doesn’t want any of your prejudice to hit Hiro, who’s in no shape to argue or to even speak. He watches you with narrowed eyes. You briefly check — the fluids Hiro is hooked up to, his stitched-up neck. And you don’t look at Jack at all.
“Welcome back to consciousness,” you keep your voice down — and you’re believably polite. Perfectly amiable. “You may feel some discomfort in your throat, there is a tube placed there to help you breathe. It’s temporary, and we will take it out during surgery. It won’t take long, and you won’t feel a thing. You may want to stay out of karaoke for a while, though.”
Hiro’s lips curve up a little at the corners.
Jack’s guilt could take half of the room. The floor. (The building?)
He makes his face look less sour as he walks closer. It helps that he is genuinely happy to see Hiro doing better. (Most importantly, not dead.)
Jack pats him on the shoulder, although the touch barely lands. “You’re gonna be okay, Hiro. You’re in good hands.”
Your argument (or was it a fight?) has momentarily gone from sizzling to smoldering. Robby moves to stand between you, a self-proclaimed referee.
“What’s the plan?”
“The Radiology first. Head and Neck will have an OR ready with thoracic standing by,” you explain.
“How soon can they take him?”
“We’re still backed up with Westbridge patients, but I can speed things up. Let’s start with CT.”
“Can I ride up with you?” Trinity asks, never apologetic for her ambitions.
And you must like it, because you give her a half-smile as you nod. “The more the merrier.”
It stings Jack’s pride a little how easily you get along with people. With anyone but him.
He helps to transfer Hiro on a gurney, and you two stand shoulder to shoulder for a moment. You only level him with a glare. Your eyes unreadable, your body moving out of the room like you wish to never share it with Abbot.
The space’s left empty, save for him and Robby.
“What the hell was that?” Jack says under his breath, eyes still glued to the place where you were standing.
“That was our new surgeon,” Robby informs him casually, his tone suggesting you and him work pretty well together. “She likes to come down between the surgeries to check up on the critical cases, see if she can help. No idea when she manages to actually take breaks, but I’m not complaining.”
Jack watches as Robby pulls down his gown, feeling his emotions simmer, his cheeks still warm. “That’s not what I’m asking.”
Robby sends him a glance, then lets out a long exhale.
“Wish I could give you an answer,” although he doesn’t sound too bothered by the lack of it. “Last week, a couple of cops brought in one of theirs, tried to stick by while he was on the table. And she almost dragged them out of the ER with her own hands,” Robby takes off his gloves and tosses them into the trash can. “To be fair, their buddy did shoot himself in the thigh, and they all reeked of beer. So she didn’t seem totally unreasonable, and I didn’t want to push her. Maybe she’s anti-gun, maybe something happened to her? Hell if I know. It’s none of my business unless it affects her job. And it doesn’t. You saw it too.”
Jack can’t argue with that.
He also can’t stop thinking about it — your voice laced with aversion, your words biting, your eyes never shying away from his. You. He doesn’t know how to stop thinking about you.
Robby must see in his face — or maybe he just knows him well enough to guess. He asks Jack quietly:
“She did get under your skin, huh?”
Jack’s mouth is set into a straight line. He cannot master a reply, and Robby knows better than to force one out. He briefly closes his eyes, bringing his hand up to rub his neck.
“Listen, I’m as clueless as you are. But if you want to get some inside scoop, maybe try asking—”
“Dr Robby?” Mel peeks into the room. “Sorry, we’ve got a trauma incoming. A 12-year-old kid, a firecracker exploded in his hand.”
“Not again,” Robby grumbles. “Anyone ever thought of banning those fucking firecrackers? I think we should.”
“Start a petition, I’ll sign it,” Dana chuckles as she walks by.
Robby relents and steps toward the door, his hand landing on Jack’s shoulder to give it a supportive squeeze. Unknowingly, he touches his wound, and Abbot barely manages to hold back a groan.
This time, the pain in his back lingers.
And when he’s left alone, in the room that smells like blood and antiseptics, what lingers on his mind is the thought of you.
Jack looks for an empty exam room so he can quickly change and clean the wound. He doesn’t want to ask for help, knowing how busy this day’s been, which also serves as an excuse for him to stay for a few hours.
He tells himself it has nothing to do with you. It sounds like a lie.
Jack tiredly removes his sweat-stained long-sleeve, wincing when the material drags over his bruised shoulder blade. He takes the holster off, makes sure the gun is safely placed inside, then slowly pulls up his t-shirt. He barely has time to take it off when he hears quick footsteps approaching.
“Mr Diaz?” Samira calls out, loud and excited. The door clicks open. “Mr Diaz, I have a surprise for you,” she yanks the curtain to the side. Her eyes widen a little at the sight of Abbot, her tone quickly dulled to apologetic. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Jack says, a bit self-conscious, hands fumbling with the t-shirt.
Mohan pays him no mind, looking around the room. “Have you seen my patient? Orlando.”
He shakes his head. “This room was empty.”
She curses under her breath, and her face crumbles into an expression of unease that’s borderline on panic. Her eyes wander back to the hall, unsure, until they stop on someone Jack can’t see.
“Have you seen Mr Diaz?”
“The diabetic? He’s up in the med-surg. They’re gonna put him on an insulin protocol and monitor him for a couple of days.”
Jack’s fingers clutch the t-shirt tighter at the sound of your voice. He takes a step back and almost stumbles when he sees you. There’s a short pause while Samira’s scrambling for words.
“Wait, are you— Are you sure? He refused to get admitted, I barely could talk him into staying here, in the ER.”
“Yeah, it looked like he wasn’t gonna stay for long, because I caught him on the stairs in his hospital gown,” you say, a small chuckle tucked in after the last two words. “He seemed very agitated and definitely not in the best shape to leave. So I called for a psych consult.”
“Oh. I didn’t think about that,” Samira sighs, shaking her head, no doubt already taking all the blame. “I should’ve thought about that, I didn’t even— Thank you so much.”
Remarkably, as you approach her, your demeanour changes — your voice goes softer, and so does your gaze; your palm caresses her shoulder in a soothing manner.
“That’s not on you. Today’s been pretty rough, and you have to juggle dozens of cases. You can’t think of every single thing,” and you wait until Samira looks at you, until she breathes out with somewhat of a relief. “Besides, I wasn’t the one to persuade him, it’s all Kiara.”
“Guess I need to thank her too,” Samira mumbles, a bit bashful, way more hopeful.
You nudge her in the direction of the elevators, a hint of a smile on your lips — sincere and friendly, something Jack wishes he could get from you. Your gaze follows Samira as she walks away. You add:
“Maybe grab a snack on your way up. I’m pretty I haven’t seen you sit down once since the morning.”
Mohan is out of Jack’s sight, but she does something to make your almost-smile turn into a wide one, your eyes crinkling at the corners as you laugh. Jack has to sit down. He’s quick to memorize it — joy on your face, the sound of your laugh, your whole stance relaxed, if only for a couple of seconds.
He doesn’t wait for the inevitable change that will come once you see him.
Abbot averts his gaze and reaches for the medkit to take out everything he needs — alcohol wipes and cotton swabs, a tub of Vaseline, gauze pads and band-aids. It is an easy process. And yet, all he can think about is that he didn’t hear you leave. That the door is open.
And even now, after you argued, after you glared at him, after you made it evidently clear how much you hate his principles and choices, the pull is still there. So he glances up.
To find that you’re already looking at him.
Your face unsmiling and emotionless, no softness in your voice when you say:
“You are Hiro’s emergency contact.”
Jack nods and holds your gaze for a long moment. Then looks away, picking a cotton swab to scoop up a globe of Vaseline with it. He’s definitely skipping a few steps. His heart skips — not just one beat, but a couple — as you confidently move into the room.
“He doesn’t want his fiancée to freak out if something happens,” he explains, trying to focus on his wound. “So usually it’s one of us. I’m his pick for the summer since I’m not going on vacation any time soon,” Jack cannot reach his shoulder blade, and each attempt makes him feel more annoyed. Clumsy. He puts the cotton swab down, shifting in place under your stare. And yet, he’s stalling.
“He’s doing alright up there?”
“Neck angio is negative. A small splenic injury, but no free fluid in the abdomen. He’s getting prepped for the surgery,” you tell him flatly.
Nothing in your voice or face suggests you find his company enjoyable. So Jack’s expecting you to turn and go away.
You don’t.
Your gaze sweeps over his body, from his shoulders and chest down to his hands. You suddenly step to the wall to grab a pair of gloves. Before he even thinks to ask what you’re doing, you move closer and take the cotton swab from him.
Then your fingers graze the raw skin on his back.
Jack goes rigid all over.
You don’t ask questions, silently examining his wound. And Abbot doesn’t expect you to be particularly gentle with him. He almost wishes that you won’t be. If you are rough, then your presence will be something he just needs to tolerate. Sit here and wait for you to get it over with.
That’s not what happens.
Because despite your sharp voice and unfriendly attitude, your hands are warm. He feels it even through your gloves, he’s startled by that feeling: you touch him — and goosebumps rise up on his back. You must notice, it would be hard not to. But you don’t comment on it.
You work fast, as you always do: you use a wipe soaked in alcohol to clear the wound, pressing it firmly in a patting motion over the graze. You ditch the cotton swab, choosing to apply the Vaseline with your gloved finger, spreading it carefully in a thin layer. And every time you come in contact with his skin, his body’s drawn to lean into your touch. A treacherous, unfathomable yearning. Of course, Jack stops himself. He’s sitting with his hands crossed over his chest, mentally counting seconds, hoping his torture will be over soon.
Hoping you’ll stay for longer.
Hoping he’ll somehow manage to erase this moment from his memory. And already knowing that he won’t.
You cover his graze with a gauze pad and put four band-aids at the corners of the fabric to secure it in place. You smooth it out with your thumbs —
and then you’re done.
Then comes the part where Jack searches for the right thing to say. His arms still locked together, his heartbeat erratic, just as his thoughts are. He only manages two quiet words:
“Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.”
And there’s no stalling on your part because you promptly step away, the gloves off, the shield of your indifference already up.
“I mean that. Don’t bring this up ever, it was just a one-and-done,” you tell him, and now you do turn away, and he isn’t audacious enough to reach for you. But as you’re about to leave, you stop. “And it’s three, by the way.”
His shoulder doesn’t hurt, but something in his chest does. It claws its way out, spills into his arteries and veins, and fills him down to his bones: guilt. Jack knows what you’re about to tell him.
Still, he asks:
“Three what?”
“Three dead bodies,” and when it’s just the two of you, you are less feisty, and you mostly sound tired. Not of your job, he thinks; no, it must be something else — personal, painful, haunting. But you look at him with the same heavy gaze. “They were diverted here from Westbridge. Two were in their mid-thirties, GSWs in head and chest. Probably died fast. The third one was seventeen. Two bullets in his lungs, one in his spleen, one in his arm. Isn’t that too much? He wasn’t a rapist or a murderer, he was just a kid. There should be hope for someone like him. Rehabilitation, reintegration into society, a second chance,” you yourself don’t seem hopeful as you give him the explanation. “Instead, he had to lie there and wait for the blood to fill his lungs while choking on it. But hey, your friend? He will be fine. He was wearing a vest,” and this is so much worse — when you address him not with anger but with disappointment. “As were you.”
You don’t wait for him to come up with a reply, and Abbot watches you walk out into the hall.
His guilt stays.
He sits with it, puts clothes over it, gets on his feet and carries it around as he goes back to the nurse station. He picks a chart, but he’s having a hard time focusing on names and numbers. The noise of the ER is muted while he’s deep in thought.
It’s not a hobby, and there’s rarely any enjoyment in it, and everyone (his therapist included) has found ways to tell him that they do not approve. So why does he keep doing it?
Should he keep doing it?
Someone is walking up to him — Jack catches movement out of the corner of his eye.
“Hi there,” Emery leans on the table, hands in her pockets. “Met the new surgeon?”
Jack barely registers the question, not really in the mood for talking. “Yeah.”
“This is the part where you’re supposed to tell me that I’m the more talented one,” she smirks and tilts her head a little, trying to catch his gaze. Despite it being evident that his attention is elsewhere, she continues. “Okay, talent runs in the family would be a nice second option.”
It takes Jack a second to understand what she just said. And that does make him turn his head to look at her. “What family?”
“She didn’t tell you? I saw you two talking, so I assumed you knew.”
Walsh stares back at him, one of her brows raised, like she is waiting for a punch line. But Jack’s face is a canvas of indeniable confusion. Slowly, a smile tugs at her lips, a little bit amused — and very satisfied that she’s the one to tell him:
“She’s my half-sister.”
He lets her words sink in. And then it hits him — the familiarity he noticed came from you and Emery having the same eyes. The same eye shape and, most importantly, the same gaze — direct, intense and unapologetic. That made him feel like he owed you an apology, but he is yet to figure out what for.
“Wow, Jack Abbot rendered speechless, that’s a new one. What, did she leave that good of a first impression?” Emery chuckles.
That is one way to put it.
Jack is not sure how to tell her that you made him reevaluate the choices he was dead set on. The ones he kept making for months. But he can’t have this conversation with her now, here, when he’s in disarray and operating on barely five hours of sleep.
He manages a smirk. “Maybe talent does run in your family. Hard for me to tell when I’ve barely worked with you.”
“Memory loss is one of the symptoms of senility, you know,” she pats his arm with a mocking sympathy but with no offence. “I’ll make sure to make our every interaction memorable for you from now on.”
There’s a glint in her eyes, not threatening but invigorating, and that’s what Jack has always liked about her: even if their methods clash, even when they argue (which happens often), Emery never holds a grudge.
“Can’t wait for it, Dr. Walsh,” Jack grins.
She flips him off on her way to the elevator.
His phone vibrates.
Jack pulls it out of his pocket and looks down at the pop-up on the screen.
Levington:
You still up for next Friday? We’re placing bets, mine’s on some gang shit. Haven’t gotten one of those in a while, seems sus.
The same question starts flashing through his mind, like a red light at a crossroad. Should he keep doing this?
Hiro will still be in recovery, and he’s the only one Jack usually hangs out with. Except, no one takes on that job to hang out, and all the common reasons don’t resonate with Jack: he isn’t on it for the money, he doesn’t go out on calls to render justice, his morals have become quite flexible over the years. They’ve got enough time to find another medic for the task. And he really should find himself a better hobby.
So Abbot bites the bullet and types a short reply.
Sorry, something came up, I have to pass on this one. I’ll text Sarge.
He turns on silent mode and puts the phone away.
It comes to him way easier than he’d imagined. The harder task will be to not give in when he’s alone in his apartment, when he’s got day-offs and not too many friends to spend them with, when he’ll have to dissect his logic for his therapist.
The hardest will be trying to talk to you.
If not for giving an apology, then just to offer you an explanation. It feels important to let you know he isn’t who you think he is, to get a chance to make things right. To get a chance to be in your proximity for any reason, really.
Because deep down, he grows infatuated with that jarring contrast — your words harsh, but your fingers gentle.
Your voice cold, but your touch warming his whole body up.
And somehow, he craves both.
✧ soooo is this anything? would anyone want a part 2?
the idea behind the fic was to explore how a person’s views can change with time and/or under some dire circumstances. but also what it’s like to fall for someone who’s done things in the past you don’t agree with. I think it would be interesting to find out why Abbot joined the army and how it affected him, but also why he decided to help the SWAT team. because I have a sneaking suspicion that the show will not answer any of these questions... aaanyways, I didn’t want to write a super long oneshot, I think it’d work best as a three-parter, so this is the first one. sorry there’s no smut, I know that’s what everyone cares about these days. I spent almost a week debating if I should even post this fic. but it’s been on my mind for a while, and I just want to move on lol but thank you to the few people who will read this <3 (also, to clarify — yes, reader does have her reasons to hate cops. but the statistics I mentioned are very much real).
✧ dividers by @/pixopix and @/cafekitsune;
⏩ PREV FIC / ⏩ MASTERLIST
✧ English isn’t my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any mistakes. reblogs and comments are very appreciated!
Mouthing Off - Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x Reader
Summary: You and Robby are always fighting as the two day-shift attendings, to the point of screaming matches on the ED floor. After a particularly brutal back-and-forth, it seems like using each other to get off is the only way to settle things.
Tags/Notes: enemies to lovers, hate sex, oral (m & f), rough blowjob, face sitting (riding/grinding/smothering, really), kinda porn without plot, porn without plot with context?
Content: maybe a second of dubcon but it’s more like one of those moments where things reorient
A/N: oops saw a blurb and shit out a fic. shamelessly and consensually stolen from actual icon @spookypeachpitt13 so everyone say thank you!! anyway this is so wildly outside of my comfort zone so i hope it's okay aksdjfh
Word Count: 3.3k
“My office. End of shift.”
The words snarl off Robby’s tongue and you know you’re in for it – or, really, he’s in for it, because you’re ten times as stubborn on your best days. That’s what makes the two of you work as attendings on the same shift. You never take each other’s shit and, fuck, there's a lot to shovel between the two of you.
Today, though, it’s been so bad you’re making the residents shrink and the nurses exchange suspicious glances. It started with a normal disagreement over a course of treatment for someone who’d been in overnight and spiraled the whole day between stab wounds and fevers and car crashes.
And then you and Robby both crossed the line. The unspoken one between you that keeps your disagreements to the medicine (even though ‘the medicine’ often also includes his handwriting on charts [a literal chicken would do better work, Michael], your bedside manner [you don’t have to get every male patient to give you his number], his bedside manner [and you don’t have to show them why hospitals have HR departments], his clothes [you look like June in this year’s ’Lazy Assholes of Pittsburgh’ calendar], your clothes [y’know they make scrubs that don’t fit like spandex, right?], his teaching style [they won’t learn anything if you make them feel like shit], your teaching style [they won’t learn anything if you make them feel invincible]). And so on. And so forth. And on and on and on.
But today? Today went something like this.
MICHAEL: You know that you should’ve taken the exact opposite approach back there, right?
YOU: Funny; it looked an awful lot like he’s going to survive because of my approach. Don’t worry, though. If I wanted the patient dead, I would’ve assigned him to you instead.
MICHAEL: Sure, he'll live, but he’ll always-
YOU: What? Be able to run faster than you because I saved his leg when you would’ve sent it to be chopped off?
MICHAEL: Quality of care isn’t always about whether-
YOU: You just want everyone to be as miserable of a fuck as you are; god forbid I actually prioritize what’s best for my patients instead of-
MICHAEL: If you even finish that sentence, I swear I’ll-
YOU: Oh, I’ve gotta hear this! Go ahead, Robby, what’ll you do to another attending for disagreeing with your genius and making a good call when you were too much of a coward to take a risk? Bend me over your knee? You don’t get to question my approach just because you’ve been practicing medicine since the dark ages.
MICHAEL: And you don’t get to defy my direct orders just because-
YOU: Your orders? Are you fucking serious?
MICHAEL: Yes, I am! You can’t go around making decisions like you’re in charge just because you’ve got half the doctors in the hospital begging to screw you!
Your eyes finally dropped away from his. When they lifted back up, they were a storm. Anger, yes, but hurt, too. He’d never questioned your intelligence or your place as an attending before. Never weaponized your femininity. He knew right away that he’d pushed you further than you could take, past the point of bending.
So you push back, “How about my office right now? Because there’s absolutely no way you’re walking away from me when I need to strangle you.”
Robby huffs, “You know what? Fine. Might as well spare your students the embarrassment of listening to you talk out of your ass another second.”
You pin your lips in a straight line and storm past him toward the offices, where you and he have the pleasure of sharing a thin wall that doesn’t always stop you from arguing while you catch up on paperwork.
Robby slams the door behind himself – locks it – and you’re in his face right away, no meekness or hurt left in your expression anymore as you square up to him, posture totally straight so you can almost look him in the eyes. “You are such a fucking asshole, Robinavitch. How dare you talk to me like that?”
Robby rubs the back of his neck like he does when he knows he’s fucked up but isn’t ready to back off. “Look, I know that last comment was too far, and we both know I didn’t mean it, but that doesn’t change the principle that-”
“You’re just pissed off because you know you were wrong back there and you can’t deal with a woman being better than you.”
Robby takes a step closer to you at that; you can smell his sweat and his fading deodorant. “This has absolutely nothing to do with you being a woman. Don’t even imply that-”
“Like hell it doesn’t,” you scoff. “You’re mad because I made a better decision than you. Because I pissed all over your favorite fire hydrant. But if that had been Abbot or Shen, you would never have chewed them out like you’re trying to here.”
He shoves one hand on the side of your head now, pinning you against the wall without either of you realizing. “Maybe because the two of them have actually proven themselves in my ED.”
You roll your eyes so hard you think they might fall out. “Y’know what, Robinavitch? You need to ask yourself if your dick is really big enough for this kind of fucking macho attitude because I have a sneaking suspicion it isn’t.”
You go to move, to storm off, but Robby’s grabbing your wrist before you can. Your breath catches in your throat as your chest collides with his, your mouths nearly touching. Sure, yeah, several of your fights have turned into makeout sessions (whose haven’t?), but he’s never acted like this. Absolutely no apology in the mean, borderline cruel way his long fingers wrap around your arm and force your hand to his half-hard cock beneath his cargo pants. "What do you think? Big enough for you?"
All the air floods out of the room.
Fuck, it is big. Definitely big enough to back up any bullshit he spews. Big enough to make your mouth water and that’s not the only thing dripping at the thought of what he must look like fully hard. Hot everywhere all of a sudden, you go to yank your hand away but he grips it harder, grinding into your palm and refusing to drop eye contact.
Even as undeniable lust crawls into your chest and cheeks, you scoff, unable to let him get the upper hand. With your meanest sneer, you cut back. “You’re hard from me yelling at you? Got a shame kink or something?”
“More like I’m looking forward to fucking that attitude out of you,” he growls, one hand wrapping around your throat and shoving you against the wall. You’re not scared. It’s Robby. Of course you’re not scared. You fucking hate each other and you spend an hour laughing with him on FaceTime before bed most nights because you both can't stand being alone and only the other understands. But your heart still drops into your stomach at the darkness in his eyes.
When he puts his hands on your shoulders and pushes you down, onto your knees, something hungry inside of you can’t help but let him.
Robby shoves two fingers into your mouth and coos sarcastically when you instinctively wrap your lips around them, “There you go. Useless brat until she’s got something in her mouth.”
You go to pull off so you can snark something back at him, but he grabs the back of your head with his free hand and gags you on his fingers instead. The gesture goes straight to your cunt, hot shame and arousal pooling in your underwear.
“Oh no you don’t,” he tuts. Then he lets go just long enough to let you catch your breath, tugging his cargos down barely enough to fish his cock out of his boxers. When you once again open your mouth to piss him off, he shakes his head and presses the head of his cock to those pretty lips of yours. “Don’t back down now, princess, I’m sure that big mouth of yours can take it.”
A bead of his precum clings to your lower lip and your tongue flicks out to taste it without your consent. The slightly salty, clean taste lights you on fire. So you open your mouth wider and let him slide his cock over your tongue, secretly savoring that rapturous expression he’s trying to suppress. Then, when you can tell you’ve got the power again, you rake your teeth ever so lightly down his shaft and he looses a pathetic, shaky keen so loud he smacks his hand over his mouth in the middle of it.
He glares down at you and hisses, “Seriously?”
When your eyes twinkle back and you hum in amusement, he looks at you with murder in his eyes, grips his fingers into your hair, and fucks your mouth the way you deserve. The way you were trying to provoke him to. His fat, leaking head slams against the back of your throat and you gag around him as your eyes water as his sharp zipper stings against your chin. But you can take it. That’s what he loves about you. You’ll always take whatever he can throw at you and then give it back just as hard.
Robby watches with a sadistic glee as you settle your weight over your ankles, tilt your head slightly, and give him even better access. As his thrusts pick up speed, barely letting you breathe, he pants, “See? Is this so goddamn hard? Shutting up and letting me take charge for five minutes?”
He expects you to grunt some sort of annoyed disapproval, but you don’t. He notices your expression going calm and placid. Lids heavy, jaw completely limp, body calm. He swallows hard and whispers, half a mean chuckle and half a desperate kind of prayer, “Fuck, you’re really getting off on this, aren’t you?”
You’re too far gone to give any response but a satisfied moan that rockets up his spine. Your drool seeps down his balls and onto your scrub top and he’s never seen anything so gorgeous as this. Then he shoves his booted foot between your legs, the leather creating friction against your inner seam right on your clit, and you whimper. The sound is wet and pathetic and needy with his dick stopping you from being able to express anything coherent. When you start to unthinkingly rub your clothed pussy over his shoe, Robby’s cock pulses.
At the sight of you being so goddamn pretty and submissive instead of driving him insane for once, Robby slows his pace, edging himself over your tongue, and murmurs, “Knew you were a good girl under all that attitude.”
You nod greedily, mind quiet for the first time today as you chase that perfect friction and let him control you. It silences everything that had been pissing you off. With his pleasure tightening up, Robby bites back calling you perfect, baby, just right, so good, angel, fuck. He can’t do that when he’s still simmering from today’s fighting. But he does cup your cheek and brush a tear away with his thumb, the gesture so tender it’s out of place.
And when you gaze up at him through watery lashes, he knows he’s done for.
Not just now. Not just this.
Robby doesn’t ask before he cums in your mouth. You didn’t want him to. You want him to demand everything. His bitterness floods your tongue, pump after pump of it, and you dutifully swallow. There’s so much that some of it dribbles down your chin. Once he’s fully soft, Robby kneels down and, while guiding you back to your feet, licks his own cum from your skin. Then he kisses it back into your mouth, his tongue taking dominance over yours, refusing to let you miss out on even a drop of him.
As your brain turns back on, Robby shakes his head, lets out a sharp breath, and tucks himself back into his pants. He looks at your dreamy expression for a second and chuckles. Then, with a gentle kiss to your cheek, he says, “There we go. I can work with this.”
Your familiar anger climbs back up when he moves even a fraction of a step toward the office door.
“Nope, absolutely the fuck not,” you bite at him. Blocking his exit, you point at the carpet. “Get on your back on the floor. We aren’t done here, Michael.”
When he realizes what you’re asking for – demanding, expecting – his knees weaken. Butting heads be damned, he’s definitely thought about those thighs smothering him before, especially when you put another doctor in their place instead of him. So, with wide, blown-black eyes, he lays back obediently, the anticipation making his soft cock twitch, debating how long it needs to come back to life.
You hastily kick out of your scrub bottoms and panties, toss them aside, and jokingly shove the center of his chest as you drop down into his lap. “Now who’s pathetic? On my disgusting office floor waiting to be used like a sex toy.”
“Oh, fuck you,” Robby tries with an eye roll, not convincing at all, “I could get right up and leave you-”
You shove his chest hard this time. So he falls flat on his back. You watch his pupils dilate and his lips part as red crawls into the apples of his cheeks. “That’s more like it. Big bad Doctor Robinabitch just needs to be manhandled.”
All he can do is nod and mutter, “yeah, maybe,” eyes locked to your juicy thighs as you crawl over him. You settle your knees on either side of his head and memorize the borderline pleading expression on his face when he sees your swollen cunt. You’re absolutely glistening because of him. You don’t even pretend you’re worried about breaking his nose or crushing him or whatever you’re ‘supposed’ to do before climbing on a man’s face and riding him like a bronco.
You just demand, “open up,” and drop your weight down onto his waiting mouth. His bear scratches your sensitive inner thighs and his nose nudges the hood of your clit back and- Fuck. Fuck, this isn’t going to take long. Of course Robby’s good with his tongue. He’s so unfairly good at everything. For a second, he takes charge of the moment, wrapping his arms around your hips and eating you out the way he’s dreamed of more times than he’d care to admit. Fuck him for thinking he can just get you off and call it a day. No, you’re taking this.
Without saying anything, you wrench his hands from your waist, pin them above his head, and mount his tongue like you mean it. You keep one hand on his wrists, pushing them hard into the floor, and grab his hair with the other so you cna keep his head tilted at just the right angle. His eyes roll back as he loses the ability to breathe at a regular pace, forced to gasp in air only when you ease up. It’s bliss.
Once you have him where you need him, you find exactly the rhythm you need in no time. Your fingers tighten into his hair, pain zinging from his scalp and down his back harsh enough to make his hips buck. You huff and grunt, “Shut up and take it, you big baby.”
Robby can’t help moaning, which only makes you worse. You rut your clit down on his tongue hard enough that you feel the texture of his tastebuds creating enough roughness to send you to the border of overstimulation right before you cum. You slow your pace ever so slightly when you feel your walls clamping down, working the orgasm out of yourself, so lost in the sensation that you don’t even hear how Robby moans and begs for you to use him to finish. It’s the ridge of his nose and the softness of his lips and the firmness of his tongue and you’re breaking open all over him. You feel your wetness coating his beard as a fresh flood of it comes, thinner and milder and sweeter. Robby groans through your whole orgasm, lapping up your juices until he’s positively drunk.
As you ease off him to sit on his lap, your thighs shake and your chest heaves. Satisfaction weighs heavy in your limbs and you know he feels the same way – spent and placated.
You both stay there, panting, looking at each other, for a few minutes.
There’s the silent understanding that things are different now.
Robby’s eyes soften.
So do yours.
You stand on shaky legs and tug your bottoms back on. He follows right behind.
Then Robby pulls you into a hug. Tight, warm, earnest. You nestle into his chest and breathe him in as he kisses the top of your head. Neither of you speak. What else is there to say?
As he pulls back slightly, arms still around you, Robby cuts you a borderline sheepish gaze. “You know it’s because I respect you, right? The arguing, I mean.”
You roll your eyes. “Shut the fuck up, Michael.”
“I’m being serious.”
“Of course I know that.” You flatten your lips into a line, cross your arms over his chest, and stare him down. “I know that you respect me. You wouldn’t even entertain my arguments if you didn’t. But what you said today was still over the line. You can’t talk to me like that in front of my students. You can’t let them think I get advantages because I have great tits.”
“You’re right.” His eyes flick down to your breasts, wishing he’d had the forethought to get you to take them out during…whatever the hell this was. “On both fronts.”
You give him a little self-satisfied smirk and tell him with your hand on the doorknob, “You can apologize by buying me dinner tonight. I like that new place on seventh.”
He gives a shit-eating grin and raises his eyebrows. “Pretty expensive spot.”
You nod and reply, “You owe me a pretty big apology.”
“Deal.” He leans in, places a downright sweet kiss on your lips, and murmurs, “Can I eat you for dessert?”
You waggle your eyebrows playfully. “Want seconds already?”
He tugs you close by the waist and kisses you hard. “Abso-fucking-lutely.”
“So greedy,” you tease against his lips. When he goes to kiss you again, you dodge him, eyeing him with so much tease in your expression he can hardly stand it. “Say ‘please, doctor.’”
“You fucking brat.” But he can still taste the champagne of your orgasm on his lips and he needs more, plain and simple. He’ll get hungover without another taste. So he puts on a pouty face and does as you ask in a gentle, small voice: “Please, doctor.”
“Now that’s a good boy.” You pat his face affectionately, halfway to a slap. “I’ll wait by that ugly car of yours after handoff.”
He balks. “That ‘ugly car’ is a Bentley.”
You stand on your toes and kiss his forehead “And the fact that you spent six figures on it only makes you look dumber. I’ll see you soon.”
synopsisDr J makes the hospital famous with her tiktoks and, especially robby and jack. robby has something to say about what everyone thinks of him. (4.8k words)
warningsheavy smut. MDNI. This is all about this man eating pussy. oral (f receiving) slight fingering, robby's got something to prove, face sitting, come eating? if you squint, language, slight jealous robby
authornotes this is completely based of that meme i saw that i'll put below because i know what its trying to say but as a Robby girl I've got to defend my man (jack abbott though can also get it anyday) i dont know if i'm proud of this, i just have so many ideas that they all clump up and come out as barf but i hope you like (gif credits to @timothyolyphant :)
Robby went to you first because he didn’t understand what it meant and if he were to go to any of the younger residents or students they’d make fun of him. He didn't know what he had been staring at but he knew his residents.
You might tease him to but your teasing he could take, and if he really felt like it, make you regret in his bed later. After all he all but signed up for it when you started dating six months ago.
Guy who berates you for not making dinner, vs guy who eats it for dinner? Robby didn’t get it- at least he hoped he didn’t.
“Hey,” he said, sliding up next to you.
You didn’t bat a lash. “Hey yourself.”
“I need your opinion.”
You were still distracted on your charting, even as you said: “Yes, Robby, green does bring out your eyes.”
“What? No,” he said with a frown. He caged your body in, leaning is arm over you at the counter. “You're young.”
“That's why you like me, right?”
Robby hummed. He looked over you, making a mental list of all the reasons he loved you. “Yeah, sure, one of the reasons, so what do you think this means?”
He handed his phone over to you and finally you looked away from the charting to consider it. He watched as you read the text and saw the grainy pictures, one of him and another of Abbott, screenshots of them in backgrounds.. You didn't have to slide on any glasses or pull the phone away from you to see clearly.
Slowly, a grin broke out.
“Oh,” you chuckled.
Robby wasn't laughing and when you looked at him you realised that.
“It's nothing, it's just some meme,” you said, handing him back the phone.
Javadi had been gaining more attraction with her TikTok. She gave health advice with the background of the Pitt as her scene. It wasn't her fault- not really- if followers caught wind of the drama, friendships and hot men that worked there.
Her loyal followers had already deemed Santos as 'a hard exterior but caring soul', Whitaker with a 'heart of gold', and you 'the eldest daughter type.'
And they labelled attendings Robby and Abbott as DILFS.
Apparently they'd already explored how the two doctors would be in the bedroom.
“Okay,” he said, slowly sinking down to his knees in front of you as you swivelled your stool to face him. “But what does it mean?”
There was something hesitant in your gaze. The amused purse of your lips as you tried to stop a laugh and the light in your eyes. If you found it funny at his expense- which he had a feeling you were- he at least wanted to know what it meant.
You clearly thought he was joking. “You want to know what it means?”
He nodded.
“I can tell you at home?”
Robby let the words sink in, the fact you were undoubtedly referring to his place as home. But he didn't want to go home with you and this terrible feeling that everyone was laughing at him for reasons he didn't know why.
“Okay,” you said, holding his hands as if you were delivering bad news. “It means- and it's just Javadi's followers that think this and have clearly made this- that they think Jack is .... a more attentive lover.”
You chose your words carefully.
“ 'Eat it for dinner',” you continued. “Is a reference to how guys-”
Instead of saying anything you gave him a look and he gave you one back.
You sighed. “They think Jack eats pussy better than you.”
Robby didn't know what he was thinking but he wasn't sure it was ... that.
“I have a patient that's diaphoretic so I should probably-”
With little else to say you left your boyfriend kneeling, patting him on the shoulder as you went.
You could practically feel Robby distracted all day.
Every time you passed by the nurses area to go from one patient to another, he was there. Either sitting at the counter, head in hand and mindlessly looking through the computer or he was standing and listening to anything the one next to him was saying but you had a feeling he wasn't so much paying attention.
“Is Doctor Robby, okay?” asked Javadi. She was presenting a case to you, typically she went to you or McKay. You were sure she only went to you now as Cassy had the day off.
“Oh yeah, he's fine,” you said. It was no secret to anyone that you and Robby were dating, though you kept it professional around the ED. “Just TikTok, you know.”
Javadi smirked. “TikTok?”
“Yeah, yours.”
The smirk dampened and her eyes widened in the sort of frightened puppy way. She started stuttering over her words.
“Relax, he's not angry. At least not at you just what people are saying,” you said.
“What-what people are saying?” asked Javadi. “But everyone thinks he's hot. Really! They-they love Abbott and Robby. Seriously, people even ship them. Not that they don't like you and Robby, no they're obsessed.”
For a second you were intrigued.
In a way, maybe that should have have made you jealous or annoyed that everyone was finding him to be handsome and wanting a piece of him but if anything it made you proud. It made you want to hang off his arm.
“Some people are saying some things, nothing harmful.”
And also certainly none of their business how he ate you out at nights.
“Oh my god, I can totally tell them to stop, I can take the videos down, and I'll-I'll stop filming in here-” she stammered out.
“It's okay, don't worry,” you assured with a smile. “Get a CT and run blood toxics and come find me with the results.”
You found Robby exactly where you expected to find him, staring at the patient board without reading.
You didn’t even have time to greet him before he was speaking.
He jerked his head. “Come see a patient with me.”
So Robby led you off to exam room three, where an empty bed was made and no monitors were on. Even the lights were dimmed down low.
Robby pulled the curtains over and closed the door.
“Is the patient invisible?” You turned to Robby but hardly had time to see him before he was on you. His hands were on your hips, keeping you into him and his head ducked as he kissed you. He groaned into it, the forceful nature of his kiss having you stumbling back.
You couldn't help but kiss him back. When he started, there was no stopping. Even if you were in the hospital and desperate to keep it professional.
You shook your head, his lips moving with the movement. “Nu-uh.”
“What?” his hands came up to cup your cheeks, voice muffled with his not letting go of you.
“You're not kissing me cause people think Jack gives better head,” you said against his lips.
There was a noise of protest in Robby's throat.
“Cruel woman.”
Your hands slid up to his chest. “Wait- Michael.”
He brushed back. “What?”
“We are not getting it on here just because of some meme.”
You knew it to be the reason why almost at once. Robby was the one who had set certain boundaries in the work place. Like no making out. Yet he was the one huffing in frustration and surrendering, holding up his hands where you could see them.
“It's just some things people are saying on the internet.”
“I just don't get why,” he said, honestly. His head was tucked into his chest as he shrugged.
You were almost convinced he was upset. “I dunno. You're stern, sometimes, here,” you explained. “Maybe people saw that in the back of Javadi's TikToks and thought you had.... a hard exterior.”
“They think I'm un-caring?” he asked
“I didn't say that.”
“And Abbott?”
Quickly, you realised it was more than just feeling bummed about people thinking he gave bad head.
You smirked. “Jealousy looks good on you, Robinavitch.”
Slowly Robby sank down on the edge of the bed, sighing heavily as if this situation was weighing heavy on him.
You followed suit, sitting on the stool and wheeling close to him, treating him like he really was the patient. You knew how Robby got in his own head more times then was good for him. He didn't worry what people thought of him ever, but this was different.
“ What else is it?” you asked, softly, voice dropped low.
“Have I ever,” he began, shoulders high in tension and head low. His hands were braced on his knees. “Have I ever left you... un-satisfied?”
You wanted to laugh.
Robby and un-satisfied didn't belong together.
The nature of your jobs meant the two of you were exhausted more times than you were energised but that never stopped the two of you. If you were wanting you weren't left wanting, in fact, you'd be left thoroughly satisfied.
“Never,” you said.
He peeked at you with a little smirk.
“Those people don't know you, Robby,” you carried on, fingers circling his wrists and slowly holding him there. “They don't know what you do to me.”
Seconds ago you were berating him for kissing you in an exam room. But you leant into him and kissed his lips slowly.
“What I do, huh?” he mumbled against your lips.
“Uh-huh, things that Abbott could never.”
Just at the name of his friend had Robby grabbing you and all but pulling you over him. He leant back on the bed and slot you between his legs as he kissed you, hard. His hands couldn't find purchase as they sort every part of you, pulling our your scrub top and finding the skin there, running the back of his knuckles over.
Your hands wound in his hair, pulling until his mouth was opening up for you.
There came a sharp knock at the door before it opened. The curtains weren't pulled back but Dana's voice called out.
“Break it up in there! We need the room!”
Robby groaned, head throwing back on the cushion before you climbed off him. He didn't move even as you did.
“Aren't you coming?”
“Just... just give me a minute,” he said.
You chuckled to yourself, letting your eyes linger over all of him and left him there with the curtain drawn.
Dana was at the door, shaking her head with a chuckle.
You feigned innocence as best you could, working quick to tuck your scrub top back in and brush back your hair. “What?”
“The two of you, at it like rabbits.”
“We were not.”
“Not what I saw.”
“You didn't see anything.”
“Okay, not what I heard,” she said, lips smacking from the nicotine gum you slid onto her desk every morning.
“He was upset.”
“About that TikTok stuff?”
You looked to her. The last thing Robby needed was thinking everyone had seen the meme, that people thought he wasn't a good enough lover or whatever else he thought it meant.
“Is it bad?”
Dana shrugged. “It means nothing to me but you know guys, hurts their ego that kind of stuff.”
You nodded. You would say something in Robby was hurt. Whether it was that people thought he was a tough guy to work with or something about him that provoked the idea of selfishness.
But then they seemed to deem Abbott a capable lover, something you couldn't count on due to the fact you'd never gotten the chance to know.
Not that you wanted to.
(Except that one time in a dream before you were dating Robby)
Victoria rushed up to you and Dana excused herself. “I've just seen the post, Santos showed me,” she rushed out her words, panic evident. “Does he hate me? Oh my god, he hates me. My attending hates me.”
“He doesn't-”
“I mean it's so inappropriate, like, he saves lives you know maybe he just wants a meal cooked sometimes, not saying like- no- not that he'd ever get mad at you- or anyone for...”
You let Javadi trail off.
She blushed. “I should walk away shouldn't I?”
“Probably for the best.”
As soon as Jack walked in an hour before his shift was supposed to start, Robby stood, ready to leave.
It was rare he ever got out on time, let alone early but he hadn't been doing much work anyway, only thinking and being stuck in his own head. And sometimes with how much he thought about you: Yours.
“Thank you, brother, thank you,” he said.
Jack's gaze levelled on him. “Is everything okay?”
No, not at all. People on the internet speculated he was an asshole who'd get angry if you didn't have dinner on the table. As if he wouldn't live between your thighs if given the choice.
Robby bit his tongue and nodded.
“Hey Jack,” you greeted, coming by.
Robby's eyes followed you at once. He thought of all the plans he had in his head.
“You're here early,” you noted.
“I asked him to come by, listen, I got some errands to run. You think you're okay coming home by yourself tonight?” he asked.
There was a hint of confusion in your gaze but you didn't prod. You never did push him, always letting him come to you when he was ready. He'd never been so thankful for it.
“Er yeah, sure.”
Robby kissed you quick and hard, his hand cupping your backside and squeezing before he left you.
He only caught a glimpse of Jack digging into his phone to show you something funny. He dread to think what it was.
The last hour of work without Robby felt like a whole other twelve. Every patient answered questions too slow and chairs piled up with more minor problems. It felt like everything irritated you. Which it had.
By the time you were getting home, climbing up the stairs because of cause the elevator was broke you almost forgot all about the meme that had Robby so worried earlier.
That was until you pushed open the door.
You expected the tv on low, the lights on, maybe the sound of the shower.
You were greeted instead by a dull orange glow from the dozen or so candles lit around the living space. There was a fresh bouquet of flowers on the table and a sleek box tied off with a ribbon.
Hands landed on your hips and the soft belly of your boyfriends pressed against you.
“Robby,” you grinned, raising a hand to fall on the back of his head and stroke his hair there.
The stretch gave him perfect opportunity to pepper kisses over your neck. His other arm circled your waist, pulling you into him.
“What is all this?” you asked, eyes closing in the bliss of feeling him everywhere.
He hummed into your neck. “I just don't think you know how much I love you.”
You bit down on your lip as his hot tongue swirled over your pulse. “Oh, I think I know.”
His nose brushed over your jaw as he guided you forward, his toes clipping your heels as he didn't let you go or turn you around. He dragged you to where the present sat on the table, below the roses. His hands were large as they palmed and moved around your stomach. He breathed against your ear, your body waking in shivers as he uttered against you. “Open it.”
It was tough to do so- even to bend down and grab it- as Robby was adamant in letting you go. Eventually you got a hold of the ribbon and pulled.
He let you go enough for you to pull out the garment inside. Or the lack of garment.
It was a small set of lingerie, red and black- his favourite colours on you. The colours of seduction. There were ribbons and straps that upon just looking at you weren't sure how they were to go.
“I want you to put it on,” said Robby, head resting on your shoulder and looking. “And then I'm going to make you come on my tongue until you're begging me to stop.”
Your knees weakened but Robby still held you.
“You think you can do that?” he asked.
You nodded and gasped, smashing your lips into his. You turned in his arms, tongue's battling and arms circling him. You pressed your body into his, practically throwing yourself onto him.
The attentive lover he was he allowed it for a moment before he pulled away.
“Put it on.”
In the bedroom you stripped and with the help of the mirror figured out where everything was supposed to go. The panties did little to hide your ass but clad away your pussy, straps at your tights and bows there. The bra pushed your chest up, lace dancing over your chest.
It was sexy and sensual, knowing Robby had brought it for you and demanded you wear it. All the same, you couldn't wait for him to tear it off you.
Stepping back into the candle lit room Robby was already shirtless, sitting on the sofa with his legs wide and cock hardening.
When you stepped out, he smirked, arms stretching along the back of the sofa.
“I think I like when you have something to prove,” you said, slowly walking over, letting every step linger and make him wait for it.
Or drawing out whatever he had planned.
“I have something to prove?” he asked.
You dropped to your knees in front of him, between his legs as Robby's eyes trailed to watch you. “Don't you?” You were desperate to touch him, knowing he didn't have that planned but needing him anyhow. Your hands had only smoothed up his thighs before he grabbed your wrists.
Robby stood and pulled you up with him.
Without words he sat you down the sofa, stretching you out while he sank to his knees.
“Nu-uh,” he tutted, fingers wrapping around your legs and prying them apart, slowly. Your panties slipped and your pussy was slowly displaying itself. “You know what I want.”
“Michael-”
“What do you want?” he asked, but tonight was more about him than you. If it was about him proving something, you'd be his practise. If he was an artist you were going to be his canvas.
Your mouth just opened to speak when his thumb pressed down onto your panties. He rubs, slowly, pressing down harder till you grew wetter. Till he could feel it through the material.
His beard scratched at your thighs in the way that made you wither as he kissed at your thighs. His fingers pushed into your skin, kneading the plump of it.
“Have I ever told you, I love the way you smell.”
You gasped as he slid his thumb up and down, circling it slowly over your clothed clit.
“Have I?” he asked again, craving an answer.
“No.”
Robby was watching the space between your legs as he put his head there and inhaled.
Your back arched as his nose pressed into you, smelling and inhaling and groaning out when he was done. His fingers were pressing hard enough into your thighs to bruise. You wanted it to.
You watched as Robby darted out his tongue and ran it up and down you panties. He got a taste of you through the panties he brought.
Robby started off slow but he could never go slow. It was the way he did procedures, marking off everything first then moving around the room in seconds. It was the way he kissed, getting the same taste of your lips before sliding in his tongue and getting a taste of your spit. It was the way he fucked, slowly moving into you till your walls pulsed around his cock then he was moving like an animal.
They were small presses of his tongue then he was making out with your pussy through the cloth. He drooled against you, moaning and prodding his thumb, pressing in and out.
“God, I wanna get you naked,” he said against your core.
You didn't know if he wanted you stripped or just your core.
You chuckled breathless. “Then why dress me up?”
Robby pulled away to look at you. His thumbs hooked into your panties. “I like to un-wrap you.”
He dragged your panties down slow, grasping your legs and helping you out of them all the while keeping you limp on the sofa for him.
You expected Robby to ditch them, throw them aside but instead he shoved them in his face and inhaled again. “Oh my god,” you groaned, head landing back on the sofa.
“You're so wet and I haven't even touched you,” he said.
Finally he ditched the panties and faced your pussy.
His gaze flickered up to you and you felt exposed. A sudden need to hide came over you but Robby shook his head like he knew. Keeping your gaze he darted out his tongue and flicked it against your clit, circling your bundle of nerves.
At the devout attention your eyes fluttered shut in pleassure.
Robby sucked your clit in his mouth and pulled back with a pop. “Look at me, look at me.”
You looked at him.
His eyes were dark and wicked with want. He licked his lips and kept your gaze as he went in. He forced your legs up and apart, bending you as he shoved himself into you. He was there quick and heavy, licking and kissing till his slurping was heard around the apartment.
“Robby!”
He chuckled into you, sending vibrations up through you.
“I need your fingers inside of me, please.”
He hummed and shook his head, still occupied with dragging his tongue over you. “Not my fingers people criticise.”
You groaned.
Robby sucked some more, swallowing up your want, driving parts of your soul away while he was at it. “Spread yourself open, baby- just like that- there we go-” he guided your hands to your own core and helped you hold open the lips of you.
Then he went in with new reverence. The tip of his tongue ran miles and as you were left gasping for him, making a mess he cleaned it up from your hole to your clit and ran circles around it.
“Oh shit, Michael.”
“Feels good?”
“Yes!”
“Am I gonna make you come?” he asked, dropping his spit against you and working it in. When your fingers slipped he took over, holding you open.
Your hands went to his hair, stroking it back.
You knew your hands in his hair, or fingers threading through, drove him insane.
“Yes!”
He shoved his face in again, like a man addicted.
Sweat was starting to from along your body and the hand that wasn't in his hair groped at your own breast until you were humping up your hips to his-
“Get up,” said Robby suddenly.
He stood, his cock stretched against his pants. Robby brushed the back of his knuckles against the hard line of himself and wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Up.”
On shaky legs you did so, feeling the want but the coil of release slowly eased.
Robby bent you over and continued cleaning up your mess.
It was a new angle, the sort he'd never tried and as you felt his tongue in places you'd never felt you wonder how long he'd been thinking of this. How long had he wanted you bent over, ass up in his face.
With your back up to him he easily un-hooked your bras and threw it aside.
“You think Abbott could eat you up like this?” he asked, voice only above a growl. “Huh?”
“No,” you gasped, slowly turning to jelly.
The new position didn't last long as Robby stood tall again, pressing the hardness of his cock against the curve of your ass.
You arched yourself back into him. “Please, please, please.”
“I know baby, I know,” he cooed in something that could have been sympathy in a mocking tone. “God, you feel what you do to me? Like I feel what I do to you.”
Robby turned you around and kissed you, the trace of your essence on his tongue and shared between the two of you. He let his tongue dance over yours like he wanted to share it, a hand creeping to the back of your neck and keeping you in.
You were so wanting, so needy for any part of him.
“I'm gonna lie back now,” he said against your lips. “And you're gonna sit on my face.”
You pulled back, wondering if you'd heard that right.
Robby nodded slowly, not even trying to hide as he watched your lips. His thumb came back down to your clit, circling enough to keep you like putty in the palm of his hands.
“Michael-”
He was already pulling away, popping the buttons of his trousers and making himself comfortable on the sofa.
You were standing, hesitant. “I can't sit on your face.”
He smirked and patted his stomach. “Yes you can, c'mon.”
“I'm serious.”
Robby smirked, nudging you up. “So am I.”
He was looking at you with such wide eyes, though dark. The same way he looked at you when you got something right in work. When you pleased him, when he was so proud of you.
This was for him, you told yourself as you climbed over him, allowing time to run your hands up and down the hairs of his round belly.
You watched his gaze follow yours as you trailed up and up his face, over his beard until all you saw was his eyes.
Lingering on your knees you tested how low you could get.
The tip of Robby's tongue found your centre and slowly worked you open again.
His hands wrap around your thighs and he yanks you down till you're sitting on his face with a heavenly groan.
There was no time for protests as he got to work, his tongue burying inside of you. He was so close he could hardly move, only keep himself there and suck and slurp. At every tiny move his nose brushed into your folds, nudging your clit and dragging out the need.
“Ohhh fuckkk,” you whined.
Robby groaned into you as he tried to speak, something like 'beautiful' caught between your pussy. His hands were messaging your ass and grinding you into him.
“S'too much, oh my god.”
He shook his head, wetting your core with his saliva and your need mixed.
“Robby, I can't-”
“Yes you can,” he spoke finally, pulling away enough that you could hear his voice.
Your lips pursed together as you shook your head. The coil of tightness in you grew hotter, burner brighter. It felt like your first time with him over and over again. The way his body bounced off of yours with every thrust, the moans he couldn't help let out into your neck, marking himself there for weeks.
“Please come,” he said against you now. “I need you to come on my face, baby, please.”
Perhaps the world would have liked to know there was only one thing in this word that could get Robby begging. Your pussy.
“There, huh? You like it just there?” you could hardly make out his words, like he was speaking into your very being.
Your hand fell back into his hair and you leant back, riding his face with a new passion and fever. He moved his head along with your movements and it became a frenzy of passion and need and want, the both of you moaning and uttering any words of encourganemt.
“Yeah baby, there you go- there you go-”
“Robby! Robby! Shit!”
“All over me, c'mon, c'mon.”
You still couldn't believe it, your want all over his beard, smearing down his neck and chest.
“Only making you come, making my girl come, that's right.”
In seconds you had grasped his hair, shoving him in as you let go into his mouth. He strained his neck up and kept himself open on you as he inhaled and exhaled in groans and grunts.
“Oh yes, please... yes- fuck baby,” Robby whined, spreading your cheeks to get every drop licked up. You'd think it was his own release washing over him with the noises he made and sucked out of you.
By the time you'd both calmed down and he'd caught his breath and tapped your thigh you fell lower down onto his stomach.
His breath smelt of love and sex as you lingered over him, letting Robby brush back stray parts of your hair. “Satisfied?”
“Very.” You might have seemed drunk with the way he had you coming but you didn't care. “One of the best orgasms of my life.”
He smirked at you incredulously. “Change it to best of the night. We haven't even begun.”
summary. After Jack treats you at the emergency department, he learns that you're a camgirl — a very popular camgirl with a public SFW account. Curiosity has him subscribing and he finds himself falling into a very addicting trap of you.
word count. 16.5k (this got away from me)
content warnings. nsfw content, excessive use of 'bunny', medical inaccuracies (of literally almost everything, big shout out to healthline and mayoclinic for iud info), mentions of vaginal bleeding and pain, easter eggs/cameos of other readers from a previous robby fic (👀)
notes. so this was the most absolute fun to write !! i've got a few easter-eggs in here (including other readers from a previous robby fic (👀) and some of my lovely mutuals mentioned) so i hope you like it, my inbox is open for more blurb requests or ideas you have for the dolls-verse! photos above are from pinterest and @deathreverse made the amazing website mock up i included below! (thankyouthankyouiloveyourmassivebrain)
As someone who's made a living off of exposing every inch of your body to the world, you feel horribly exposed sitting on an exam table in just a hospital gown that you had changed into from the cliche trench coat and lacy negligee you had on earlier.
Despite the late hour, the waiting room had been packed and any glance your way felt like something intrusive and prodding. You had been fully ready to wait the whole night before you could be seen but after your vitals had been taken and triaged, the doctor had pushed you to the front of the line and into the next available room.
So here you sit, the paper beneath you crinkling every time you squirm and try to find a far more comfortable position before giving in entirely and leaning over to your side. You support yourself with your elbow and try to ignore the prodding pain in your backside.
"Good evening, I'm Dr. Abbot, what seems to be the problem?"
Your stomach drops; just your luck that the doctor assigned to help you fish out your newest toy is panty-dropping handsome. A silver fox through and through, he looks downright delectable with those large freckled arms that seem to be bursting through those black scrubs. If it had been any other day, you might've turned on the charm, flirt your way to a dinner date or more.
But it's 1:37 AM, you have a fuzzy, bunnytail plug stuck inside you and you're desperate to just get home without your asshole gaping.
"Um." You glance at the iPad in his hand, hoping that whoever saw you first recorded it in your chart so you wouldn't have to repeat yourself. But the handsome doctor is waiting patiently. "I have something… stuck inside me."
"Ah. I'll see what I can do. Roll over for me, sweetheart."
The night shift always brings on the weirdest cases that after all his years of working, nothing could phase him at this point. Seeing you, looking so uncomfortable and startled on the exam table, ranks so low on said weird cases that he misses the note Crus had left on your chart and went right in on the usual greeting.
"… what seems to be the problem—?"
Butt plug lodged in anus, patient reports mild pain and heavy discomfort.
Jack rereads the sentence a few times before he looks up at you. Pretty albeit shy, your cheeks flushed and your gaze seemingly land anywhere but him. When you listen and roll over onto your stomach, he swallows the instinctive 'good girl' that threatens to spill from his lips.
He tugs on a fresh pair of gloves, strengthening his spine and fortifying the usual mask of professionalism he wears. You're laid out on your stomach now, the blankets of the exam table tugged down to right below your ass. Before he could ask you to lift your hips, you do so on your own, knees spread apart.
Face down, ass up.
He swallows thickly as he gently nudges the seam of the hospital gown apart at your spine. What greets him has heat boiling in his gut: a fuzzy pink, bunny cottontail buttplug nestled right in between your asscheeks.
"Alright, I'm gonna touch you back here, see how deep it's in there before we try extraction," he murmurs. You whimper when he gives an experimental but gentle tug. "Is there any stinging sensation?"
"Nuh-uh," you mumble into the pillow.
Jack swallows again as the cottontail plug gives beneath his grip, his other hand pushing your left asscheek aside. "Let me know if I pull too hard, alright?"
You nod and he sees the way your moves against the pillow.
"Words, please."
Your thighs clench as you fight off the simmering heat that your frustratingly hot doctor starts with those two simple words. "Yes, I will." An honorific sits behind your teeth (daddy? sir? whichever, it seems to fit him regardless of what you use) but you swallow it down.
Meanwhile, Jack tries to ignore the tell-tale sheen between your thighs, keeps his gloved hands where they need to be. His mind races through horrific, bloody accidents of the week prior to keep his other head from wandering. "Good," he mutters.
Silence falls between you two as Jack gently adds medical-grade lubricant, apologizing at the cool temperature of it against your heated skin. After a few rotations of the plug, you clamp your teeth around the hospital gown to stifle any wayward moans.
"Mm—" You whimper anyways and Jack stills. "I'm okay—! Just, uh— is it almost out?"
Jack clears his throat; he's grateful you can't see him or the creeping blush up his neck. "Almost. I gotta take it slow to avoid any possible injuries."
The thought makes you lightheaded but you ground yourself back into reality before your mind can start jumping to worst case scenarios. "That makes sense."
He twists the plug and a flare of arousal blooms in your core, more pleasure than pain now. "So," he clears his throat again, an attempt at normalcy. "What do you do for work?" He mentally pats himself on the back at the inane question, hoping it'll be enough to distract you as he attempts at another tug.
You squeak anyways as your ring of muscles expand at the widest part of the plug. Jack adds more lubricant. "This," you manage to say.
Jack's dick gives a willfull throb but he forces it down with the degloving case from the night before. "O-Oh?"
"I… stream? I'm an adult streamer, oh fuck—!"
Your ass is gaping slightly as Jack inadvertently tugs the whole plug out with little warning, an involuntary reaction from your reveal. "Shit— sorry, sweetheart. Don't move—"
The silicone toy hits the metal tray beside you in a dull thud, the fluffy end of it peeking above the lip of the tray, while you feel his gloved digits gently probe around the ring. "Just making sure there aren't any abrasions, any cuts or irritation before we finish up here." He sees your head nod against the pillows so he continues on with his examination.
Your ass is firm beneath his touch. Pilates, maybe. Or strength training. His jaw clenches as he forces his mind to the present again, resumes the exam before carefully covering you up with the hospital gown again. "You're all good, sweetheart, you can turn onto your back now."
A part of him feels a sick sense of satisfaction at the way you squirm from the easy use of petnames. He's always been a natural flirt, that roguish charm that calms patients enough for him to diagnose, but it's a touch more fun when it works on someone as pretty as you.
"Thank you, Dr. Abbot."
But the gentle cadence of your voice cuts through him and shame trickles in like molasses. When did he turn out to be such a perv? Maybe the night shift is getting to him. He clears his throat, assuming his professional stance, but your smile turns wicked and there's something mischievous in your gaze that he can't quite place.
"Really, I can't thank you enough," you say as you carefully roll over to settle in an upright position. "But, um… is it possible if I can keep the toy?"
He lets out a little laugh and nods. With his hands still gloved, he retrieves a plastic bag from one of the cabinets and places the toy in before handing it to you. "'course you can. Just make sure you prep yourself better next time."
Jack nearly winces at the crass statement but you reward him with a bemused giggle. "Don't worry, I learned my lesson. It's a good thing I'm testing it out first before a stream. It'd be so embarrassing if I got it stuck inside me while I was live," you share and he tries not to look too eager as you share more about your unorthodox occupation.
"Do you… do that often?" The question falls flat and he makes up for it with an embarrassed chuckle, discarding his gloves in the nearby waste basket. "Jesus, tell me if I'm overstepping here."
You laugh again and Jack's positive he isn't as funny as you make him to be but he'd gladly make a fool of himself if he got to hear that sound again. "You're fine. Trust me, I've heard worse."
"What if I want to be the best you've heard?"
Your brow rises up in mild surprise. "Was that a line, Dr. Abbot?"
"Maybe."
"It's not very good."
"It's also 2 AM, sweetheart."
You cross your arms, tilt yout head to the side and it feels like he's being taken apart. "Do you make it a habit to flirt with your patients?"
"Just the pretty ones— oh, yikes. Yeah, that one was bad," he concedes with a light laugh. "I may be a flirt, but you're trouble. Now… think you can behave while I go grab your discharge papers?"
Your smile is saccharine sweet. "Of course."
He chuckles and shakes his head, nudging the door open with his hip before he exits. The rest of the evening goes by routinely: you sign off on a few papers before changing back into your clothes. Dr. Abbot is nowhere to be seen until you're walking towards the exit, your gait a tad bit crooked, and he's leaning against the counter by the nurses' station.
"Thanks again, doctor."
The wink you give him nearly stops his heart, your easy demeanor returning now that you aren't battling the embarrassment of having a butt plug stuck inside you. When the door shuts behind you and the chaos of the emergency department resumes around him, Crus Henderson cackles behind his chart.
"What?" Jack frowns.
The smile Henderson gives him is downright sinister. "You're not slick, old man."
"It's fine." Shen materializes beside him with an obnoxiously loud slurp of his perpetually full iced coffee. "Technically, she isn't your patient anymore. And Crus and I won't tell."
"There's nothing to tell—!"
The two share knowing grins before walking off. "Sure, Abbot. Sure. Wait 'til you're off to look her up though."
Jack splutters. "I'm not going to look her up—"
In the quiet of his bedroom, Jack looks you up.
The sun's already filtering through his window blinds and it feels like some social transgression to be searching up porn during the day. But he's showered and clean with his prosthetic off, tucked under his covers and leaned against his headboard. The cursor's blinking up at him, taunting him. He doesn't even know where to begin but he's got your full name, wonders if it's enough to even catch a trace of you on social media.
He types your name in anyway on instagram and his breath leaves him in a rush when your profile sits at the top of the search results. Your profile pic is innocent enough, smiling brightly, but upon further inspection, your shoulders and collarbone is exposed right where the photo is cut off; an implication that you've got nothing on below the edge of your profile. Once he manages to tear his gaze away, his eyes snag onto the amount of followers you have. Four million. An impressed whistle escapes him as he starts to scroll.
Your photos are still pretty tame, nothing more risque than a bikini shot of you at the beach. To anyone that isn't regularly watching adult streamers, you look like any other influencer of the modern age. Wholesome photos of you are attached as well, displaying your interests and hobbies that has Jack falling deeper and deeper into your orbit.
It's nearly noon when he realized he may have spent the previous hours just looking up your social media sites. One thing that did stick out like a sore thumb (aside from your jaw-dropping photos) had been the lack of use of your real name. He understands the reasoning, knows its for safety especially with the kind of career you're in, but the affectionate nickname you use for yourself and what your subscribers use has a lick of jealousy flaring in his chest.
Dollface. Doll. Dolly.
He scrolls back up before the little monster in his chest grows and a nondescript url catches his eye, the hyperlink sitting pretty beneath your bio. Before he could secondguess himself, he taps it and his phone brings him out of instagram and into his browser app where your website loads on his screen.
While Jack isn't some tech-savvy genius, he's confident enough to say that your page must've been done by a professional. Summer pastels greet him, a variation of your profile pic on instagram (more skin, more sultry—) sitting on the top left of the screen with 'DOLL'S CORNER' splashed on the top of the page and a drop down menu that he decides to explore later.
It's arranged like some sort of blog, your most recent status marked as eight hours ago where you're complaining about some ache. He bites back a smirk before he scrolls down your older posts. There's many videos, ranging from 'get ready with me!'s and 'shopping hauls' with pretty thumbnails, but the one that steals his attention are the ones that are grayed out — almost pixelated with a pink heart-lock graphic in the center.
[ UPGRADE YOUR TIER LEVEL TO ACCESS THIS VIDEO! ♡ ]
His thumb hovers over the lock-graphic before he gives in.
The screen loads and he's taken to a new page, marked by different tiers and different price points.
BESTIES — free! access includes:
- get ready with me
- weekly vlogs
- shopping hauls
SWEETHEARTS — weekly subscription. ($)
- everything besties has to offer!
- short-form lewd content
- locked photos from the vault
- audios
LOVERS — monthly subscription. ($$$)
- everything sweethearts and besties has to offer!
- midnight live-streams
- personalized short-form videos
- personalized audios
Jack blinks twice. He continues to scroll before he catches a three-day free trial for all the paid tiers. He bypasses it and taps a single month purchase for access to the LOVERS' vault (after creating a profile and naming it simply with his initials). His dick stirs in his pajamas as the screen loads before it confirms his payment.
All the grayed-out videos are unlocked but rather than an aesthetic thumbnail with pretty collages like your free content, they're blurred out images of you within the video — enough to imply exactly what's going on in each one.
He scrolls on to see another video of you trying on outfits, specifically lingerie. Figuring this is as close as it'll get to dipping his toes in the metaphorical pond of your NSFW content for now, he hits play.
The video starts off with your pretty face adjusting the camera before you settle back on a white rug, surrounded by opened boxes. You greet the camera and it feels like a blow to the gut to see you in your element. If he thought you were pretty in the emergency room, under the garish lighting of the bright fluorescents, you're a goddamn bombshell with perfect makeup and flattering lighting.
As you address the camera, he begins to wonder how exactly you could be an adult streamer when you have content like this until you bring out the haul for the video. White ivory boxes detailed with cream ribbons, baby pink boxes wrapped nicely with ebony lace and tulle. He catches a name on one of the boxes: La Perla.
Jack shifts in his seat, bats away the creeping guilt of watching a young woman try on lingerie, but the charge was confirmed on his card already; it's too late for regret.
(He fears there isn't any regret in the first place.)
Fortunately for his heart (or unfortunately for his twitching cock), you had edited the videos to cut through the actual process of changing into them and rather just show off the full sets.
You didn't seem to have a preference for color, each piece ranging from a monochromatic black to butter yellow lace. Either way, you look gorgeous in all of them and Jack isn't ashamed to admit he's about to blow in his boxers, untouched, at just the sight of you in lingerie.
When the video ends, he replays it but makes it a point to keep his hands out of his pants for now. Instead, he drops a like and a simple comment:
@.swatdoc. — You're magnificent.
Confident in the anonymity of his profile, he puts his phone away to finally catch up on sleep.
Across the city, your phone buzzes with a new notification as you have breakfast on your island counter. Despite the waves of engagement you get on your content, you still keep the notifications on and the newest one brings forth a flutter in your stomach. Compliments are a nickel apiece when it comes to your career but the simplicity of this one and the lack of crudeness that follows steals your attention.
You take a bite of your food as you tap the notif, bringing on the new account profile. While most are kept blank, this man has a profile pic of his back facing a gorgeous sunset. Despite the fact his face is unseen, you recognize those salt and pepper curls.
In the following days, Jack begins to make it a habit to check on your daily statuses. You don't post daily on instagram but you post stories and he enjoys your little activities, likes how everyone seems to be so kind to you. It makes him wonder if your followers are aware of your evening activities, of your content tucked safely away behind a paywall.
Even in the comments section in both the SFW and NSFW side of your content, he realizes you've amassed a loyal following comprised of women that it nearly hides the lewd and desperate remarks from your male subscribers.
@deathreverse : that top is gorggggg!!! ♡
@pearlessance : your makeup is stunning, drop a routine next babes!!
@enam3l: absolutely obsessed w you!! ♡
@mariasont: that shade of pink suits you BEAUTIFULLY
In your last NSFW video, it's you in bed, a thin blanket draped loosely along your frame. There isn't an intro like your lingerie haul, just getting right into it as if the viewer catches you in the middle of the act: your hand sliding beneath the fabric, the camera shaking slightly as you rearrange your position to lay back against the mountain of pillows.
Jack's mimicking the position on his day off, his own back cushioned against his headboard as he watches in rapt attention. His readers are sliding off his nose but he adjusts them as he hits the volume increase button twice. He wants to hear you, addicted to the way you sound so sweet whimpering around your fingers.
Obsessed with the way your moans can sound so goddamn endearing.
He doesn't let the video play on, his hand still sitting obediently above the waist band of his sweatpants as he tries to catch his breath. He scrolls onward instead, stops at a tamer video of you shopping at a boutique.
@.swatdoc. — Gorgeous as always, bunny.
The cursor blinks as he secondguesses the petname. No one's called you anything other than 'doll' or 'dolly' or some iteration of baby or babe. Bunny's innocuous enough, Jack decides, and taps 'comment'. It'll be an inside joke for himself, for the evening you may as well tipped his world upside down when you'd come into the pitt for a stuck bunny buttplug. You get thousands of comments a day, the likelihood of you recognizing him is abysmally low.
The little pep talk he gives himself soothe the minor anxiety spike as he continues to scroll on, amusing himself with the way your bright personality seems to shine through even with the nasty videos that has his cock twitching to life.
He distracts himself with the comments section instead of exiting the video.
@.deathreverse — jesuuus christ, ur so fucking hot
@.deathreverse — let me rip that gorgeous top off you plsplspls
@.pearlessance — let me make your moans my ringtone and i'll never miss a call
The women commenting are far more entertaining to read through, the creativity of it all always taking him aback, despite the usual stab of jealousy. At this point, his parasocial streak of possessiveness is something he's learned to ignore, to let sit beneath a layer of faux indifference.
He's just a fan now among millions, he'll bask in the anonymity your popularity affords him.
You might be obsessed with your most latest subscriber. A Mr. Swatdoc with the silver curls.
Realistically, it may be the hot doctor that had seen you through the most mortifying ordeal of taking out a buttplug at two in the morning but the profile pic doesn't give you much and his profile is blank aside from his chosen screen name (swatdoc) and his age (48).
Regardless, your heart does a funny little twist whenever he appears in your notifications (only on your SFW posts, interestingly enough) whether it's a like or an extra tip but your stomach drops when his newest comment adds a new petname.
Bunny.
You sit up in bed when the notification comes through. Gorgeous as always, bunny. The fucking bunny, cotton-tail buttplug. The same one that Dr. Abbot had all but talked you through it as he gently removed it from your asshole. You glance up to see the damned toy sitting on your dresser right across from your bed, mocking you.
The bed dips beneath as you shift your weight, rolling around in bed as you reread that goddamn nickname over and over again. Bunny.
As your eyes bore into your screen, your phone buzzes.
[@.swatdoc liked your vlog!]
[@.swatdoc commented: Can't get enough of you, bunny.]
A sudden wave of confidence (or perhaps impulsiveness) washes through you and you tap his comment. And in quick succession, you like his comment and tap on his profile. Then his inbox. And finally:
doll : doctor abbot???
Jack drops his phone like it burned him. He sits up, nearly kicks off his blankets in his chaos as his heart falls right out of his ass. He didn't even know there was a messaging system on your website but there it is, that red notification bubble on the top right. He taps it and there's the chatbox.
He contemplates on lying, on playing dumb but he respects you far too much to lie to you. A heavy sigh escapes him as he resettles back into his bed and his cock sheepishly sits limp against his inner thigh.
swatdoc : How did you know it was me?
doll : i'd recognize those silver curls anywhere ♡
Huh. The little heart emoticon blinks up at him, maybe even glows. His cock gives a hopeful twitch.
swatdoc : Let me get this right. You aren't weirded out by me finding your website?
doll : you pulled my buttplug out of my ass, doctor. i think we're even.
swatdoc : Sounds fair.
doll : i do want to ask, strictly as a survey yknow, just to make sure i'm reaching subscriber satisfaction expectations. but is my nsfw stuff not hot enough?
swatdoc : I don't know how to answer that.
doll : you aren't liking any of my nsfw videos…….. am i not your type?
He can imagine it, that wry little grin when you tease the camera, makes him want to fuck it out of you—
swatdoc : Just trying to be respectful. Or as respectful as I can be given the circumstances, sweetheart.
doll : i think you're super respectful, i see the tips you've been leaving….. thank you btw ♡
swatdoc : You're welcome, bunny.
doll liked your message!
The activity light near your name goes off and he figures you might've logged off. His thumb drags up the screen to exit the page, sets his phone down and attempt at sleeping. But in the midst of his dark bedroom, there's a stirring in his gut that he can't seem to shake. An itch he needs scratching.
Time fluctuates, slips through his fingers as he finds himself on a popular porn website, the light of his phone illuminating his hazel eyes. He scrolls and scrolls past countless videos, the thumbnails made to entice anyone in his position, and yet frustration starts to grow larger than the lust that's been simmering beneath his heated skin.
None of the actresses look like you.
The thought floors him and he pauses when he finds a woman with a similar body type as you, wears her hair the same way you do. Her moans are a bit too pitchy but he punches the volume down and when his hand slides beneath his sweatpants, he doesn't feel guilt. And when he cums, it's your name spilling from his lips.
"You seeing anyone?"
Jack doesn't look up from the iPad as Robby settles in beside him, ready to take over for day shift as night shift starts to filter out. "What are you talking about?"
"Y'know. Dating? Getting out there? 'cuz Peaches has someone—"
"Not interested, brother, but I thank you for your service." Jack smiles but it's forced, halfway towards a grimace, and places the iPad down with a little too much force. He stomps off to the locker room. Robby and Dana watch his retreating back before they share a look.
"What's his problem?" Dana mutters, her glasses sitting low on the slope of her nose.
Robby chuckles and shakes his head. "No idea."
The truth is— Jack does have a problem. That problem is you.
He thought he'd been good, kept his hands to himself when he gets to his usual routine of stalking your website, and lets his fantasies run wild when he switches over to another porn site to find an actress that looks like you.
But then you had kept texting him, messaging him on your website that the line he's drawn between staying respectful and admiring you from afar against his baseless desire of wanting to fuck you 'til you cry is starting to blur. Of course you have no idea of this line, no clue of the existence of the boundaries Jack's made for himself.
You have no idea that Jack wants more than a physical interaction with you and he has no idea how to ask you out without coming off like a complete pervert.
doll: dr abbot??
swatdoc: You know you can call me Jack, sweetheart.
doll: take me out first then i'll feel comfortable enough to call you whatever you want.
Jack nearly shortcircuits at your reply and he fights the urge to hide his phone, shove it in his pocket to deal with later. It'd just look too suspicious and with Shen's eyes on him, he knows he'd blab straight to Lena who'd definitely gossip with Dana. While Dana's known to keep a secret, anything involving him and a potential partner is a surefire way for her to tell Robby.
swatdoc: You mean it, bunny?
doll: spending time with you? of course ♡
Jack chuckles and swipes his palm across his stubbly mouth, absolutely incredulous at your gumption.
swatdoc: I meant a date. Not just one night. This old man isn't built for casual.
doll: okay old man. take me out to dinner then ♡ it'd give me a chance to redo the first impression you have of me
swatdoc: I think it was a perfect first impression, bunny.
doll: you saw my ass, of course you thought so!!!
swatdoc: I was actually enamored by your charming personality. Your ass was a bonus.
doll: … flirt. you're smooth dr abbot.
doll: so when's our date?
swatdoc: My next day off is in a couple days. How's saturday night looking for you?
doll: i'm free !!! gonna come pick me up?
swatdoc: If you're comfortable with it, I'd love to. So, saturday at 7?
doll: i trust you ♡ and yes, i'll see you then.
He gets a text from you the following day (you'd admitted filching his number from the profile he's made on your website) and after a brief facetime call to prove your identity, he receives your address with a playful tag of: don't be late, dr. abbot.
Saturday's only a couple days away and yet he's fidgeting. He's got a night shift to get his mind off things but even Lena can see he's distracted. While he managed to wave away his colleagues' concerns, he wonders if he's the only one this anxious or nervous for the date.
A wave of notifications flood your phone despite the simple status update but you couldn't care less— not when you've got every possible combination of a date outfit laid out on your bed and nothing looks good. You have time, of course, there's nothing stopping you from going out shopping but the extra options might just exacerbate your indecision.
A pitiful whine escapes you as the paralysis of all your options land you flat on your back atop your mattress, clothing wrinkles be damned.
Whether or not the both of you are ready, Saturday evening arrives quickly.
The only information Jack had given you about the date aside from taking you out for a nice, classic dinner was to 'look nice'. As charming and handsome as he is, you resent the fact that he's like every other man his age: allergic to details. Somehow you manage to put on something simple but flattering, a black cocktail dress with a hemline that skims above your knee and a sweetheart neckline that teases your cleavage along with a bold, red pair of stilettos. Pairing it with a matching clutch, you deem yourself ready after a final swipe of lip gloss across your pouty lips.
"Here we go…" you murmur to yourself. Just as you dab at your lower lip with the pad of your ring finger, your doorbell rings. Seven on the dot.
Your heels click against the floor as you open your door to be greeted with Jack in slacks and a navy blue button down… as well as a bouquet of your favorite flowers. You gasp first, greetings momentarily forgotten in favor of taking the offered bouquet for a sweet sniff. Jack's compliments die on his tongue when he truly sees you, nose buried in the petals.
"How'd you know these were my favorite?" You ask as you step back, head tipping to wordlessly invite him in as you seek out a vase.
"I watched your vlogs," he shrugs with a shameless little smile. "I picked up a few details."
Maybe he shouldn't be as stunned as he is now — he's seen you in various states of dressed and undressed at this point — but you've truly left him speechless when you had opened the door, wearing that little black dress that hugs your body perfectly.
He's grateful that you notice the flowers first, cooing and gasping at the curated arrangement rather than noticing his thunderstruck stupor. It gives him a moment to clear his throat, admire the way you smile at the bouquet.
"You look divine," he murmurs as he follows you inside, watches you putter around your open space kitchen to place the flowers in water. And maybe it's his ego that's got him this taken by you; knowing that perhaps only he alone gets to see this side of you, bashful and charming. When you blush at his compliment, he feels like the king of the world.
"You don't look so bad yourself," you tease with a playful wink, taking his offered hand as he leads you out the door.
Jack's a gentleman when he helps you into his car, glancing aside momentarily when your dress rides up upon seating. He's a gentleman when you make it to the fine-dining restaurant ("Heard the new executive chef just received two Michelin stars!" you share excitedly), opening doors for you and keeping a respecful hand at the small of your back. He pulls your chair out for you, too. Perhaps the bar is in hell but you're undoubtedly impressed and giddy, basking in his undivided attention as you wear your heart on your sleeve for the rest of the evening.
"… and they all looked at it like it was something alien. It was a fax machine—!" Jack laughs, regaling you with the infamous July 4 analog nightmare from hell at the pitt. Dessert is lain between you two, half-eaten and momentarily forgotten as the two of you had been lost in conversation. He'd been worried that he might gross you out or bore you with his job as an ER physician but you had asked and prodded for more gory details, nose scrunching adorably when he explained what a degloving was.
"Okay, fax machines are basically obsolete," you counter with a giggle, lips parting as he feeds you a bite of cake. He waits patiently for you to chew before you continue on. "No one uses them anymore!"
Jack shakes his head in mock disappointment before you return the favor and feed him a bite from your own fork. "Sweetheart, these are vital skills!" Something warm flutters in his chest when you reach up to absentmindedly wipe away a bit of frosting from the corner of his lips, your painted nail skimming across his skin with the movement.
"How about this, I'll call you on the off chance I'll ever need to use a fax machine," you say dryly. A chuckle escapes Jack, low and grumbly that it has your thighs clenching together beneath the table.
"Sure. Or call me whenever, I'll always answer."
The ease of his flirting never fails to make you flustered and Jack capitalizes on it whenever he gets the chance. Like clockwork, you giggle and glance aside, a pretty blush on your cheeks as you look anywhere but his eyes. It's a wonderful side of you that he's steadily growing obsessed with. Yes, your online persona in your SFW space is charming and enchanting while you're essentially a succubus — sex incarnate — when the sun drops low.
But this is you, unabashedly you, and Jack can't get enough of it. He wants more than what you probably expect from him, a warm body to occupy his bed (judging from the stories you've shared about past experiences), and he's ready to go above and beyond to prove to you that he's willing to do whatever it takes so that he could call all of you his.
"Hey, how are we doing? Dessert's good?" The head-of-house manager of the restaurant cuts in seamlessly; he seems to have a good sense of when to enter a conversation.
You smile brightly and Jack nods. "It's delicious, thank you. Every dish has been fantastic," you gush.
"Wonderful, that's what I like to hear," the manager crows before he straightens out his tie. "You two are a beautiful couple. Are we celebrating an anniversary?"
Now it's Jack's turn to get bashful. "Uh, no, a first date, actually."
The manager looks taken aback but he bounces back with a low chuckle, two hands on his chest in subtle apology. "If it helps, the chemistry you two have is undeniable. Truly. But anyways, I came by to ask if you two would like to join us in the garden party out back or maybe a nice little kitchen tour?"
Your eyes shimmer with excitement and Jack gives a yes, offering his hand for you to take. The manager smiles and claps once. "Perfect, let me take you to where the magic happens."
After meeting the famed head chefs and even sampling a few of the desserts at the pastry station, you're positively glowing as the two of you step out to where a small get together of other guests mingle by picnic tables. A few guys that may be the line cooks are handing out beer and soda, giving off a more relaxed vibe than the one inside. It's pleasant and when you feel a chill, Jack's draping his jacket along your shoulders without a word.
"Thanks," you hum, eyes fluttering as you take in his warm and musky cologne that seeps in from the collar. He chuckles and places a hand on the bottom of your spine.
"Of course," he murmurs then tips his head to wear the drinks are being passed around. "Did you want any—?"
"No, I think I'm stuffed. Did you…?"
Jack shakes his head and the nerves from before the date nearly come back in full force. You aren't naive, you know what kind of expectations your job gives people whenever you go on dates. While Jack's been a gentleman the entire evening, you can't deny the fact that him being a subscriber to your NSFW content does skew the way he must see you.
The drive back to your place is quiet and calm, your hand folded delicately in his as he drives. He walks you to your door but much to your surprise, he doesn't step past the threshold.
"I had an amazing time," he says first, his lined eyes crinkling as he gives you a warm smile. "I'd really like to see you again."
You nod, leaning against your doorway as you realize his hand has found yours again. Your joined fingers sway slightly. "Me too. I… I really liked tonight."
He smiles wider as if you've erased any doubts he's had. "Good. I'll, um. I'll let you get some rest. I'll call you when I get my next day off, alright?"
"Yeah, sounds good."
"Great." And with a smooth and unhurried motion, he leans in for a kiss to your cheek, chaste and sweet. "By the way, I want you to know I'm all in. I'm not trying to waste your time or make you think I'm here for the physical aspect. I like you, sweetheart. Truly."
And with a final pinch of your chin, he steps away and bids you good night before walking off. Later that night, you realize you haven't stopped smiling until you climb into bed, alone but completely content.
When morning comes, Jack sends you a good morning text before he cleans up around the house, settle in before his shift later that evening. He doesn't check his phone 'til noon and when he does, he sees a text back from you and a notification from your website.
[Doll just posted a video!] — 3 hours ago.
His stomach drops. While he truly has no issue with you continuing your camgirl career, something twists inside him at the thought of you getting off the night before without him. Is it that feeling of missing out or is it the fact that he hadn't been there to fulfill that need of yours?
Regardless, his heart is pounding when he taps the notification. The video loads and a breath of relief leaves him in a rush.
[New video!] Get un-ready with me! — Skincare Routine.
He chuckles and leans against the kitchen counter, turns his phone sideways to see you fill his screen in the same dress from the night before. You must be in your bathroom, he notes, as you relay your steps carefully to your audience.
"I know everyone will be asking but I just came back from a wonderful dinner. Food was absolutely divine, I'm already considering going back soon. But…" A bashful smile curls onto your lips and Jack's beaming. "The company was even better. Anyways— moving onto the foam cleanser…"
Your routine ends after you apply your serums and creams, signing off on the camera. The comments section pop up immediately.
@.mariasont — your skin looks so good but you look GLOWINGGG
@.pearlessance — were you on a date?? that dress is fantastic!!
Jack chuckles when he sees that you've dropped a like on that commenter about a date but nothing more. Fan the rumors without confirming anything, looks like you're a tease in more ways than one.
Unable to help himself, he scrolls down his contacts and taps yours. The phone rings once, twice, then—
"Jack?"
"Hey, sweetheart. Is this a bad time?"
You sound a tad bit out of breath but you reassure him nonetheless. "No, no, you're fine. What's up?"
"Well, I—" He interrupts himself with a shy laugh. "I don't know if it's too soon but I'd like to take you out again. My next day off is next week on Friday."
"Oh!" You sound positively pleased and Jack can picture you biting your lower lip to hide that smile he's obsessed with. "Yeah, I can make that happen. Are we doing dinner?"
"No, I was thinking of visiting the aquarium this time around."
"The aquarium…"
He bites back a grin, can picture the excitement simmering beneath the slight trepidation of your words. "That's right. Unless there's something else—"
"No, it's perfect!" You cut in with a little giggle. "Jack, did you watch all my vlogs?"
"Of course I did. And it truly can't be that much of a hardship to learn how much you love the place when you've got vlogs of you there nearly every month," he teases. "But if it's something you like to do on your own—"
"No, no, it's fine, Jack, I'd love to." He can hear the way your voice softens. "I can't wait."
"Alright, it's a date. I'll see you next Friday, sweetheart."
Friday doesn't come fast enough this time around. You've got an outfit bought and ready to go, a simple skirt with a blouse that you might've picked to match his eyes. Jack's on time yet again, two PM on the dot, and while he still keeps his hands to himself, he basks in the way your hand constantly seeks out the crook of his elbow.
You regale him with fish facts throughout each wing of the aquarium and he watches with besotted eyes when you basically glow at the sight of the jellyfish. Conversation ebbs and flows and he's pressing soft kisses into your hair like he can't quite help himself.
By the time you've both made it back to his car, he helps you in while placing the massive jellyfish plushy he bought you at the gift shop onto your lap. It's silly and absolutely wholesome.
It's made you undeniably horny for him.
You appreciate it though, you see how he's gone above and beyond to show you that he wants a relationship out of this. He doesn't expect you to be 'easier' because of your job as a camgirl nor does he think he's entitled to anything more than a kiss on the cheek because of what you show online.
And it's making you want him so bad that you feel like the pervert in this situation.
At your doorway, he's got a hand on your waist this time and your arms are draped loosely around his neck while still holding onto the jellyfish plush that's dangling behind his back.
"Today was lots of fun," you say first, nearly chest to chest with him. He nods, feeling the way you shiver when his thumb rubs circles against your hip bones. Above the fabric of your shirt.
"It was," he agrees as he basks in the sweet scent of your perfume. This close, you're practically intoxicating. "I enjoyed the little fish facts too, didn't know my date was a lovely encyclopedia—"
Your eyes roll playfully at the teasing jab, exaggerating your movements as you unwind your arms to step out of his embrace. "If you hate me, just say so—"
"Now hold on, I never said it was a bad thing," he chuckles and you let out a quiet squeal when his grip tightens, pulling you back into his arms. "Thought it was cute."
"Sure you do," you tease back and you realize he's pulled you even closer now. His voice is a rumble, low and gravelly as the distance between your lips is beginning to diminish.
"I do." He murmurs, his nose brushing against yours. "This okay?"
You nod, throat bobbing. "More than okay," you whisper.
His gaze drops from your eyes, back to your lips, before they close the distance. Your heart thunders in your chest as your arms tighten around his neck to pull him lower. He goes easily, smiling against your lips. He doesn't deepen it, though, just steals a handful of more feather-light kisses that elicits a string of giggles from you, your foot popping up and your back bending slightly backwards as he dips you and showers you in affection.
Eventually, he reluctantly pulls away but not without giving you one more kiss. "Have a good rest of your evening, sweetheart," he murmurs. "Make sure you lock the door behind you, yeah?"
You nod, sighing dramatically as you lean against the back of your door as he steps out to the hallway. "I will. Can I see you again soon, Jack?"
His poor little heart thunders wildly at your adorable expression, half-pleading and half-fond. "Of course, princess. Maybe we can do something like this again, maybe a museum or that fair?"
You perk up with a nod. "That sounds like fun."
"Good. I'll see you soon, darling."
You sigh dreamily and blow him a kiss before shutting the door. You lean against the paneling and groan into your hands.
In the silence of your apartment, you wail— "Why won't he fuck me?!"
The time between your last date to the aquarium to your next one at the museum, you and Jack continue to text. Whether it's you giving him advice for a dish he's making or asking his opinion on which top would look well for a brunch you're attending with your girlfriends, the conversations never slow nor do they ever bore.
And in between those texts, Jack is happily gorging himself on your content while only getting off on actresses that hold resemblance to you. It's twisted and he knows it's wrong but he pictures your face in the shower sometimes, thinks of the way your teeth sink in your plush lower lip as his hand tugs at his cock.
You, however, hold no qualms as you drive the dildo deep in your cunt on late evenings, whimpering for the camera you've got set up. You always make it a habit to just plead, whine and beg more than you might naturally would with a partner, but when Jack's on your mind, you have nothing to exaggerate; you just get way more vocal as you think of his strong hands on your waist. The way he had commanded that kiss without being overbearing.
That kiss alone had wrung out three orgasms from you without the camera on.
Maybe it should've been enough to tide you over but as you start your usual midnight livestream the evening before your next date with Jack, a new title spills past your lips in the throes of your first climax. It shouldn't be a surprise at how easily the name comes to you, especially with how natural it seemed for Jack to take care of you—
"'m cumming, daddy—!"
The pings on your laptop nearby that you use for monitoring the chats go wild, the bell ringing that signified the amount of tips that just flooded your inbox from the title alone. You slump over as you catch your breath from where you've been riding your suction dildo, whining softly to yourself as the toy slides out of you. Your inner thighs are quivering as you lift your gaze to the laptop screen.
"Thanks for stopping by," you croon to the camera before shutting off the stream.
Across the city, Jack palms at his bulge, mouth slightly agape as he tries not to cum in his sweatpants like a teenager. "Fuck."
"I didn't really take you to be a museum kind of guy."
"I'm not. Not really… My friend's fiancée recommended it to us, thought we might like the new exhibit," Jack shrugs as he keeps you near with a hand around your waist. The new exhibit had garnered a sizable crowd and the last thing he wants is to lose you. Especially since you seem preoccupied with the information pamplet, both hands holding it open to read while relying heavily on Jack's firm hand. He likes it, the thought of you trusting him so readily.
You hum in acknowledgment before peering above the page. "The map says the new Caravaggio exhibit is that way… I think." Jack chuckles and peers over your shoulder, both of his hands firmly on your waist. You hold the pamphlet up higher for him.
"You aren't wrong," he muses as he reads over the map. You swallow nervously, you can feel the heat of his body seep against your backless top, the way his voice gets all low and gravelly when he's talking just to you. "It's past the abstract wing. Can you fold that up for me, sweetheart? I wouldn't want you to trip over your feet if you can't see where you're going."
You nod instinctively. "Yes—" You swallow back that title that sits at the back of your throat whenever Jack gets so… passively dominant. "Yeah, of course."
He chuckles and lets his arm fall along your lower back, a hand at the dip of your waist as he leads you towards the exhibit. The entire time as you two parade around the wing, Jack keeps you close. It sparks a light in your core, your inner thighs clenching with need when he unwittingly turns on your desire to be taken care of. But he seems so unbothered by it, humming to himself as his thumb slips beneath your blouse to rub your skin while he reads the information beside the painting.
The two of you are admiring Caravaggio's Narcissus when something comes to mind. "Why'd you call me 'bunny'? In my comments?"
He glances down at you, taken aback by the sudden question. "I… thought it'd be nice to have a nickname of my own for you. It reminded me of our first meeting."
A fond smile curls upon your lips. "Why haven't you called me that since we started dating?"
Something fond crosses over Jack's face, leaves as quickly as it came. His hand squeezes your side. "I didn't think it was appropriate. Thought it might make you uncomfortable if I called you that in public."
"I liked it. Like it. I still do," you trip over your words with a flustered smile. "It's like our own little inside thing. Um—no pun intended."
Jack chuckles and that wide smile he gives you has you pushing against your toes to press your lips to his. He hums fondly, nips at your lower lip. "Alright, I'll keep that in mind, bunny."
You kiss him again.
For the next couple of months, you start to see Jack regularly. Dinner dates (whether it's at the first restaurant he's taken you to or he cooks for you at his place) or movie nights, or even him just coming over to unwind after a long shift. Your posting schedule doesn't shift, only rearranges itself to make room for Jack.
A month in, you'd sat him down and tentatively but firmly told him that you wouldn't be stopping just because of your dates. Jack had accepted it without question, took it as if it was what he expected in the first place.
So you continue your usual schedule. Vlogs and short-form content for your SFW socials and full streams for your NSFW audience. Suggestive photos to tide your subscribers over 'til the next full video.
Jack, on the other hand, looks positively giddy with himself. Sure, he's cumming in his fist nearly every night but he's determined to make sure you know that he wants more with you. Fuck. He sounds like a broken record but he's obsessed; the last thing he wants is his dick to ruin this for his heart.
But his good mood is translated into his night shifts, cracking jokes even with angry patients. It has Shen watching over in confused concern, always taking a double-take when he has the chance. Parker and Crus decide that it's just Jack going through a new wave, a new fixation that's probably tiding him over.
Or a girl— but that's Robby's problem to mull over, not theirs.
They get their chance when Jack's scheduled for a double (something he makes up to you with another extravagant VIP dinner the day before), dropping a hint to their chief that their night-shift attending's been weird all week.
The ambulance bay doors slide open in a 'whoosh' for Dr. Robinavitch, passing by Javadi who's talking to Trinity about making mutuals with some big-shot on her Tiktok and Dennis catching up with Perlah about his weekend, to get to Jack in the locker room.
"So. Shen's said you've been weird."
Jack chuckles lightly, throws his stethescope around his neck, and shuts his locker. "I'm seeing someone."
"What, didn't think I'd admit it so quickly?" Jack grins and pats his shoulder as he steps around his friend.
"No, not really." Robby follows him out, tugging on both ends of his stethoscope. "I'm happy for you. What's her name?"
"Nah, that's all you're getting out of me, Robinavitch."
The sun's setting as Jack turns the page on the novel he's been reading to you. You're sitting between his legs and your back against his warm chest, stretching out on the gingham blanket you've brought as the two of you find cover beneath the large tree.
Today's date had been completely spontaneous. When his schedule had been unwittingly cleared up, he had driven straight to you to take you out for a late lunch picnic at the small fair that's set up for the weekend. With the sandwiches finished off and you'd run off to buy cotton candy for the both of you to share, Jack had fished out a novel in his back seat to pass the time and enjoy the nice weather.
His hand is absentmindedly rubbing your exposed thigh, the skirt of your sundress riding up just enough for him to explore the smooth skin. His cheek is pressed against the top of your hair while you absentmindedly trace shapes atop his jean-clad thighs.
"Feelin' restless, bunny?"
"Hm?" Jack's question draws you out of your stupor, so content in his arms that it takes him a few attempts to get your attention. "No, just… really cozy."
"Yeah?" He presses a line of kisses down your jaw and neck, eliciting a soft squeal from you. Jack would've continued showering you in kisses but he grunts, reluctantly pulling away to rub at his aching prosthesis.
You frown. He's mentioned losing a limb before, knows that he wears a prosthetic leg, but you've never seen him this uncomfortable. "Jack, we could head home if it's hurting—"
"I'm fine—"
"Jack." He pauses and turns his attention to you, your brows furrowed and your lips in a line. "Come on, we can just take it easy at your place. You said you're more comfortable in your crutches, right?"
"Yeah." You can see when he finally gives in, his shoulders rounding out as he presses a kiss to your shoulder. "Yeah, alright. Let's go."
Once the both of you get to your feet, you hold out your hand. "Gimme the keys, I'll drive to give your leg a break."
"I don't think so."
"Jack."
"Bunny."
It takes a second but he concedes there too, pulling you in by the shoulders for a swift kiss to your lips. "You're lucky you're cute, sweetheart."
Jack's place is almost as familiar as yours now. He watches you saunter around his place, dropping his keys into the dish bowl on the table by the door, place your things on the loveseat before rummaging through his fridge for a beer.
When you reach him where he's seated on his couch, prosthesis set aside to hand him a beer, he gently tugs you onto his lap before popping the tab open for your can first. "Thanks," you hum, taking a sip while he opens his. His arm is strong around your waist and the easy strength he holds for you, the possessive touch he's got whenever you're near... it sparks a flicker of heat inside you and as you turn, straddling his lap to kiss along his jaw. His scruff is rough against your glossy lips but it only has you mewling.
"Bunny…" he groans as his large hand splays along the expanse of your back, supporting your weight while you tip back just enough for him to place his beer behind you on the coffee table. His eyes flutter shut, basking in your sweet kisses, as temptation guides his hand lower to cup your perky ass. It's your moan, drawn out and desperate, that pulls him out of the heat that's settling thick in his head. Reluctantly, his hands rise back up and an indignant whine spills from your throat—
"Jack, why won't you fuck me?"
He nearly chokes on his spit at your question and when he looks up, you look adorably put out, lower lip jutting out. Your gaze is glassy, lips kiss-swollen. His thumb comes up, presses against your mouth to drag down your lip slowly. "Bunny, why do you think I won't fuck you?"
"You— you've only ever kissed me. You've only liked my non-sexual content. You—"
"Baby," he shushes you gently, releases your lip to cradle your jaw. "It's not that I'm uninterested in you. Trust me— I am. I just didn't want you to think this was all some ploy to just get you in bed with me."
Another whine rises up within you. "But it's been months, Jack."
"Sweetheart, I wanted to make sure you know I was serious. It wasn't just for you, but for me, too. Had to make it known to you that I'm here for the long haul," he murmurs and when you nod in understanding, his lips find yours for a kiss that's got you clenching your thighs. Your back arches back when he leans further in, lips parting to let his tongue probe against yours.
"Gonna… mm— fuck me now?" You pant against his mouth, lashes kissing the tops of your cheeks when his lips drag down your neck to mark your collarbone with marks.
His chuckle is raspy against your skin. "I'm gonna make love to you, bunny. Come on—"
"Why not here?" You whimper, giving your hips a slow roll against his. You can feel his bulge, stiff through his jeans, against your panties.
"I'm not having you on my couch, darling. Not for our first time. We can defile the rest of my house later."
You giggle as you reluctantly get to your feet, knees nearly knocking together while Jack goes for his crutches. "Do you promise?"
"I promise," he chuckles, following you into his bedroom. His mouth goes dry, easy dominance deflating momentarily when he watches you crawl onto the center of his bed, your sundress hemline rucked up to reveal the pretty white lace panties you've got on beneath. His eyes follow the fabric, disappearing in between your ass cheeks, before they flit back up when you turn and lean against his headboard.
You're in your doll mindset now, your hands dancing across your body to give him a show. But while your videos are choreographed, almost clinical to a certain degree to entertain an audience, Jack sees the way your hand trembles just before you drag the neckline of your dress down, tempting him to just rip the fabric off you.
But he's a patient man, understands that this is just as much for you as it is for him. He can see the way your arousal heightens with each teasing touch. "Take it off for me, bunny, just for me."
He must've said the right thing because a broken moan spills from your lips, nodding as you cross your arms and drag the hem of your dress up to reveal a matching bralette to your panties. The bed dips beneath his weight when he joins you, settling down onto the mattress just as you toss a leg over to straddle his waist again.
"Ah, shit," he hisses when he glances down, sees the way the fabric of your panties are nearly translucent with your slick. His hand creeps down to rub your swollen clit through the damp fabric, tilting his head back up to watch your reaction. He doesn't shut his eyes when your open mouth drags along his cheek, a poor approximation of a kiss as you shut your eyes to savor the way his fingers deftly tug the panties aside to dip within your folds. A pathetic moan escapes you. "This all for me, bunny?"
"Mhm, yes—"
"She's drippin' just for me, fuck," he chuckles as his middle finger teases your entrance, enamored by the way your hips rock clumsily against your palm. "Mm, look at that."
It's filthy, the way Jack leans back against the headboard with his head ducked down to watch your cunt practically suck in his fingers, his other hand keeping your panties tugged aside for his viewing. "Please, I wanna feel you," you beg, voice hitching high in a way he's never heard before.
"You sound so sweet for me, bunny," he murmurs as he redraws his fingers from you, tasting you with a voracity that makes you even wetter. "You've been so good for me, pretty girl, don't worry… I'll give you what you want."
And while Jack sounds so benevolent, your lips finding his in a grateful kiss before you're scrambling off to lay on your back under his guidance while he undresses next, it's all a facade to conceal the way he's barely able to hold it together now that he's got you: heart, soul, and now body.
He settles on top of you, lips finding your shoulder for a brief moment of sweet affection despite the filth that's fallen from his lips from earlier, and makes a home between your thighs. You might've teased him for picking missionary as your first time, giggle at how insistent he is on keeping things old fashioned despite your unorthodox relationship, but then the tip of his cock prods against your entrance, mouth dropping slightly as your head falls back against the pillows— he's huge.
"Ngh— Jack…" you whimper as the stretch leans more towards pain than pleasure at first, eyes shut as you feel Jack's lips skim across the side of your neck. "S'too big…"
His chest rumbling, he chuckles in your ear, nips at your jugular. "Don't worry, bunny. I can make it fit."
Lust and adoration intertwine in your core as he pushes deeper, your walls adjusting for his girth while your nails dig into his freckled shoulders. After what feels like an eternity, Jack's fully sheathed in you, pressing kisses along your brow and temple.
"So fuckin' tight—" he grunts, attempting a shallow thrust that has you two moaning in unison. "You ready for me, bunny? Gonna start movin'."
You feel absolutely full, can feel Jack in your gut, but you nod, legs hooking around his waist. "Ready," you manage to say, releasing one shoulder to cradle his jaw for a searing kiss. He pulls out and thrusts in without hesitation, his lips parting for his tongue to taste yours. The two of you make out like teenagers, sloppy and uncoordinated, while his cock drives into you slowly, your body shifting higher up the bed until his hand comes up to cradle the top of your head before it hits the headboard.
He swallows your moans with a grunt of his own, tasting your desperation with each rock of his hips. But when his lungs start to burn for oxygen, he reluctantly pulls back only to be rewarded with your vocal cries for more. He's heard your noises before, almost four million people have, but he's never witnessed you like this, so gorgeously needy on his cock, your moans more like broken whimpers and hiccups interlaced with his name. So unbelievably vulnerable, laid out just for him.
It has him driving his cock even deeper into you, eager to hear the way your mouth sounds around his name whenever he hits that specific spot.
"No, no, no— don't get shy on me now, bunny," he coos, dropping a hand to cup your cheek to guide your eyes on him. "You sound so sweet for me, let me hear you…"
His words elicit another gasp of his name as one particular thrust has you seeing stars, the coil in your core tightening as his hand comes down to rub your clit in time with each rock of his hips. He can feel his own climax but he keeps it at bay, laser focused on your own pleasure.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck… Jack—!" You wail as the coil snaps, his cock buried to the hilt before he fucks you slow and deep to carry you through your climax. With you taken care of, he chases after his pleasure next, hips snapping against yours in a brutal pace that has your toes curling in sweet ecstasy.
His forehead drops to rest on yours, breaths mingling while his own moans pitch into a needier grunt, veering into whimpers while he talks you through it. "Feels so fuckin' good, bunny… s'like your pretty cunt was made just for me… oh fuck— she's just sucking me in," he pants.
The string of dirty talk kickstarts something inside you and you feel that familiar tightness in your core, hiccuping moans bubbling past your kiss-swollen lips as he drives his cock deeper. "Jack— 'm… hah— gonna cum—!"
"Yeah?" He huffs, a cocky half-grin in his lips as he drags his scruffy jaw along your cheek. "Gonna give me another, bunny? Come on… gimme one more," he coos while his pace starts to falter, losing its steady rhythm as he gets closer and closer to his own edge.
When you cum for the second time, he's quick to follow right after, your convulsing walls eliciting his own release right into your waiting cunt. A part of him panics — he didn't wear a condom nor did you say anything about being on any kind of contraceptive — but he feels your heels dig into his lower spine to keep him from moving. The concern still sits at the back of his mind but he lets himself get lost in the sensation of finishing inside you, his thrusts slowing to a halt before carefully laying on you.
"Holy shit," you breathe out, a blissful smile on your lips with your eyes fluttering shut. When Jack pulls out, you offer a slight wince but curl onto his chest as he rolls over onto his back. Your head nestles onto his pec, his arm winding around your bare shoulders. When you turn your head to kiss his freckled collarbone, he chuckles and squeezes you gently.
Jack hums wordlessly. Basking in the moment, he lets himself sink into the warmth of you beside him. There really isn't any need to talk for now and the both of you would've been content to let the moment settle in…
Had it not been for your growling stomach.
His laughter cuts through your embarrased whine, rolling over to hide your face into his chest completely. "Don't laugh—" you pout but he just jostles you gently, gets you to look up at him where he can kiss your nose.
"Stay here, I'll clean you up first," he promises and rolls out of bed. Grabbing his crutches, he heads over to his attached bathroom for a warm, dampened towelette. He cleans you between the thighs, gentle and careful as he drops a kiss to your knee. "About earlier—"
"I'm clean," you interject. "I don't have any partners and I'm on the pill."
He nods, relieved as he tosses the towelette into his laundry basket. "I'm clean, too. I haven't… not since my late wife."
Your smile is heartachingly tender. He's spoken about his late wife before, wears the ring on a chain close to his heart, and how he and his therapist have decided that he's in the right place to move on.
"We can both get tested if you want," you offer. "I don't want anyone else but you."
It's an invitation to a conversation he's been waiting on for a month now and he dives right in. The bed dips as he sits at the edge, a warm and calloused hand on your thigh. "I only want you, bunny. That's not ever gonna change." He cups your jaw, warm and possessive in a way that'll never fail to light a fire in your heart. "Can I be yours, sweetheart?"
You nod with a giggle bursting past your lips. "Yes—! Of course, yes," you swoon with your arms around his neck, his hand releasing your jaw in favor to hug you 'round the waist.
"Yeah?" His pretty crows' feet deepen when he smiles at you, chuckling when you nod again with an eager bob of your head as you gently scratch at his scruffy jaw. "Gonna go steady with me, bunny?"
A laugh escapes you, nose scrunching up at his dated language. "Always and forever, old man."
Although the months you've spent with Jack before the both of you made it official had you feeling like cloud nine, the next following weeks could only be properly labeled as the honeymoon phase now that you're officially his girlfriend. With Jack's night shift schedule and your unorthodox posting timelines, the two of you manage to make it work.
Speaking of work, you had been adamant that because he's your boyfriend, you had no plans on stopping the camgirl site and told him so the morning after. Jack had blinked and nodded as if it'd been something he had already expected. His only caveat was that you'd at least make your new relationship status public knowledge to your subscribers whether it's as simple as a status post on your website. You went above and beyond by posting a selfie with Jack's arm around your neck, his bicep smushing your cheeks while you grinned dopily at the camera.
While your followers had fawned over your new man, occasionally posting faceless boyfriend pics of Jack, you made sure to keep his identity secret as your highest priority whenever he'd make some sort of cameo in your SFW videos.
"Babe, you gotta stop jumping in the frame, I'll have to edit you out—!" You laugh in your most current video, holding out the camera high and up just enough to capture your hand crooked around Jack's arm as the two of you walk the aisles of the farmer's market.
He chuckles and dutifully stops ducking his head. "Just move the camera when I kiss your cheek, bunny. And even if my face shows, I thought you could just slap on an emoji or something on my face when your assistant edits them."
The camera captures the way you look up, a playfully deadpan expression on your features. "You wanna put more work on Francine?"
"You're right, I'll behave."
The clip ends there and the views skyrocket, nearly matching your most infamous videos on your NSFW side. It's gotten so popular that Victoria's talking about it during work hours, in awe of the fact that she's mutuals with you despite the fact that she's gone viral on Tiktok herself.
For once the pitt has a handle on chairs and triage, allowing Victoria to show Dennis her newest editing style, inspired by Doll's Corner. He perks up, recognizes the voice through the walls of the apartment he shares with Trinity.
"Oh, I think Santos is also subscribed to her," he grins.
Victoria frowns. "Subscribed…? Her website's free, Dennis."
Trinity walks past before circling back. "What's free?"
"Oh, um— Doll's corner." Victoria holds out her phone, displaying your instagram profile. "She has her own website but Dennis mentioned that you're subscribed to her…?"
"She avoids her SFW content, probably because it'd feed the parasocialism since Doll seems to be exactly her type," he grins, always eager to have something over his lovable but prickly roommate.
"She's not my type, she's just hot—"
"Hold on, what do you mean SFW content? Isn't all her stuff SFW…?" Victoria cuts in, eyes wide as she scrolls up and down the webpage. Trinity snatches the phone and taps the top right menu button of the page, scrolls towards the 'PRICING' tab before offering the phone back.
Dennis interrupts. "She doesn't really advertise her adult content, it's more of a… if-you-know-you-know situation. You're cool with that, right?"
Victoria swallows, goes through the 'free' content of your camgirl side while her mind races with the blurred and suggestive content, before nodding with a wide-eyed grin. "'Course I'm cool with it. Just— I didn't expect it. Yeah, I'm cool. Dennis, are you subscribed—?"
"No, no—" Dennis startles with a flustered laugh. "It's not really my thing, but I know Dr. Ellis had found her account too. She's popular."
The youngest MS4 merely nods and wanders off, looking very scandalized. Dennis and Trinity watch her go before shrugging, unaware that the true reason why Victoria's so shocked is that she had suspected Doll's newest boyfriend might be Dr. Jack Abbot.
Your SFW content views continue to skyrocket (especially the shortform video where you had Jack flex his bicep for the camera before placing a piece of dessert on top, eating right off his freckled arm before he's pulling you out of frame for a kiss).
There's already been a few questions asking if your boyfriend (lovingly dubbed as Mr. Doll by your subscribers) would ever participate in your content. You haven't gotten around to answering them, leaving them untouched as you post your usual photos and videos for your loyal subscribers.
The truth is, you aren't even sure how to bring up the topic to Jack nor would you know how to figure out the logistics of including your boyfriend without jeopardizing his identity. But the problem is solved a week later where you're in your bedroom, filming a toy haul with a new PR package from a sex toy company.
You're in the throes of your orgasm, nothing on but a bunny tail plug nestled in your ass while you ride a massive silicone pink dildo with some device that literally creampies you. You've got your back to the camera, the cute plug front and center, when your knees drop and you bottom out on the toy with a final moan.
You'd been so lost in your 'review' that you didn't realize Jack had come by early, leaning against the doorway with a dark little grin that you've come to associate with 'playtime'.
"Havin' fun, bunny?" he asks, the camera picking up on his voice sounding like velvet over gravel.
Your giggle is breathy and sweet. The camera captures the way your neck arches, looking over your shoulder to meet Jack's eyes who stays firmly out of the shot. "Mhm, I am."
"Did that thing… finish in you?" When you give him another resounding giggle and nod, he shakes his head with a fond chuckle. "I'll give you five minutes to catch your breath before it's my turn, sweetheart."
When you'd given the video to Francine, your assistant, to edit, she had sent over the last clip where Jack had come in and asked if you wanted it out. Deciding that it seems safe enough to keep since he's not even within the frame and that people have heard his voice before, you told Francine to keep it in.
Later that night, you receive an tsunami of positive comments, most of them fawning over the way Mr. Doll seems to adore you even while making content for the rest of your depraved audience.
@.pearlessance: holy shit HIS VOICE???
@.deathreverse: i bet he talks you through it omfg
@.mariasont: i just KNOW your man is fine
@.enam3l: give us one audio file of him cumming PLEASE
You're wrapped up in Jack's arms later that evening, your back settled against his chest as you read over the comments with him. He's got his strong arms around your middle, lazy kisses pressed to your bare shoulder as the cold edge of his readers bump along your jaw.
"You're stealing my fans, Jack."
"No, they like the way I make you flustered, bunny. There's a difference."
"Maybe," you hum as you swap apps to your instagram, scrolling mindlessly before you pause. "Jack?"
"Yeah, sweetheart?"
"Would you… want to be in my cam videos? Just as your voice," you clarify with a shy smile. The curve of his smile is pressed against your neck.
"I'd be honored," he croons. "Maybe you could play with yourself for the camera, let me talk you through your orgasms."
Your cheeks burn, thighs clenching as you rub them together. "Mhm."
"Use your words, bunny."
"I'd like that a lot, sir."
That had been a new revelation. You've called Jack 'daddy' jokingly outside of the bedroom before, just something to steal his attention whenever you're particularly needy (whether it's for something sexual or not). And while he liked it, judging by the fond and flustered grin on his lips, he had sat you down and told you what title actually does it for him.
Sir.
It never did anything for you, thought it might've been too simple or even too formal to ever be used in bed, but it fits Jack perfectly. An older man with his experience and status along with a natural inclination to dominance doesn't need something as desperate as 'daddy' to insert control in the bedroom.
"Good girl," he rasps and takes your chin to turn your head, planting a heated kiss onto your lips. "How about we pick a day for it, hm? Put it on your calendar."
When you nod again, he chuckles and nips at your lower lip. "Can we do it now?"
Despite your eagerness, you and Jack had decided on a Sunday evening the following week, opting for a pre-recorded video rather than a live show.
Like always, you've got your tripod set up at the foot of your bed with you front and center. You have mood lighting set up, nothing too garish and bright and classically 'porno' but rather something warm to get you comfortable. The only difference is Jack seated behind the camera, manspreading like it's his fucking job in those grey sweats you've moaned about a week ago.
"You ready, baby?" Jack's voice is caramel sweet but you know it'll dip lower when he hits the record button. When you give a nod, he reaches up to press the button.
The red light blinks at you but Jack clears his throat. "Eyes on me, bunny."
Your gaze is magnetized to your boyfriend's, feeling deliciously exposed with the way his eyes drink you in. Tonight, you've got on a lingerie set he had bought just for you: a babydoll pink bralette with a matching thong and garters. In the hollow of your neck is a delicate, cursive 'j' on a chain.
"You look gorgeous, sit up for me, sweetheart. Let the camera see your new outfit," he drawls lazily and your eyes drop down to his large hand, gripping his bulge through the sweats.
The camera captures the way you look behind it, your gaze unfocused and your cheeks flustered, but you never disobey sir's words as you sit up on your knees. Your hands dance along the lacy straps, brushing across the sheer panels that hold up your tits. Jack's attention is fixed on you, his teeth digging into his lower lip as he strokes himself through his sweatpants.
"That's it, bunny. Play with those pretty titties for the camera," Jack murmurs.
He continues to take the lead and it's almost alarming at how good he is, how easy it is for you to completely forget you're still filming. He eventually has you propped up against your mountain of pillows, knees bent and thighs spread out.
"Add another finger for me, bunny."
You've already got two in, your middle and your ring finger, while your other hand is groping at your exposed tit. "Sir, I can't—"
"Sure you can, pretty girl. You've taken my cock, haven't you?" Jack chuckles meanly, his hand tugging at his cock now. Your eyes are locked on his length and he capitalizes on it, rubbing his thumb across his tip.
"Yes, but—"
"Come on, bunny, one more. You can do it."
The camera captures the way you whimper, gasping around nothing when you add your index finger into your sopping cunt. Even the lighting catches the shine of your slick against your inner thighs; Jack's got you edging yourself and you're ready to beg.
The stretch burns in the best way, not in the same breadth as Jack's cock, but enough that it has you plunging your fingers so fast that it sounds lewd against the camera.
"Can I cum, sir, please—" You choke out, hand beginning to cramp from the speed and angle you have that Jack notices it immediately. If you've been a bit less preoccupied with your own impending orgasm, you would've noticed that your boyfriend had been staving off his own climax, gripping the base of his length until he's finally given you permission.
Behind the camera, he continues to talk you through it but his voice isn't as measured, it's strained and a tad bit pitchy — his tell-tale sign that he's about to cum soon.
"Cum for me, bunny, let me see you make a mess on yourself," he coaxes and once you take the final fall, he's quick to follow, white ropes of his release painting his thighs and the floor beneath. "So fuckin' hot, Jesus Christ—"
Your cramping hand drops from between your legs as you slump against the pillows completely, legs splayed out for the camera to watch the way your clit throbs from the overstimulation. Jack tucks himself back in and takes the camera, detaches it from the tripod mount to approach your bedside.
"Let's see the mess you made, gorgeous," he murmurs, his voice wrecked as he props a knee up to hover above your overstimulated frame. You giggle up at the camera, taking his free hand (the same one that had been wrapped around his cock moments ago) and gently lick the traces of his release clean off his fingers. He curses under his breath before he affectionately pinches your chin. It elicits a soft laugh from you and the look you give him beyond the camera does something to his chest, a word that tastes something sticky sweet (and maybe starts with the letter 'L'), that he suddenly wishes this part is just for him.
But he moves lower, the camera panning down to where your panties are tugged loosely aside where your puffy, slick cunt is on display. It's lewd and nasty, the way his free hand strokes through your folds before he's bringing up his fingers for a taste. The satisfactory moan he lets out sends a thrill up your spine.
His hand travels to the swell of your thigh, to your hip where he tugs your panties off. The camera jostles as he shoves the soiled, lacy fabric into the back pocket of his pants, before he pulls away.
"I think your fans earned enough of you. Say goodbye, bunny, it's my turn for a taste."
The last thing the camera sees is a wave of your hand before it's set aside roughly, filming your ceiling and capturing the way your giggle melts into a breathy moan before the video and audio cuts.
—
"So when are we meeting the lucky lady?"
The sun sits high as Jack lounges on the roof on a chair that he's brought up a few months back. Robby had brought his own chair a week later, pleased to see his best friend behind the railing this time. The two are relaxing, stealing a few moments of solitude before handoffs are completed.
"Not yet," Jack grunts as he takes a sip of the pressed juice you've packed for him. You've been given a massive PR package of some health brand and he'd been willing to take half of the crate off your hands. "Soon."
Robby gives him a sidelong glance. "Are you ashamed of her or somethin'?"
"No. No, definitely not. I just want to keep her to myself a bit longer before you and Peaches poach her off me." Jack chuckles. "Relax, brother. I'll bring her around soon."
"Alright, I'm holding you to that," Robby chortles before he gets to his feet, back cracking while he stretches. "Go home, Abbot."
Before, Jack would've kneedled, maybe dragged his feet a bit longer to keep from returning to an empty house. He's always craved company, even moreso at the passing of his late wife. But this time, he grabs his backpack and rucks it over his shoulder, offering a casual wave of his hand.
"Ain't gotta tell me twice. I got a pretty girl waiting for me at home."
—
Later that evening, Victoria Javadi's sitting outside on the benches with the rest of day shift, drinking a beer she hopes would taste better after every sip. After turning twenty one, she still didn't see the appeal of drinking beer but after her sneaking suspicion that her night shift attending might be dating the influencer she's admired for so long, she realizes she might need it.
Her thumb punches the 'low' volume button on the side of her phone as she pulls up your tiktok account. Your account has only grown since you've started including your mystery man; the tiktok trends that center around playful pranks or cute videos snipped from longer vlogs with your partner are the ones that hit a million views first.
She takes a deep breath and taps your most recent one, a clip that looks like it had been cut from your last get-ready-with-me vlog, judging by the outfit you have on. You greet the camera as usual, holding out two different purses before leaning this way and that to get all angles of your outfit. Your attention is stolen, however, when the voice of 'Mr. Doll' cuts in from behind the camera.
"You ready, sweetheart?"
You pout, your gaze looking beyond the camera. "I don't know which bag to bring."
"What do you need a bag for?"
"My lip gloss…" you reply sheepishly and a throaty chuckle from Mr. Doll follows, soft and fond.
"The second one, bunny. Come on, let's go."
The video loops and Victoria lets it play before her thumb rewinds the video back herself, listening to that voice before her gasp gets caught in her throat.
Mr. Doll is Jack Abbot.
—
In another apartment across the city, Trinity takes advantage of the empty home and hunkers down in bed. It's a guilty pleasure, she knows, but with the stress of residency along with Garcia's emotional unavailability, she figures a bit of her wage going to one of the most hottest camgirls couldn't be the worst vice in the world.
She scrolls through the paid content of yours with a soft sigh, sinking deeper into her mattress before opting for one of the newer POV content. It's a new series you've started, something that kicked up in popularity from a couple weeks ago when your partner had taken the camera to film you himself after he talked you through your orgasm.
Trinity hasn't had the chance to check it out herself, a bit hesitant considering the POV shots may ick her out if she actually sees a penis when she's been thinking of inserting herself as the viewer on top of you. But curiosity kicks in as she plays the most recent one, heat simmering low in her core as it starts out with you undressing as always, straddling your partner this time as he films you from below.
"I can feel you—" you gasp, your hands braced on the stomach beneath you as it pushes your tits together. Your hips roll, sinfully smooth while the strap of your sheer tanktop drops off one shoulder. It keeps falling, revealing a single breast, but you pay it no mind, too busy dry-humping the body beneath you.
"You're soaked for me, bunny… am I gonna feel you through my boxers?" The man grunts and something tugs at the back of Trinity's mind, a sick sense of deja vu or familiarity. She ignores it, eyes straining to try and focus only on you.
You giggle. "Maybe… can't help it, daddy gets me so wet—" You pause, eyes wide at your little slip.
"'Daddy'?" The familiar male voice repeats and the camera catches the man's hands travel up, sliding between the valley of your breasts to curl around your throat possessively. A ditzy grin spreads across your lips, eyes nearly rolling back as you lean your neck forwards into his palm.. "Is that my name now, bunny? Want me to be your daddy?"
The video plays on but Trinity couldn't focus, not when horror sets in alongside disgust and mortification when her brain finally places where she's heard that voice before. Once it clicks, she gags and pauses the video, tosses her phone across the room as full-body shudders wrack her whole frame.
When Dennis comes home late, it's to find Trinity on the couch, spacing out with a security blanket swaddling her prone frame. Panic sets in and he rushes forward, his fist rubbing her chest out of habit tp see if there's any response to pain—
"Ow, fuckin' quit it—!" Trinity snaps, smacking his hand away as she glares up at him.
He lets out a sigh of relief before crossing his arms. "What the hell happened to you? Was it Garcia—"
"No." A haunted look passes over his roommate's eyes. "Worse. I think I found Dr. Abbot's girlfriend."
—
With your six-month-iversary fast approaching, you and Jack are running out of excuses to keep putting off the inevitable 'meeting of the friends' ceremony. Your own friends are eager to meet the older man that's been starring in most of your content and Robby's starting to threaten break-ins and impromptu dinners if he doesn't get to meet the woman that's made his best friend so happy.
It isn't that you're scared Jack's friends and colleagues won't like you or that he's ashamed of you— it's just the fact that the two of you are becoming grossly codependent, refusing to let the other one out of each other's sight for too long. Inviting friends into your circle would only lessen the amount of time you two have for each other and the two of you would much rather prefer extending your honeymoon period first.
Unfortunately, the decision is taken out of yours and Jack's hands when you wake in the morning to an abnormal amount of bleeding. Your period's supposed to start soon but with the sudden heavy flow and the sharp pain in your abdominal, fear licks up your spine.
Something isn't right.
You carefully bring yourself out of Jack's bed, whimpering at the massive stain you've left, before hobbling over to your phone. What awful timing— your actual doctor boyfriend isn't in to check you out himself but rather he's stuck at the ER working a double.
With the amount of time you've spent with Jack, he's ingrained it into you to always listen to your body, to get help rather than attempting to self-diagnose or to undermine your pain level, so you call 9-1-1 with a shaky voice.
When the operator confirms that an ambulance is on the way, you remember to add one final thing: "Can you take me to PTMC, please?"
—
"Female, mid to late 20s, heavy vaginal bleeding and sharp abdominal pain. Reports of nausea and vomiting with a fever of 102 degrees," the EMT barks out, pushing your gurney through the ambulance bay as the cacophany of the emergency department greets you. When the ambulance had arrived at Jack's place, you'd been barely able to stand upright, chills racking your frame.
Your mind is fuzzy, the fluorescent lights above you spinning like soup while you're pushed into an available room. A couple of nurses trail after a doctor, a penlight flashing in your eyes as said doctor introduces herself.
"Hi, I'm Dr. King, are you taking any kind of birth control or—"
"My IUD," you whimper, eyes squeezing shut as you try to fight through the pain that seems to steadily increase with each passing moment. "Is it—I heard it can be displaced?"
Fast paced conversation erupts around you, swapping differentials and possible diagnoses before scissors are cutting through your pajamas to reveal your bloody panties. A hand presses against your upper abdomen, a gentle palpating movement that tears out a cry of pain from you.
"Order a CT," a doctor barks. "Can't do much until we see what's going on in there."
Dr. King nods and promises to take care of you after you've been pushed some painkillers to tide you over until it's your turn. As you get wheeled off, she notices a delicate cursive 'j' tattooed right above your hip bone.
—
After some time, you're dressed in a hospital gown, waiting for your CT results as the painkillers they've given you keep the pain at bay for the meantime. Your phone sits in your lap, screen on to your text thread with Jack. You know he's somewhere in the department, most likely saving lives, but your texts are unread and it's gnawing at the pit of your stomach.
"Hi," a voice calls out and it's a sweet looking young man, around your age as he rubs in the hand sanitizer. "I'm Dr. Whitaker. We have your CT results and it looks like a displaced IUD. Did anything happen recently or…?"
Your cheeks burn bright red. "Um. Rough sex, I guess?"
Dr. Whitaker's face colors red as well. "Oh—! Um, well, yeah. That'll do it. The CT scans revealed some slight perforation in your uterine lining so we'll go ahead and get that out for you, it'd be a minor procedure so you'll be up and walking in just a few hours."
"Great, thank you," you sigh in quiet relief but as you ponder something, Whitaker sticks around, like he knows you've got a request. "Um, is there a Dr. Abbot in?"
He nods. "Yeah, he's one of my attendings. Has he treated you before?"
"No, actually—"
"Bunny—?!" The curtains slide open and Jack rushes in, concern choking up his syllables when he sees you looking slightly gaunt and exhausted in a hospital gown. Dennis' eyes widen as he steps aside; he's never seen his attending look so disheveled and unkempt. "What happened?"
"Jack, I'm fine, it was my IUD," you explain, looking up while he checks over your vitals. "It… got displaced. I wonder whose fault is that." Your dry tone has Jack looking sheepish and Whitaker looking everywhere but the both of you. It's already taken all of his professionalism to keep from reacting when he recognized you as Trinity's past obsession. She still wouldn't say why she unsubscribed until he realizes the secret boyfriend is Dr. Abbot.
"Sorry, sweetheart," Jack murmurs into your hair as he kisses your forehead. "I'll make sure they'll bump you forward so you can get out of here faster."
You nod and your lower lip juts out, slipping into that sweet mindset that Jack can't get enough of; cotton candy delicate and adorably delectable. "Promise?"
"Yeah, I promise, bunny." His voice takes on that gravelly tone that you've become obsessed with and when you tip your head up, he closes the distance and kisses you briefly.
At that moment, the curtain slides open again. "Whoa— sorry for interrupting, folks." You pull away, fiery cheeks on display, to see another taller doctor enter. "Dr. Whitaker, can you go help Dr. Santos in Central 13? I'm Dr. Robinavitch, you can call me Dr. Robby. You must be the infamous 'Bunny'."
Jack groans and playfully hides his face into the top of your hair as the name registers as your boyfriend's best friend. You smile prettily and offer your hand to shake when Dr. Robby approaches, giving your name instead. The man seems nice but only Jack has the privilege of calling you 'bunny'. "It's nice to meet you, Dr. Robby."
"Just Robby," he insists before he flips through your chart. "Looks like you're up next for the laparascopy. Do I wanna know what happened?"
Your blush deepens. "No, not really. This is an awful first impression."
Robby chuckles, scratches the back of his head. "It's not so bad, all things considered. But now that I finally have both of you here, what do you say to dinner with my partner and I? She's been eager to meet you."
You give Jack a sidelong glance. "Who else did you tell about me?"
"Nearly everyone," Robby cuts in while Jack gives a shrug.
"I didn't give details. I just liked talking about you, sweetheart. That so bad?"
A pleased smile curves upon your lips. "Not at all. I love how obsessed you are with me," you tease. Your boyfriend's eyes roll before patting his friend's chest.
"Alright, come on. Let's get her rolled into the OR so I can take my girl home."
—
As promised, recovery goes by swiftly and a new IUD is put in place. Discharge is expedited when you're dating one of the attendings and soon, Jack's coming into your room with a fresh set of clothes from his locker.
"I liked those panties," you huff as you step into Jack's black sweatpants, leaning against the bed as he kneels down to roll the legs up for you.
When he stands to full height, he helps you into the faded 'ARMY' sweater. "I'll buy you more, bunny." He tugs you in by the waist to steal a few more kisses. "Just glad you're okay. You almost gave me a heart attack when I saw your name on the board."
"Sorry," you pout as Jack sweeps a thumb across your cheekbone. "I tried texting but I—"
"No, baby, you're fine." He hushes you with another soft kiss. "It's good you came in when you did. Come on, I'll take you home."
His arm is thrown around your shoulder as he guides you out through the ambulance bay. The both of you are lost in your own little world, exchanging soft laughter and playful kisses, that you don't see the haunted look in Santos' eyes as she scurries out of the way or Javadi watching in the way someone can't look away from a car crash.
When the ambulance doors shut, Dana leans over the counter to address Robby.
"That the girlfriend?"
"Sure is."
An amused grin curls onto the nurse's lips. "I think I remember her. I see where the nickname 'bunny' comes from."
"What's it mean?"
"I'm not saying a damn thing, Robinavitch."
thank you so much for reading! likes / reblogs / comments are highly appreciated! if you guys want to see more of bunny!reader in this dolly-verse, my inbox is open for blurb requests and ideas! ♡
Summary: Abbot finally manages to persuade Robby into sharing you.
Warnings: Dark-ish Dr. Robby, power imbalance, implied age-gap, jealousy. Smut| eiffel tower kinda threesome, oral sex (m and f receiving), unprotected p in v sex, creampie, praising, pet names.
This is a second part to this fic, but it can be read alone
The bar was crowded. The kind of crowded you could barely hear yourself think, which is probably why Michael hadn’t shut the conversation down right away.
“C’mon, man, I know you two have your own... arrangement.” Dr. Abbot was talking, a little amused at the annoyance on his friend’s face.
Robby was acting as if what he was asking was scandalous. When, really, they both knew how many more scandalous things they’d done together.
“I’m not saying I want it to change, just- y’know...” Jack raised his brow, his gaze panning to you. “We could try once, for old time’s sake.”
Michael’s jaw ticked.
“I’m not sharing her.”
His eyes were on you too now. You were oblivious, laughing and talking with all the other residents at the table across the room.
“C’mon, you know you’d like it.” Abbot rebutted, taking a step closer to the man.
It was like you sensed something was happening. One moment you were laughing with Whitaker; the other your eyes had found the two men staring at you.
It felt as if the world froze, and all any of you could sense was each other.
“Just imagine how pretty she’ll look,” Jack was murmuring, only for Robby to hear, “with two cocks filling her up... How out of it she’ll be while we use her until she can’t take it anymore.”
Michael inhaled sharply, his traitorous mind picturing exactly what Abbot was putting in his head.
“You know you want that,” Abbot continued, sensing Robby’s breaking point closer. “You know you wanna feel her come on your cock while she moans around mine.”
The night’s attending was met with silence for a moment- that was until Dr. Robinavitch finally gave up, shaking his head as he groaned, “Fucking damnit”.
__ __ __
- I’m leaving -
The text told you all you needed to know.
It had been weeks now.
Weeks of stolen glances and murmured praises and secret texts that told you when to start saying goodbye to people so as not to seem suspicious when Dr. Robby left too.
At the end of most shifts, you ended up going home with Micheal, sometimes you even spent the night.
You were, as he put it, his special girl. And it was a feeling like no other.
The only thing that was hard was pretending like nothing ever happened while you were at work. You caught yourself slipping up more times than you liked to admit.
Sometimes it was a reference to “last night,” sometimes it was a touch that lingered too long, or a stare that conveyed too much... thankfully, however, no one seemed to suspect anything.
Or at least no one had brought it up with you.
You made your round of goodbyes, and with the excuse of being tired, you finally managed to get out of the bar.
The chilly night’s air greeted you as the doors closed behind you.
You shivered, closing your jacket as you started to walk to where you knew Michael’s car was parked.
The streetlamps illuminated the sidewalk with a soft glow as silence wrapped around you.
There was no one out.
No one except...
Dr. Abbot was leaning on a car you knew all too well.
Shit.
What were you supposed to do? You couldn’t exactly stop there now. What were you gonna tell him? That you were waiting on your attending so he could take you back to his home and fuck you?
Not to mention the fact you didn’t want Michael to see you talking to Jack- hell, him flirting with you was the reason all of this started.
You were planning to just give him a little nod of acknowledgment and keep walking, when, to your dismay, he shattered all your plans.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
You skidded to a stop, trying to think of what to say.
“Dr. Abbot. Hi,” you finally regained the ability to speak, conceding him a quick smile.
“You can come closer, I don’t bite,” he chuckled.
His arms were crossed against his chest as he watched you with amusement.
You must have looked dumb, blinking up at him from five feet away.
“I just... I was making my way home,” you lied, your voice weak.
“You sure?” his lips pulled into a smirk.
“I-” you trailed off, watching the look in his eyes intently.
And in an instant, it clicked.
He knew.
“Do you... Do you know?” you asked, your voice low as you hurried closer to him.
Again, he laughed as he looked you up and down, seemingly happy with what he found.
“I know a lot of things, sugar,” he murmured, his fingers moving some hair out of your face, his thumb lingering on your cheek,
His touch warmed your skin like liquid fire, sending shivers to places they had no business going.
“I know you’re very beautiful,” he murmured softly, his words caressing your skin. “I know that even if you try to hide it, you like looking at me...”
“Stop,” you whispered, biting your lip, “y- you shouldn’t.”
“Shouldn’t do what?” he hummed, his eyes falling to your lips as he leaned closer.
Your heart picked up like a hummingbird. You could almost feel his lips on yours, his beard on your skin, and his hand in your hair- when someone cleared his throat to your right.
Fuck.
You gasped, jumping back as if Abbot’s touch had turned scorching hot.
Dr. Robinavitch was right there, looking at what was happening- looking at you.
“We weren’t- nothing happened,” you blurted out immediately, eliciting a cackle from Abbot.
You were expecting to see anger in Michael’s eyes, but when you looked closer... There was just some jealousy; the rest was something else.
“It’s ok, baby,” he reassured you.
“R-really?”
He gave you a simple nod, and you sighed shakily with relief.
Your breathing was starting to get back to normal, but as you watched the two men before you, a weird sensation overwhelmed you.
Michael had moved to stand beside Jack, and both their eyes were on you.
You’d noticed them before,talking in the bar while looking at you, but you just assumed it was something to do with work, but now it felt... different.
What the hell was going on?
“You ever been to Paris, sweetheart?”
It was Abbot’s voice that broke the silence.
“Jesus,” Robby laughed, shaking his head.
Huh?
“W-what?” you murmured, confused.
But they simply looked at each other, a grin on both their lips.
“Nothing, baby, just get in the car.”
__ __ __
You felt dazed as you followed Dr. Robby into his apartment.
The door closed behind Abbot with a loud click, and you almost jumped.
You had no clue what was going on. You had no idea how you were supposed to act.
You certainly couldn’t behave like you did when you and Michael were alone, but it’s not like he remembered that.
He’d already touched you inappropriately, and you hadn’t known how to react.
This was all so confusing.
“You want something to drink?”
While Jack answered positively behind you, you could only shake your head no.
Dr. Robinavitch smiled for a moment before walking to the kitchen, leaving you alone with the other man.
“Let’s get on the couch, yeah?”
When did he get so close?
His breath was fanning your neck, causing shivers down your spine.
“Mh-mh,” you hummed, complying.
You stared at your hands as he sat beside you.
“You don’t have to be nervous, sweetheart,” he spoke gently.
His voice was tinged with a delicious warmth.
“I just... I don’t really know what’s happening.”
Abbot couldn’t help but grin as his index finger guided your face up to look at him.
“We’re just here to... enjoy each other’s company,” he murmured, looking at you sweetly. “You don’t enjoy being around me?”
“No, I do,” you nodded shily.
“And you enjoy being with Robby?”
“Y-yes”
“That’s good,” Abbot bit down a proud smile as he moved closer, his fingers toying with your hair. “I bet he makes you enjoy yourself a lot.”
You choked on nothing at those words, heat spreading on your cheeks like wildfire.
“W-what? I-I”
I mean, it’s not like he was wrong. Dr. Robinavitch was definitely the best sex you’d ever had.
“It’s ok, sugar,” he shook his head, caressing your cheek soothingly. “I’m sure he does. There’s nothing wrong with it.”
Your breathing quickened, “Y-you shouldn’t know that.”
“Oh, Robby doesn’t care that I know what you two do,” he grinned, his gaze shifting behind you as Michael came into the living room. “Do you?”
You couldn’t bring yourself to turn and look at the man.
“Can’t say that I do.”
The answer shocked you. Why didn’t he want anyone else to know, but Abbot was fine? That made no sense.
“W-why?”
Michael was shrugging, finally in your line of sight now. He handed a beer to Abbot and sat on your other side, taking a swing of his own bottle.
“’Cause sweetheart...” Jack murmured, placing the beer on the coffee table next to him, before letting his hand slowly move to your thigh, “Robby and me... we’ve got a history.”
You swallowed, trying to make sense of his words.
“A history?” you repeated, watching each man questioningly.
A beat passed, then two.
“A history of sharing women, sweetheart,” Jack spoke softly, but your heart skipped a beat nevertheless.
Did he just say...
“You’re in a rush,” Robby commented, arching a brow at the other man.
“I’ve been wanting this for a long time,” Abbot answered truthfully, his eyes only on you.
Your heart was pounding in your chest, and yet you felt almost hypnotized by the look in Abbott’s eyes.
He just grinned, his fingers leaving your face as he reached for his beer and took a sip.
“At the same time?”
It felt dirty to even say it, but the lava-like heat low in your belly was everlasting.
The things you were picturing...
“Yes, baby,” Robby spoke now, his hand finding your other thigh.
“Y-you mean...” you couldn’t even finish the sentence, your brain was short-circuiting.
“Yes, sugar.” Michael leaned closer, kissing you slowly without any warning. “We like to fuck women at the same time.”
You were pretty sure you weren’t breathing anymore.
Both their hands and stares were on you, and you felt like you could have died.
“Is that something you’d be interested in?” Abbot asked, his gaze burning.
“I’ve never done anything... like that.”
You glanced at the beer bottles forgotten on the coffee table, trying to calm yourself.
“We’ll teach you, sweetheart.”
You gulped as Robby asked, “So?”
You looked at each of them, eyes wide, breathing erratic, and the answer was out before you could stop it.
“Yes”
I mean, it’s not like it was much of a tough question- You couldn’t think of one person on this earth that would turn the opportunity down.
Robby’s lips pulled into a smirk.
“Good girl,” he praised you, before crashing his mouth with yours.
You whimpered into the kiss as he tasted you like he owned you- the kiss was hard, branding, and it left you breathless.
He pulled away way too soon, but then he nodded to Abbot, and you felt about to combust.
Was this really happening?
Your question was answered in a matter of seconds, because as soon as you turned around, Abbot was leaning closer.
His kiss started softer, like he was trying to test out the water, or perhaps trying to hold himself back.
But then something switched, your tongue started exploring his mouth too, and he groaned, as his movements turned desperate... hungry.
His hands gripped your face as he forced you impossibly close to him, and he made a point of tasting every single inch of you until he could barely breathe.
Your puffy lips caused a smile to Jack’s face as he leaned away.
He really had been wanting to do this for a long time.
“Let’s go to the bedroom.” Robby’s voice broke the thick silence.
__ __ __
You were sitting on the bed like you’d been told to, watching with a mix of anxiety and excitement as the two men glanced at each other, communicating silently, before looking back at you.
You had so many questions- you wanted to ask how any of this was gonna work, you wanted to ask what was gonna happen... but no words could make it out of your mouth.
They were silent too. Not in your panicky way, but in a calm, confident way.
Jack moved first, walking to you before slowly kneeling down. His hands fell to your legs, and butterflies filled your stomach.
“Let’s get you out of these clothes, yeah?”
Robby rounded the bed, the mattress creaking underneath his weight as he came to kneel behind you.
Wordlessly, Jack undid your pants while Robby helped you out of your shirt.
In moments, you sat there in only a pair of panties and a bra.
You would have felt self-conscious, if it wasn’t for the adoration blanketing the men’s eyes.
Michael took off your bra, and you watched Abbot’s jaw tick as his eyes fell to your naked chest.
He didn’t move - it was Robby who initiated the dance.
His mouth fell to your neck, leaving hot, wet kisses on it while his hands traveled up to cup your tits hard, squeezing and groping as he groaned against your neck.
Your eyes were on Abbot as you bit your bottom lip, trying and failing to silence your moans.
It was a weird feeling, having someone watch such an intimate moment... but it was extraordinary too.
It took a moment for Jack to snap out of it, but once he did, he just smirked at you as he slowly peeled your panties off.
You held your breath, your hand shooting to Michael’s hair as he sucked on a spot behind your ear that made you feel dizzy.
Abbot couldn’t resist anymore, as much as he enjoyed the show, he guided your legs to open, watching with twisted satisfaction your whole heat come into view for him.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he cooed, leaning down further, his fingers gripping the outside of your thighs, “You’ve got the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen.”
You only whimpered as he moved your legs to rest on his shoulders, his breath fanning to your core while his lips started to leave taunting kisses on the inside of your thighs.
Soft whines left your throat as his stubble grazed your skin, his mouth inching closer to where you needed it, but never fully reaching it.
You tried to wiggle your hips to get him closer, but all that caused was a smirk on Jack’s lips and a sudden bite to your skin.
You yelped, causing both men to laugh.
“Please,” you mumbled, your chest heaving.
“Begging already?” Abbot shook his head, chuckling as he continued to torture you.
“Jack’s taking his sweet time, huh?” Robby spoke to your ear, sending shivers down your spine.
You nodded desperately, hoping he’d get on your side and tell the man to get to work... only of course, Robby absolutely loved seeing you like this.
“I wanna enjoy this,” Jack spoke in between kisses, and now licks, to your sensitive skin. “Who knows when you’re gonna let me do this again.”
“If.” Robby corrected him immediately, moving your hair to the side to grant some attention to other spots on your throat. “If I’m gonna let you do this again.”
“See?” Abbot arched a brow, laughing softly as he looked at you. “He’s seriously possessive about you, sweetheart- You really cast a spell on him.”
You couldn’t help but smile at that. The thought of you being so special to Robby... it did things to you.
The distraction lasted only so long, because soon Jack was back at kissing your skin and you were back at whining.
“I’ll give you something to keep you occupied, baby, don’t worry.”
With that, Robby undid his zipper, quickly guiding you to lie down and taking his cock out of his pants.
He pulled your head on his lap, giving his dick a quick squeeze.
“Open up.”
In a second, you found yourself sucking his big tip into your mouth.
“That’s it, baby, that’s it.” Robby inhaled sharply, moving your hair out of the way.
You wanted to do a good job, but the moment you felt Abbot’s lips on your mound, the task kind of fell into the background.
You looked, as much as you could, down at Jack, as he finally gave you what you wanted.
In seconds, all that teasing was forgotten. The man was starving.
His tongue delved into your slick pussy like he’d been waiting his whole life for it. He was licking and kissing and sucking everything he could find, and you were already over the moon.
“Fuck- you taste amazing,” Abbot groaned.
You moaned around Robbys cock, as Jack’s lips began focusing on your clit, stretching it and sucking it into his mouth enough to drive you crazy, just to stop and focus everywhere else.
The room filled with the sound of his feasting and your pathetic attempt at giving Robby head.
Abbot’s nose was deep inside your core as his tongue delved into your hole, eating you out from within and making you see stars.
Your back arched from the bed, but his strong hands quickly pulled you back down.
His biceps were bulging against his shirt, and his eyes were laser-focused on you, watching every single proof of his good job cross your face.
“Jack’s making you feel good?”
You nodded desperately, looking up at Robby, one of your hands gripping his forearm as his friend made out with your pussy.
“Yeah? So much so, you forgot how to suck my cock?”
Those words sent a wave of something desperate through you as you immidiately began trying to bob your head and suck more of him into your mouth.
You looked up at him with apology, trying to please him as much as you could in the position you were in.
“Have mercy on her, Robby,” Jack spoke against your core, shooting delicious vibrations through your body. “Who knows when’s the last time someone ate her out this is good,” he smirked, shooting you a wink. “Ain’t that right, sweetheart?”
Heat invaded your face as you pretended not to hear, all the while not being able to silence your moans.
He really was spectacular at it.
It’s not like Dr. Robby didn’t eat you out, it’s just that it was different... Robby was quick, aggressive; he was a taker. He made you come as if you owed it to him- while Abbot... he was taking his time tasting all of you, showing love to every inch of you, and just simply... giving.
You were making a mess, you were drenched and slick all over, and you could see your juices all over Jack’s face, but he simply kept going, groaning into you in pleasure as he dined.
“Mmmph-” You hummed around Robby’s cock once Jack finally started focusing on your clit again, your free hand moving to grasp his silver locks.
He watched you like a hawk, gripping your thighs as he quite simply decided to put an end to this torture and make you come.
Which he did- in an embarrassing short amount of time, you found yourself crying out like a madwoman as a tsunami of pleasure washed over you.
You regained consciousness as Jack’s lips found your stomach, starting a trail that led him all the way to your mouth.
Robby had taken his cock out of your mouth somewhere in the meantime.
Abbot kissed you softly, letting you taste yourself as your hands cradled his face, palm against his humid stubble.
“You did real good, sweetheart.”
“Thank you,” you mumbled, eyes half-lidded as you tried to calm your breathing.
He smiled, kissing you once more before leaning away and off of you until he was standing up.
It was then that you noticed Michael was already undressing, and renewed heat pooled in your belly as both men stood shirtless in front of you.
“I wanna look at her,” Jack spoke to his friend as he got rid of his pants.
Robby looked at him for a moment as he did the same, appearing almost annoyed with the request.
“Fine. As long as you don’t come inside her.”
At that, Abbot’s lips pulled into a grin and he shook his head, looking at you as he muttered, “So possessive.”
You wanted to smile, but then Jack took off his underwear, and all thoughts left your head.
Your mouth hung slightly open as you blatantly admired him. His pecs, his strong, broad chest, the V-shape pointing downwards to his big, huge cock...
“You can handle it, sweetheart,” he winked, slowly stepping towards you.
Without so much as a warning, he pulled you closer to the edge of the bed, your feet planted on the mattress and legs spread for him.
He wasn’t much bigger than Robby; he was just girthier.
You glanced at Michael, swallowing dryly.
He was still wearing underwear as he watched the scene unfold.
He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed this.
“You’re gonna be good for Jack, baby?”
You nodded mindlessly, whining softly as Abbot gripped his dick and slid it against your slick folds.
“I’m sure you will, sugar,” he smiled, leaning down to kiss you quickly. “You’ll have to forgive me if I can’t fuck you missionary, it’s kind of hard with my leg,” he murmured against your mouth.
He was saying it mostly for himself. It was at times like this that he hated what had happened to him- getting robbed of normalcy, not being able to do what so many took for granted. Not being able to kiss the woman he was fucking, just because of his fucking prosthetic, angered him much more than it should have.
Your eyes panned down to his right leg, nodding slowly “It’s ok,” you murmured.
With that, he kissed you once more before standing upright again.
With how wet he’d made you, he managed to slip into you with ease... or the first inch at least.
Your back arched from the bed as he retracted his hips and thrust into you, repeating the routine over and over again until he was finally fully seated inside of you.
You cried out his name as you fisted the sheets under you, your legs wrapping around his waist as he gripped the outside of your legs.
“Fuck me,” he groaned, stopping for a moment to regain some sort of control. “So tight for me, sweetheart.”
You could only moan in response, the feeling of being so full rendering you a putty mess.
“Please,” you murmured, your hips trying to move to gain friction, “Please, Dr. Abbot.”
“You want me to move?” he taunted.
You nodded feverishly, eyes shut as your heart beat like crazy in your chest.
Yes, please.
“Look at me,” he ordered, watching you comply in a second, “Like that, good girl.”
Your eyes met his, and just like that- he started fucking you.
Your breath got stuck in your throat as his dick began plunging into you over and over again, balls slapping against your ass as you felt him reach parts so deep inside of you that had you curling your toes.
You were whimpering with every thrust, your pussy barely able to stretch around all of him.
“So pretty,” Jack grumbled as he started going harder, faster, shutting your brain down altougether.
You were so lost in Abbot’s gaze that you didn’t notice Robby walking to the end of the bed, right where your head lay.
He was fisting his cock slowly, watching you take his friend’s dick like a champ, until he couldn’t simply look anymore.
Without speaking a single word, he turned your head towards him, guiding your mouth to open with a thumb to your bottom lip.
“R-robby,” you cried out, pupils filled with ecstasy as they almost rolled to the back of your head.
Abbot was making you feel that good.
“I know, baby, I know,” he cooed, impatiently guiding his cock into your mouth.
This time, you didn't even try to suck it. You were too far gone.
Thankfully, however, he took pity on you and simply started using your mouth as he would with your pussy.
The feeling of both of them inside you... both of them using you however they pleased made you feel on top of the world.
You were hot all over, drooling around Michael’s shaft while soaking Jack’s.
Both men were groaning in pleasure, a choir of sounds that made you feel close to the edge even faster.
“Doing so good for us, baby,” Michael groaned, looking down at you almost proudly as he abused your throat.
You were gagging, tears welling in your eyes as your right hand went to grip his waist, needing something to keep you grounded- keep you sane.
“Jack’s making you feel good?”
“Mh-mh,” you nodded as best as you could, glancing at the man furiously fucking you.
“Yeah, I am,” He growled, his movements frantic, desperate, “I can feel you squeezing me, sugar.”
You could feel every ridge and vein of his dick against your velvety walls, claiming every inch of you as if he wanted to leave an invisible mark.
“Taking me so good, sweetheart,” he murmured, “So deep.”
You could only moan in response, involuntarily squeezing him tighter and eliciting a deep rumble from his chest.
“Let me hear her.”
Michael hesitated a second before complying, pulling himself out of your mouth.
Immidiately, you were moaning like crazy into the thick air, your eyes on Jack’s.
He was gonna remember those sounds for the rest of his life.
“Fuck” he grumbled as you whimpered for him, “You’re gonna come for me?”
“Y-yes,” you couldn’t help but mumble the truth, “Please Dr. A-Abbott- please.”
“Jack, sweetheart,” he smiled, “Call me Jack when I’m fucking you.”
You nodded, biting your lip.
“Oh!” you squeaked as Michael’s hand materialized on your clit. “O-Oh my god- Jack- I-I-”
“I know sugar, come for me,” he breathed, “come around my cock like a good girl.”
You glanced at Robby, and when he nodded in encouragement, you couldn’t help but let go.
The tension in your belly exploded with the force of a volcano as your orgasm took over your body.
You writhed and moaned and cried, eyes shut in pleasure, until you could finally remember where you were again.
Jack was still slowly thrusting into you, letting you ride out your high, but the movements were very quickly turning overstimulating.
You could only whine, opening your eyes up again as you tried to scoot away from him.
“Too much?”
“Y-yes,” you nodded, biting your lip.
He smirked, eyes falling to where you were still swallowing him up. “I’d love to get another one out of you, but I think someone’s getting impatient.”
Your eyes panned to the man next to him, eyes dark and cock angry... yes, he indeed seemed impatient.
You gave Jack a lopsided smile, already feeling fucked out of your mind, and he finally pulled out of you.
It was a miracle he’d managed not to bust inside you.
“Get on your hands and knees, baby.”
You felt weak as you obeyed Michael’s command. Your legs were barely holding your weight as you got into position, but it was when you felt Robby climb onto the bed and slide his dick against your folds, when Jack came into view, standing before you, his cock right in line with your face- that you gulped.
You had no clue how you were gonna survive this.
“I-I,” you stuttered nervously, looking at Robinavitch behind you.
He only shushed you as his palm stroked your ass, and he started guiding himself into your core.
“Shh, baby,” he cooed, “You can do it- I know you can... now be good and suck Jack’s cock while I fuck you, yeah?”
You swallowed the sand in your throat, trying to stifle your moans as he filled you up.
“You want to be a good girl for me, right, baby? For us?”
Finally, you nodded. Of course you did.
You looked back at Abbot as Michael seated himself completely inside of you.
You cried out, your body and consequently your face sliding forward with the thrust, making your lips come in contact with Jack’s tip.
Having it right in front of you like this made a completely different effect. Trimmed gray hair adorned his base, and his cock looked even bigger up close.
You eyed his member worriedly before looking up at him.
He smiled at the look in your eyes, his hand shifting to move some hair away from your face, his thumb lingering on your cheek to caress your skin.
“It’s alright, sweetheart,” he soothed you, gently guiding his dick into your mouth.
His head fell back, hissing under his breath as you instinctively hollowed your cheeks.
“Jesus,” he groaned, his hand going to fist your hair in a makeshift bun as you began working him into your mouth, all the while looking up at him like a literal angel.
Michael needed to speed things up because he was already much too close to the edge.
Thankfully, it was like the other man heard him and did exactly that.
Robby’s pace quickened and hardened at the same time. His thrusts turning brutal, scathing, and leaving you a complete mess.
You could feel him everywhere, every single cell in your body was being overriden by how good he was making you feel.
He was fucking you like he always did. He claimed you, fingers buried into your skin enough to bruise, and cock so deep inside of you, you’d feel like something was missing the moment he pulled out.
Actual tears dampened your cheeks as his pace forced you to gag around Jack’s cock.
“Good girl,” Michael groaned, landing a quick slap on your ass, “take it, like that- good.”
“Doing so good, sweetheart,” Abbot breathed from above you, knuckles white with the effort not to come in your mouth much earlier than he wanted to.
You were moaning around him, nothing but a doll at their mercy as your body moved however they wanted.
You weren’t in control anymore- not that you ever were- but now you felt truly so out of it you almost wondered if you’d already fallen asleep and this was just a hot, lucid dream.
As spent as you felt, however, a burning, familiar feeling started coiling low in your belly.
Michael’s hand reached your tits, his fingers toying with your nipples, before suddenly pinching your right one, and that feeling only heightened.
Your walls were strangling Robby’s cock as you struggled to keep your eyes open.
“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, “Fuck- that’s it.”
His fingers found your bundle of nerves, and it was like the pearly gates of heaven opened up for you.
Your muffled cries sounded through the room as, once again, you reached your peak.
“Good girl— come for me.”
Jack didn’t even try to hold it anymore and came with a loud grunt, forcing himself as deep as he could down your throat and painting it all white.
“I’m gonna fill you up now-” Robby was hissing, his thrusts turning sloppy as he got closer and closer “Gonna give it all to you, baby— all of it.”
And that’s exactly what he did. He filled you up with a growl, flushing his pevis with your ass in one brutal final thrust.
Your legs trembled as you dropped onto the bed, eyes closed and breathing erratic.
Both men were staring at you, at the come leaking out of your core, at the mess that had become of your hair, at the flush on your cheeks... and they couldn’t help but chuckle.
“Fuck, man,” Robby shook his head, still out of breath.
“Told you it’d be worth it.” Jack grinned, patting the man’s back.
SUMMARY: Reader is an author who has recently begun writing a book with sexual content. She's experiencing a bit of a roadblock because, well... she's a twenty-five-year-old virgin. She doesn't know what to do until hot and sweet Jack Abbot comes up to her in her beloved coffee shop-slash-office and changes her entire life.
WARNINGS: This series is very spicy. Their relationship begins sexually, and emotions, vulnerability and story telling comes after. There are mentions of starting a family, as well as toxic relationships (previous partners; not current). The speed of their relationship is also quite fast in comparison to real life relationships. This is fiction.
PAIRING: Jack Abbot x afab reader
A/N: This is an age gap fic. Jack is 45 and reader is 25, turning 26. Reader in this series does not have a chosen race or ethnicity, but usually reader is envisioned as a bit chubbier (that is how reader is in most of my fics).
STATUS: Ongoing
PINTEREST BOARD
CHAPTERS
Chapter One: Roadblock (6.5k)
Chapter Two: A Date and a List (5.5k)
Chapter Three: Falling for Jack Abbot (Literally) (6.2k)
wc: 22.5k
content: 18+ mdni, sexually explicit content, no age gap, reader in her mid to late forties, rivals to lovers, med student flash backs, parental death, suicide, suicidal ideation, cat dad!robby, sabbatical!robby, biker!robby, motorcycle accident (minor injuries), whump, angst with happy ending, hurt/comfort, so much domestic fluff, discussions of mental health, complicated parental relationship, like literally so much domesticity it's sickening, robby nicknamed reader bambi back in med school, mostly used in flashbacks, reader has a tattoo
synopsis: michael robinavitch was practically your sworn enemy in med school. your sworn enemy that you'd slept with, regretably, once. then twenty years passed and back in pittsburgh, you see one michael robinavitch on hinge. ever the hopeless romantic, you can't help the curiosity that leads you to match with him. unfortunately for you, he doesn't remember you.
a/n: this one is for all my fellow hopeless romantics. it's so romantic and dramatic it borders on cringe but whatever. i had a ton of fun writing all my deepest romantic and domestic fantasies. welcome to my dream house, i tried to paint it as cozy as possible. <3 -syd
Your favorite part of being called in to the hospital on a Saturday was the peace and quiet of the lab. Doubly so today, because you were called in during the night shift.
Pathology didn't really have "night shifts" or even weekend shifts so the lab was completely empty when you arrived. Immediately, you set up your space, your speaker, pulled out the iced coffee you'd made at home, unscrewing the cap on the Ball jar.
Originally, you'd planned to spend the night on the couch with your tabby cat, Brutus (named in such a way so when he inevitably destroyed your furniture or knocked your favorite mug off the table you could at least find some whimsy in crying "Et tu, Brute?" theatrically), and a movie that you'd heard would make you cry. You'd been meaning to cry for a while now, but hadn't been able to find the time. You supposed you could push it to another night, depending on how long you ended up being in the hospital tonight.
You hummed along to the playlist you'd started on your speaker as you prepared a blood smear from the sample you'd been called in for.
Jack Abbot was the attending on shift in the ED this evening. You had only met him in person once or twice, but you were glad it was him and not Michael. Or, Robby, it seemed he was going by these days. You hadn't yet run into him since being back at PTMC, but you were not eager to reminisce with him, especially since it was becoming more and more clear that he had no recollection of you.
It shouldn't have bothered you so much. It had been two med school rotations and one extremely disappointing hookup when you'd both gotten too drunk after shift. But he had been instrumental in you picking pathology for residency. At the time, the decision had been full of complicated emotions, resentment, a complete misunderstanding of who you were and what you wanted. But now, well, you thought maybe you owed him your gratitude.
Your phone pinged while you were prepping your slides and you eyed it and found it was a notification from Hinge.
From Robby.
You inhaled slowly and looked away as your screen went dark. You had no idea what the fuck you were doing, chatting with Robby on a dating site. You told yourself you just were curious when your thumb tapped the heart on his profile. Middle aged looked really really good on him, you wouldn't deny that, but you still saw the baby faced, skinny rod of a med student when you looked at him. And when he'd first initiated the chat, you realized very quickly he didn't remember you.
You found yourself preening under his attention, how he complimented your photos and your mind through conversations. The both of you established early on that you didn't want to discuss work beyond confirming that you were both doctors working in PTMC. But you repeatedly dodged his attempts to meet up and grab a drink. You weren't sure how long you could keep it all up without admitting that you knew him already. Intimately, even.
You suspected soon enough, he'd get tired of trying to get you to meet up with him and move on to the next thing. But thus far, he'd been persistent, going on weeks now.
But you didn't have time for him right now so you turned your attention back to your slides. Slipping one beneath the microscope, you focused the knobs slowly, letting your world narrow to the blood sample, the blood cells.
This was why you loved your job. How easy it was to slip outside yourself and into whatever sample you were looking at. There was always a clear answer hiding in the shape of the cells, just beneath the surface. There was always a clear path to diagnosis, to treatment, to healing. Everything made perfect sense under the light of a microscope.
And this sample, as always, made perfect sense after just a few minutes. You sighed, "Shit."
You couldn't risk just sending this back via the online portal for whenever the doctor deigned to check the chart next so you picked up the phone. It rang and rang and rang.
You shook your head and put the phone back on the receiver. As quickly as possible, you documented the chart, still trying to get ahold of someone, but no one was picking up the phone. What the fuck was going on down there?
Impatient, you decided to head down yourself after saving your changes in the chart. You walked briskly towards the elevators, rocked on your heels as you waited.
The second the elevator doors opened you were knocked practically on your ass by the noise and the chaos of the ED. It was rare you came down here at all and every time you did it felt like being thrown back to med school rotations. Suddenly you were again the floundering med student constantly being expected to be on the lookout for the daggers of the other students as well as practice medicine efficiently.
But you were an adult now, not the twenty year old naive kid genius walking around on wobbly legs. Pushing your shoulders back, you shook it off and headed for the hub. Luckily, Dr. Abbot was right there.
"Your phones not working down here or something?" You asked without preamble, hands on your hips.
Abbot looked up at you slowly and then over to the phone. You followed his gaze and saw that the phone was lying off the receiver, "Ah, shit, sorry." He put the receiver back on the hook, "What could be so urgent it coaxes path from the comforts of the cave upstairs?"
You smirked, "Your patient has TTP."
He sighed and picked up an iPad, "Fuck," he muttered when he pulled up the chart you'd just updated, "Okay, um," He shook his head, "I don't think we have the resources down here to start TPE."
You frowned, "Okay… Admit to ICU, then."
He laughed, "Yeah, right. Good luck getting the charge to agree to admit a patient on a Saturday night."
You bit your lip, and then sighed, "Alright, give me… fifteen minutes and I'll be back down here with an apheresis machine, I'll run it."
He raised his eyebrows, "Really? You'd do that?"
You shrugged, "I could run apheresis in my sleep."
Slowly Abbot nodded and smirked at you, "Alright, great. Thank you."
Later, you sat in the hub of the emergency department after setting up the patient for TPE and finally opened your messages from Michael—Robby, you corrected yourself.
What's my favorite homebody up to this evening? Any way I can convince you to grab a drink?
You stifled a smirk and typed back, I'm on call tonight. Sorry, cowboy.
"Hey," You looked up to see Abbot leaning over the counter to look at you, "Seriously, thank you for staying."
"No problem," You eyed the chaos around you, "Seemed like you guys could use the help."
"Always." He laughed and nodded, "Listen, some of us in the ED are getting together for a poker night next Friday, would you… be interested in coming?"
You blinked up at him, unsure of what to make of the offer. Was he flirting or just being nice? You'd heard that Jack Abbot flirted with everyone, so likely he didn't mean anything by it at all. While you were trying to figure it out, your phone pinged again. Robby. You flipped your phone facedown on the workstation desk.
"Why not?" You said and smiled up at him.
"Great," He unlocked his phone and handed it to you, "Here, put your number in and I'll text you the details."
Having entered your information, you returned his phone to him and then he was off. Sighing, you turned back to your phone to open Robby's latest message.
They're working you too hard. I thought path was supposed to be easy?
You rolled your eyes at this, but were unsurprised. For as much as you remembered him complaining about surgeons during your rotations, that they had a superiority complex, he had the same issues. And so had you, once upon a time, but you had grown out of it.
Having a work-life balance doesn't make the whole specialty "easy."
Almost immediately, a reply was on your phone: Sorry, I didn't mean to diminish your specialty. The ED would cease to function without collaboration from path, I know that. And your diagnoses have saved our asses on multiple occasions when we were busy chasing zebras.
Well. That was new. An apology without hesitation that seemed to drip through with humility and sincerity.
Though, it also was not lost on you that he had incentive to be nicer to you in the context of a dating app considering he'd been trying to fuck you for the last few weeks.
Apology accepted, you texted back, I know your true frustration lies with the inability to have your way with me tonight. You stifled a smile after hitting send. It reminded you of being in college, the casual flirtation. You hadn't had time for this sort of thing in med school or residency, doing your best to just survive. Then, when you were finally an attending, you were so burnt out you remembered practically sleep walking through the first couple of years. By the time that was all over, you felt so out of practice you'd mostly isolated yourself until now.
You'd had a few one night stands since creating a Hinge profile, but since you and Robby had begun chatting he had taken up all of your mental space. This irritated you greatly on top of the fact that he didn't seem to remember you.
And here I thought I was doing an excellent job at concealing my desperation.
You huffed a laugh and shook your head, Could you show me just how desperate you are for me?
You fidgeted with your fingers anxiously as you waited for his response, wondering for just a few moments if you had been too brazen, too forward—The phone pinged.
You slid open your phone and felt lightheaded as you took in the photo he'd sent you. His fist was wrapped around the considerable length of his very erect cock, dark tufts of hair at the base of his fist. You had both been pretty drunk the time you'd hooked up in the darkness of Robby's messy studio apartment and as he'd had trouble maintaining an erection that night, you'd never gotten a good look at it. Not like this.
There was a lump in your throat and you swallowed hard as another message came through: The photos you sent in that pretty lingerie set will have to do for tonight.
You felt your cheeks heat and blinked the steamy feeling from your eyes. Locking your phone, you placed it face down in front of you and stared off into the distance for a while.
And after a minute or so of this, when your galloping heart slowed and lucid thinking began to ease its way behind your eyes again, you had only a single thought:
Oh, no.
***
An unseasonable heat wave had domed around Pittsburgh the last couple of days and so when Robby headed to Jack's place for poker night that Friday, the sun had gone down, but the residual heat warmed him enough that he didn't need a jacket.
He had been waffling back and forth on whether or not to skip the night all together. The week had been crushing him, slowly, a boulder rolling incremently into a brick wall, an unstoppable force.
There had been a few patients they'd lost that really stuck with him this week. They'd been short on residents which meant he'd had to do a bit more hands on care than usual.
And more and more when he found things growing particularly dark, he'd reach for you. You, with your gorgeous smile and silly cat and constant, almost oppressive optimism.
He'd tease you about it, but really he admired it. How no matter how bleak of a day you had, he had, you'd find a way to turn it on its head.
Sure, you'd had to stage the breast cancer of a woman in her thirties and the news wasn't good, but you'd gotten to hold her hand and tell her about all the ground breaking treatment that was available to her. Sure, you'd cried about her for days later, but she'd sent you a card the next week thanking you for the simple act of holding her hand. Of showing her kindness. And maybe you'd get to see her through to remission as you'd done for countless others.
That was your favorite part, you'd tell him. Diagnosing sucked, but treatment plans and seeing people through to the other side, sliding biopsies under your microscope to see healthy tissue. Remission.
"That's why you're so miserable down there," You'd told him, "You mostly see people on their worst days, you don't get to celebrate with them when they make it to recovery. You don't get to see the returns."
He craved your perspective, wanted desperately to have it himself. But he wasn't sure it was possible for him the way it was for you. With your nine to five and weekends off and time to date—though apparently, not time for him.
He had thought at first that you were simply waiting him out, waiting to see if he'd lose interest. You'd been open about the fact that your time on dating apps had largely led you to become disillusioned with the possibility of a real, fulfilling relationship. He felt the same, mostly. The only thing the apps had ever been good for was a night or two to fill the oppressive silence of his house.
But he continued trying with you, which had led to the two of you sexting and him being as open as he could remember being in recent years about how badly he wanted someone. Still, you avoided him.
He'd texted you earlier to see if you were around tonight and you had left him on read, so begrudgingly, he'd be going to poker night instead. Anything other than being alone with his thoughts tonight after they'd lost a woman with eclampsia and her baby.
But when he walked into Jack's living room, a beer in hand, he was stunned to see you sitting on the couch, immersed in conversation with Mckay and Al Hashimi.
Your eyes darted to his and then quickly away, but he saw the way your eyes widened and your chest swelled. You didn't know he was going to be there.
"Hey man, you made it," Jack clapped Robby on the shoulder, "Glad you came."
But Robby couldn't tear his eyes off you, "You invited path?"
Jack followed his gaze, "Oh, yeah, she helped us out last weekend with a TTP patient. Figured it was only polite. Honestly, I didn't think she'd come. Why, do you know her?"
With effort, Robby tore his eyes away from you, "Wha—? Oh, no. No more than you do, you know, the rare occasion path comes down."
Jack narrowed his eyes at Robby, "Right," he said slowly, "Okay. Well, can I interest you in a round of Blackjack?"
Robby chuckled and shook his head, "No thank you, learned my lesson years ago not to play cards with you."
Jack smirked and watched as Robby's gaze flitted back to you, "I think she's too well adjusted for you."
Robby's head whipped back around, a hot flush crawling up his neck, "Excuse me?" He said through nervous laughter.
Jack shrugged, "I'm just saying, she seems like she wouldn't tolerate your bullshit and you'd probably get bored at how… normal she is."
Robby blinked at him, "Who said I'm interested?"
Jack rolled his eyes, "Please, don't insult me, brother. The last time I saw you look at a woman like that was the first time you met Heather. And you'll recall she also was unwilling to put up with your bullshit."
He knew Jack was mostly being playful, but it stung nonetheless, the thought that someone else besides himself thought he was incapable of being in a healthy and loving relationship. That no one in their right mind could want to stay with him.
For just a second he was eight years old again wondering if he was such a terrible, rotten son that it'd pushed his mother to end her own life—The thought rushed up against the dam in his brain and just as quickly receded. He wouldn't think about that. Not now. Not here.
He forced a smile for Jack, "You don't need to remind me. I remember."
After a moment Jack squeezed his shoulders, "But what do I know, hm? Go shoot your shot."
Robby rolled his eyes, "You have far too many Gen Z staff on your shift."
But still, Robby wandered over to you eventually, surprised to find that he was a bit nervous, "Is this why you didn't answer my text earlier?" He asked quietly as he sat down.
You turned just a bit towards him, "I didn't think you'd be here, honestly. It doesn't seem like your scene."
He laughed, "Meaning?"
"Meaning it's too… jovial," You teased.
He ran a hand over the back of his head, "Well, I'm glad I came. It's nice to finally meet you in person."
You grimaced, "Yeah, we've met before, Michael."
He frowned and turned fully to you, "What're you—? No we haven't."
You nodded slowly, "We have, yeah. We went to med school together. Did rotations together."
For a moment he paused and tilted his head, turned your name over in his head, "No… No, you're too young to have gone to med school with me—" His eyes caught on your wrist as your fingers tapped lightly against the glass of your beer bottle. A tattoo in looping scroll that read As you wish. With a dagger beneath the words. The feeling of nostalgia almost violently overtook him. There was only one other woman he'd ever met who had that tattoo of a quote from The Princess Bride in that exact spot.
"Bambi?" He asked, sounding almost breathless.
You wrinkled your nose and turned away from him, "I always hated that nickname."
But Robby couldn't tear his eyes off you. There were a million thoughts running through his head as suddenly images flashed behind his eyes, the two of you twenty years younger and constantly at each other's throats, desperate to prove you were better than the other. But the first thought that he blurted out of his mouth was, "You went into pathology?"
You laughed and shook your head, "I knew you didn't mean it when you said you respected my specialty—"
"That's not what I meant—"
"What else could you have meant by the condescension dripping from your tone right now?"
He opened and closed his mouth before hanging his head, "I'm just… Surprised, is all. You were… a force in the ER. You could have had your pick of any emergency medicine residency in the country, surely."
You stared ahead for a few moments, tightlipped and eyes glossy, "Emergency medicine nearly burned me out just at rotations, I imagine I would have been… a shell of myself had I stayed. And at the time, you certainly agreed."
He huffed in indignation, "That is categorically false, I thought you were brilliant."
"Well you sure had a funny way of showing it. Talking over me, talking down to me in front of attendings, basically celebrating every mistake I made—"
"Everyone else practically worshiped you. I was just trying to make sure I wasn't overlooked. You know how cutthroat it was down there—"
"Exactly," You nodded, "Which is why I'm actually grateful for the way you treated me. It wore me down enough that I knew if I couldn't get through even a rotation or two, there was no way I'd make it through a residency. Not in that environment."
He pressed his lips together and looked down at his hands, "Look, I'm… I apologize… For how I spoke to you back then, I was a stupid kid, I was just trying to survive as best I knew how. It's not an excuse, I just. I'm sorry."
You didn't seem upset as you looked at him, eyes gently passing over his face. You lifted the beer bottle to your lips and he watched the lights refract off the glass.
"It's fine," You said eventually, "You were far from the only reason I went into path."
"Why didn't you say anything? When we—When we started talking? Why didn't you tell me?"
You shrugged, "I thought maybe you'd forgotten me altogether. Or worse, that remembering me would mean you'd no longer be interested."
You carefully avoided looking at him when you said this, but screwed your mouth down to the side as you chewed your cheek.
Robby sat back and took a sip from his own beer, "It seems like I should have been the one to worry about that. Since I was the one who treated you so horribly."
You cleared your throat and turned back towards him. He was struck again by a sense of nostalgia at the intensity in your gaze. He had nicknamed you Bambi all those years ago because of your skittishness, the way that everything seemed to terrify you. Despite how smart you were and how clearly gifted a doctor you would become, you were easily startled and easily overwhelmed by the din of the emergency room. It hadn't been all that uncommon to find you in the ambulance bay after a hard case, slouched on the ground against the wall, hands trembling as they cradled your face.
But it had also been the intensity in your eyes, how every emotion was always so clearly reflected in their glossy pools, that had been the real inspiration behind the nickname. He had never intended it to be cruel, though it appeared that's how you'd interpreted it. It was something he had admired about you, the ease with which you'd connected with your patients because the empathy was so clear on your face. Of course, he had never told you that. Afraid to let on to any perceived weakness around you.
He suspected, though, that you hated the nickname because he had also used it as a weapon against your naivete. He remembered the ways he'd called attention to your age and when the Bambi nickname had spread there had been no way for you to escape it.
Now, though, your eyes were glossy again and he felt bowled over by the way you stared at him, a wistfulness in your expression, "Are you actually sorry or is it just that you think I'm hot now?"
He was so surprised by your question, he gave out a short laugh, "Please, I thought you were hot then, too."
You snorted, "Well, now I know you're lying."
"The nickname Bambi, if nothing else, implies that I found you adorable at the very least."
You rolled your eyes, "Even if I agreed with that assessment—which I don't—it was very clear from that one time we slept together that you were uninterested—"
"Woah—woah—woah— back up. When we slept together?"
You looked at him blankly for a few moments, "Oh my God," You said quickly, seemingly embarrassed as you looked away from him, "You don't remember. It was so bad you don't even remember."
Robby's brain was still working overtime to catch up with you, "Hold on—I would remember sleeping with you."
You stood up from the couch, and he remembered this about you—You had been spooked, you were about to dart back into the woods, never to be seen again. But he stood at the same time, towering above you, "Don't go," he said quietly, "whatever happened was twenty something years ago, it doesn't mean anything—"
"It does to me." You said firmly, "Excuse me," And you forced your way past him.
Robby watched you walk away for a moment, then turned his head to see Jack shaking his head, a slight smirk on his face. A very blatant I told you so if Robby'd ever seen one.
"Shit," Robby muttered under his breath and hung his head.
***
TWENTY SOMETHING YEARS AGO
Michael was being very touchy that evening and overly kind, paying for your drinks and wrapping an arm around you in the booth. It was making you shy. Despite the way he talked to you, at you, over you, there were cases every now and then when you caught him looking at you with what looked like awe or reverence. But just as quickly, it'd dissipate and you'd be left wondering if you'd imagined it.
"Let me walk you home," he said, slurring only a little, his words just slightly stumbling into one another like dominos. He wrapped your jacket around your shoulders as he spoke.
"I'm fine," You smiled at him, "I think you're the one who needs to be walked home."
He held up his hands in mock surrender, a boyish grin on his face, "You got me. I do need to be chaperoned home if you would be so kind."
You rolled your eyes, but secretly you were pleased. You wanted to be his friend, wanted him to respect you so you didn't have to keep having panic attacks alone in the bathroom. You were still very much like a scared little kid in that way, just wanting at least one other person to just see you, truly.
So you allowed Michael to swing his arm around your shoulders as he directed you towards his place. It was just a couple of blocks from the hospital, but when you got to the building, a rundown, brutalist slab of concrete, you frowned, "You live here?"
"Now, don't sound so disgusted, princess," he teased and pulled you along behind him inside the building, "Not all of us have wealthy parents to fund our gorgeous apartments in buildings that have doormen."
You felt your cheeks heat, "That's not—That's not entirely true." He looked at you dubiously, eyebrows raised, and you furrowed yours, "I pay for my utilities," You grumbled.
He chuckled and ran a hand over his jaw before sliding his key into his door.
"If it's not too revolting to you," He said softly as he pushed the door open, "You're welcome to come inside for a drink."
Something changed in the tone of his voice and as you tried to place it, you saw the way his eyes roved down your body.
You had never had sex with anyone before, had never had the time. You were in college by the time you were fifteen and because you were so young no one really wanted to hang out with you. You didn't get invited to parties or study sessions (unless someone was trying to inadvertently get you to do their homework). Once you got to medical school, you were still only seventeen, still too young for any of your peers to show much interest.
When you turned twenty one, the shift had been subtle. But suddenly, you were being included to go out for drinks. Then people raised their eyebrows less when you said you were in med school. The stares lingered longer and traveled farther.
And now Michael was looking at you like that, too.
Maybe you should've thought it over more, said goodnight and gone straight home. But you were so painfully lonely. You should've hated him for the way he'd treated you, but it only spurred you on. You were used to having to compete for scraps of love from people who seemed to not like you much. Had been doing it since you learned to talk.
So you followed him inside.
It was freezing inside his apartment. So cold, in fact, your breath was beginning to cloud in front of you.
"Jesus Christ, Michael, is your heat broken or something?"
"Uh, no," He said from the kitchen. You heard the sound of glasses and bottles clinking before he reappeared, a bottle of whiskey in one hand and two glasses in the other, "Just… trying to conserve. But we can turn the heat on for you, princess." He said with a wink.
You sat on his couch with your arms crossed and felt your lip jut out in a pout, "I'm not spoiled, you know. I just—It's just as cold outside as it is in here. Can't be good for you. Or the pipes."
"Many of us," He said as he poured you each a glass, amber liquid sloshing up the sides, "Had to learn to live without. I didn't grow up in a mansion like you."
You scoffed, "I'm not the sort of rich you think I am, I grew up in the suburbs. My parents still have to work for a living. Yes, it was comfortable, but we're not fucking millionaires. We don't have, like, a fucking second house in the Hamptons."
He nodded, "Still seems pretty rich to me."
You rolled your eyes, "Well, what do your parents do then?"
That insufferable smirk finally fell from his face and for a second you felt vindicated.
"If you must know," He started, staring intently at the liquor in his glass, "I don't know who my father is, never met him. And my mother killed herself when I was eight. I found her swinging from the rafters one day when I got home from school."
You stared at him, stunned, while he knocked back the rest of his whiskey and poured himself another, "My grandparents took me in after that and then when I was sixteen, my grandfather died. When I was twenty, my grandmother joined him. So now it's just me."
He raised his glass, forced smile on his face, "May their memories be a blessing." He said, and tossed back the entirety of his drink in one go.
"Michael," you said softly, reaching for him when he began to pour more whiskey, "I'm sorry, I didn't—"
Not unkindly, he pushed your hand away, "You know, I've been thinking that I want people to start calling me Robby."
You frowned, thrown by the change in subject, "What?"
"Yeah, I just, people have trouble with Robinavitch. And Adamson asked me, if he could call me Robby. And I—I really like him and I want him to like me so I think—I think I'm just gonna have everyone call me Robby. It sounds friendlier, don't you think? Once I become a doctor? Doctor Robby."
You felt a sort of tenderness towards him now, after he'd revealed so much of himself to you. You had the distinct urge to hold him, cradle him to you, tell him it was all going to be okay.
"I like Michael," You said quietly, "If it's alright with you."
Finally he met your gaze again and his eyes softened just slightly. Slowly, as if afraid to scare you off, he reached a hand out to cup your cheek. When you leaned into his palm, he stroked his thumb against your cheek bone.
"Sure, Bambi. You can still call me Michael."
You couldn't say which of you closed the distance first, just that the next thing you remembered, his warm, wet mouth was on yours.
At first, the kisses were slow and hesitant. You remembered it was you who deepened it, a whine clamoring out of your throat and into his mouth.
Before you knew it, you had climbed into his lap and pushed him down into the couch. You felt him harden against you and it felt instinctual, the way your hips ground down against him, chasing the friction.
"Fuck," he breathed into your mouth, his hand cradling the back of your neck, "This good?"
You nodded fervently, "Do you have a condom?"
He raised his eyebrows, "Are you sure?"
You nodded again and so he pushed his hand between you, pushing his hand into the pocket of his jeans to pull out a foil packet.
You blinked, "Were you… planning this?"
"No," He said and teared the packet open with his teeth, "But I like to be prepared just in case."
Rolling your eyes, you pulled back to allow him to push his jeans and boxers down. His cock sprung up between you and you felt your breaths grow shallow as you watched him work the condom on.
Carefully, you hiked your dress up to your hips, hoping he didn't notice the way your hands shook. His eyes stayed on yours as you shifted your underwear to the side and slowly lowered yourself onto him.
"Oh, God." He sighed, sounding just a breathless as you felt at the stretch of him. It burned for just a moment, almost pleasantly, "Look at me," He said and your eyes locked back on his.
You leaned your forehead against his as you slowly moved your hips along the length of him, "Is this—Is it good?" You asked, your voice small and uncertain.
"Yeah," He said quickly, pushed his mouth up into yours, "So good," he whispered into your mouth.
But less than a minute later, the sensation changed. It was difficult to move against him, in fact, you weren't even sure he was inside you anymore, "Did you—I mean—Are you—soft?" You could hear your own panic and desperation in your voice as your hips slowed.
A scarlet flush was creeping up his throat and he squeezed his eyes shut, as if to avoid your gaze, "Yeah, I—I think so. S'probably whiskey dick." He finally opened his eyes and maybe sensed your impending humiliation, "Hey—hey—it's not you," He cupped your cheeks with both hands, "It's not you, I swear, you're perfect."
He pulled your face down to his again and you allowed yourself to get lost in the taste of him again, "It's me," he murmured between kisses, "I'm fuckin' defective, it's my fault."
"Michael—"
"Come up here, sit on my face," He said abruptly.
You raised your eyebrows, "Wh—what?"
"Please," He said, sounding desperate, "Please, I wanna taste you. Lemme take care of you."
You sighed and hid your face in your hands, "You don't have to, like, make it up to me—"
"I want to," he said again, "If you do, too. Please."
You couldn't deny that the idea of it had embers of arousal stirring in your belly. You hadn't prepared for the possibility of someone's mouth on you like that, but you didn't want to admit that to him. You didn't want to have to explain the depth of your inexperience lest it kill whatever remained of his desire.
So, you swallowed and moved your way up his body, let him position you, his arms wrapped around your thighs and pulling you to his mouth.
You were immediately overwhelmed by the sensation, gasping and whimpering when he moaned against you, your whole body twitching as it reverberated through your core.
But again, it wasn't long before things slowed, and then—stopped completely. Blinking, you looked down and saw that Michael had fallen asleep.
No, he couldn't have—could he? You leaned in a bit closer, leaning back to fully pull yourself off his face. Oh my God, was that drool on the corner of his mouth?
Mortified, and at a loss for what else to do, you carefully and quietly climbed off him, grabbed your things, and slipped out of his apartment. Heels in hand, you paused outside of his door and exhaled in relief.
You left his apartment feeling even more conflicted about him than before and also feeling a bit dejected. This was the guy who had once tripped you up in a trauma and then said "Don't worry Bambi, it's normal to be a bit wobbly on your legs when you're still just a fawn."
It shouldn't have surprised you at all that he found you unattractive, that obviously he had only allowed you to initiate because you were sat in front of him, willing and able. Like an idiot. Like the naive little kid he had told everyone you were.
You felt stupid and humiliated. And God knew you didn't believe in the fucking patriarchal construct of virginity, but you couldn't deny it made you feel a bit bitter that you had wasted it on Michael Robinavitch. You wouldn't make such an idiotic decision ever again.
He could say a lot about you, but you'd never made the same mistake twice. You didn't intend to start now.
***
Robby watched you through the glass, leaned over Jack's balcony with your arms wrapped around yourself.
This had to be a new record of how quickly he could fuck things up with a potential romantic partner. Once he'd recognized you, he'd felt stupid that he hadn't recognized you immediately when he saw your profile. And maybe there had been some familiarity there, something he'd mistaken for instant attraction and chemistry.
That said, he had wracked his brain and the two of you sleeping together he was near positive had never happened. Or at least, for the life of him, he couldn't remember it. And yes it was true he'd always given you a hard time, but he had also always been enamored by you. Honestly, he'd thought it'd been obvious, especially towards the end of M4.
So he found it hard to believe that he wouldn't remember that. But he also didn't think that you were a liar.
Carefully, he slid the glass door open and stepped outside. The night had cooled significantly since his arrival and as he got closer to you, he saw goosebumps along your arms. You didn't startle when he came up next to you and positioned himself at such an angle as to shield you from the breeze.
"I'm sorry that I don't remember," He said softly after a few moments, "But I'd like you to tell me about it, if you're up for it."
You shook your head, "It's not your fault. It was really horrible, I don't blame you for not remembering."
He groaned, "You know, you could say a lot of shit about me and I wouldn't blink, but hearing I'm bad in bed is a new one for me and I'm not a fan."
You laughed and turned to him, "Oh yeah? You've become something of a casanova in your old age?"
He winced, "Not that old."
You hummed and turned back towards the treeline, "What was it? That made you finally remember me tonight?"
"The Princess Bride tattoo."
You looked at your wrist, "Huh. I would've thought this was one of the things you picked on me for behind my back. Called it childish."
He shook his head, "Nah, The Princess Bride's a classic. I actually always really liked it, thought it was romantic."
You rolled your eyes at that, as if you didn't quite believe him, but didn't comment further. After a moment you sighed, "It was during MS4. We were almost done with our last rotation in the ER and some of the residents invited us out for drinks."
"Oh," Robby said, frowning, "I do remember that. I got really drunk and you walked me back to my apartment."
You nodded, "Right."
"But we didn't… I invited you in for a drink and…" He trailed off. He was drawing a blank, "Did you come inside? I just thought… You never liked me, I thought for sure you declined. I don't remember anything after that."
You narrowed your eyes at him and then sighed, "Well, you did down something like three fingers of whiskey in quick succession once we got in your apartment so I guess it's possible you blacked out."
"You always made me nervous so it's no surprise I drank so much."
You opened and closed your mouth for a moment, but then shook your head quickly, "Yeah, I guess that was it."
"Then what happened?"
You sighed, "We really don't have to rehash this—"
"Please," he pushed his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, "I want to know."
You shook your head and then shrugged, "Fine. About a minute after you put it in, I was riding you and you went soft. So then you… you asked me to sit on your face instead. Which I did. And a minute or two later you… fell asleep."
Robby was silent for a moment as he processed what you'd said. You were deliberately looking away from him, running a hand nervously over the back of your neck.
"Wow," He said finally, "And you still liked my Hinge profile decades later?"
You gave a short laugh, "I was curious if anything had changed, I guess."
He hummed, "A lot has changed, I would say." He ran a finger lightly over the back of your arm and watched as goosebumps spread—But you didn't move away, not even when he bent to your ear and said lowly, "I'd like a chance to make it up to you."
You swallowed and then turned to face him, your faces impossibly close, "Have you ever been married, Michael?"
He frowned and pulled away marginally, "Um… no? Have you?"
You shook your head and looked off into the distance over his shoulder, wistfully, "I got close, once." You sighed, "Listen, I'm too old to be doing this… friends with benefits, situationship, whatever, bullshit. Sex is great, but I have plenty of vibrators that do the job just fine and without the emotional turmoil. So I'm not interested in casual sex. I'm looking for a partner, not a dildo. If you want me you'll have to romance me and mean it."
Robby's eyes roved over your face. Maybe it was your shared memories or the fact that you knew him before he was broken beyond repair, but he felt a tender ache in his chest looking into your eyes. Just as warm and inviting as he remembered.
There were few people these days who could entice him to commit to anything. A real relationship meant having to open himself up to someone else. Allowing them to see the ugliest parts of himself and hope they didn't leave. It usually ended in him lashing out instead so at least he had some semblence of control over the end of the relationship.
Or at least, that was the hypothesis of his last therapist, who he still wasn't entirely sure wasn't full of shit.
But either way, when he thought about pursuing a real, full relationship with you, he didn't feel his usual urge to run. Instead, he felt a curiosity. The need to take you apart, to learn you like he would a medical procedure.
Maybe he wasn't broken after all. Maybe he could have full, healthy relationships like everyone else.
He brought one of his hands up to your neck, watched how you tried to stifle the urge to lean into his touch—Good, you were touch starved, just like him—and his thumb lightly toyed with one of the hoops hanging from your ear.
"'As you wish'." He said softly, a smirk on his face. You rolled your eyes, but the corner of your mouth tugged upward.
"What? You don't believe me?" He tilted his head downward to force eye contact with you, "I've been the one begging you to go on a date with me for weeks."
"A date?" You raised your eyebrows, "They're calling a drink at the bar before taking someone to bed a date now, are they?"
He scoffed, "What, so you want a string quartet and a night out at the ballet?"
You furrowed your brow, "And so what if I did?"
He stared at you for a moment and then chuckled, "Then I'd tell you to wear your favorite dress."
You narrowed your eyes, but then shook your head, "Just dinner would be more than enough."
He nodded, "I can do that. Would you allow me to cook for you?"
You smirked and ran your hands up his forearms, "Sure, but it has to be at my place."
He grinned, ran his thumb back and forth across the skin just below your ear, "Friday night?"
You tilted your head a bit, "You're serious about this?"
"Yeah," He said softly, eyes heavy lidded from both alcohol and desire as he looked into your face, "Are you?"
Your tongue darted out to wet your lips as your eyes darted back and forth between his eyes, assessing. You still didn't quite believe him, he could tell. You had always been distrustful, convinced everyone was out to hurt you to a nearly paranoid level. The decades it seemed had done nothing to smooth that over.
But still, you nodded and leaned forward, pressing a warm kiss to his cheek, "See you Friday, Michael."
He watched as you walked back inside, conscious of the heat that pulsed against the skin where your lips had been just moments before.
***
"What do you think, Brutus?" You asked, your cat sidling between your legs as you looked at yourself in your floor length mirror. You had chosen form fitting, but simple clothes. A ribbed black sweater and your favorite pair of jeans. "Do you think he'll like it?"
Brutus trilled and stood up on his hind legs, stretching his front paws against your legs, a very clear request to be picked up. You looked down at him and smirked, "You're gonna get cat hair all over my sweater."
He mewled again, claws gently pricking at your jeans before quickly receding. You sighed, already defeated. You could never say no to him. You bent to scoop him up to your chest, pressing your nose into his face as he immediately began purring, "I know you don't like guests, but you have to be on your best behavior tonight, okay? No knocking glassware over if I'm not paying attention to you," You peppered kisses all over his head, "It's not polite."
The doorbell rang and you quickly lowered Brutus back down, running your hands over your sweater in an attempt to brush off the cat hair.
Sliding across the hardwood in your socked feet, you took one deep breath before pulling your front door open.
There in your doorway stood Michael Robinavitch in a button down and jeans, one hand holding a thermal bag you assumed was full of groceries, the other a bottle of wine.
He grinned when you opened the door, his eyes trailing lazily down your body, giving you a once over before meeting your eyes again.
"Hi," You said and stepped to the side, "Come in."
You watched him take in your home as he walked in, kicking off his shoes by the door without you having to ask.
Without a partner to appease or children you'd spent a lot of time creating a calming, beautiful space just for yourself. It resulted in a lot of warm lighting and soothing colors. Lots of windows and cozy nooks. The kitchen was big and open with huge bay windows looking into your backyard behind the sink. As you padded gently behind Robby, you watched him take stock of the sun setting through those windows.
"This is gorgeous." He said, eyes on the fresh tulips that sat in a vase on the island.
"Thank you," You said, and took the wine bottle from his hand, "It's my favorite place in the whole world."
He smirked as he placed the groceries on the counter, "Now I understand why it's so hard to get you to leave."
You took wine glasses down from your cabinet and opened the wine he'd brought, pouring you each a glass and bringing his over to him as he began unpacking the groceries he'd brought.
"What're you making?"
He pulled out a loaf of Challah bread and offered you a piece as he spread everything else out in front of him, "Um, some salad, roast chicken, and potato kugel."
You hummed, "Where'd you learn that?"
He began prepping the veggies and you watched his hands. You remembered from med school you had always been enamored by watching skilled hands at work, especially in the ED. Watching him now you had that same feeling as the wine began to warm you from the inside out.
"They're my grandma's recipes. She used to make this every Friday for Shabbos dinner."
Your mouth fell open slightly in surprise and immediately, you felt touched, "That's… really lovely, Michael. I'm honored that you'd share them with me."
He looked up at you for a moment, smiling, but shrugged his shoulders, "It's the only meal I really know how to cook well because she taught me. I don't do much cooking these days."
You tried not to let his dismissiveness disappoint you, "Do you still… I mean, are you observing Shabbos this weekend?"
He shook his head, "No, no, if I was I'd already have broken the rules," He jerked his head towards the bay windows, where the sky was beginning to bruise, "No cooking after sundown. I don't really practice anymore, but I sometimes go to synagogue on High Holidays."
You let a few moments pass in silence before speaking again, "Can I help?"
He shook his head, "No, you just sit there and look pretty."
The two of you made small talk about work, discussing funny patients or over eager med students, until he put his dishes in the oven.
"Do you want to sit on the porch?" You asked as he washed his hands.
"That sounds lovely," He said, drying his hands on your dish towel before following you outside with his glass of wine.
You tucked your legs underneath yourself as you sat on the love seat, the chill of the spring night had you reaching for the throw blanket. But Robby got there first, gently draping it over your legs and then his own lap. You pretended not to be flustered when he pulled your feet into his lap, tenderly kneading his fingers into the arch of your foot as he sipped his wine.
Over the years, you'd brought men to your place many times. You'd even had the occasional relationship that grew to the point of your partner moving into your place, because it was a nonstarter for any partner to suggest you sell your house, something you were always clear about at the start of the relationship. Maybe it would be the reason you never had a lifelong partner, but you had put an enormous amount of work into this house to create a sanctuary of sorts. It was where you were happiest. You had no desire to live anywhere else. You doubted you'd ever love anyone as much as you loved this house.
But Robby being here, it felt different than it had felt with all others. It felt natural to have him here, like this, cooking dinner in your kitchen, sitting on the porch with you while you told him about the study you'd just been awarded a grant to start. After residency, you'd sworn off dating doctors all together. But there was something refreshing about discussing renal cell carcinoma with Robby and him asking follow up questions that were more complex than "what's a renal cell?"
It felt like he fit here with you, like he could slot into your life effortlessly. But you supposed that could just be the forlorn romantic in you desperate for anyone to desire you again.
"Where'd you go for your residency?" Robby asked.
"Chicago," You said, "Northwestern Memorial. What about you?"
"New Orleans. Big Charity Hospital."
You opened and closed your mouth, thinking silently for a few moments. Trying to remember what years the two of you had gone off to residency and when you would have finished. And the realization of when had your stomach slowly sinking. "Wasn't… Wasn't Katrina during residency?"
He wasn't looking at you, staring off into the darkness of the trees behind your house. His face was partially lit by the candles you'd brought outside. When he nodded, you couldn't get a good read on his expression, but it suddenly felt very cold around you. As if the ghosts had lowered around his shoulders.
"That must have sucked," You said softly, "I'm sorry."
He cleared his throat and looked down at his wine glass, "It was a long time ago."
One thing that had changed about Robby was his openness. Years ago, in med school, you only needed to get him a single beer deep before he was pouring out his most intimate thoughts. Obviously, the time you'd slept together, that had been the most he'd ever revealed to you. About his parents and grandparents. But even before that, he'd opened up to you about his insecurities as a doctor and even when he was having trouble with significant others.
Now, he seemed to be dismissive of his troubles. Never wanting the focus on him for too long. He used to be what your mother would call a peacock, charming to an almost offensive degree. He was impossible to dislike and had everyone thinking they were his best friend. That had all changed. You could feel the barrier he'd put up between you. What had happened to him between then and now to have changed him so drastically?
Likely, you supposed, it started with Katrina.
Another reason you had decided against going into emergency medicine had been that you knew you were too soft for it. Just the rotations had been so detrimental to your well being. You had thought you loved it while you were in it, but the second you were out of it, you realized you had been in survival mode the entire time. Outside of it, you cried for weeks straight, grieving every person you'd watched die and especially the ones that had died on your watch. The heaviness of that responsibility was too much. A lifetime of it would've broken you.
It would break anyone, you imagined. And as you watched Robby curiously, you realized for the first time since reuniting with him just how haunted he had become. You had thought with his easy charm and smile that he was still the same kid, but he had changed. The years had slowly eroded him, smoothed some edges and sharpened others.
A timer went off a few moments later and Robby flashed you a quick smile, carefully removing your feet from his lap, "You hungry?"
"Starved," You said, allowing him to take your hand and gently pull you to standing.
The food was delicious. You caught Robby staring at you more than once over the candles when you licked your fingers or groaned in pleasure, mischief in his eyes.
You had to fight him to let you do the dishes, insisting it was only fair since he had cooked. He protested for a bit until you sternly repeated that you'd be doing the dishes and since he was a guest here, you demanded he relax on the couch while you cleaned up. Eventually, he gave up, sighing heavily and pressing a sweet kiss to your cheek, "Thank you," he murmured, sounding bone tired.
When the last dish was loaded in the dish washer, the cookware washed, the counters wiped down, you found Robby nearly fast asleep, stretched out on your couch. Brutus had come out for the first time since he'd arrived and was now hesitantly sniffing at his hand which hung over the edge of the couch.
"What d'you think, Brutus?" You whispered, "Is he good enough to eat?"
A chuckle rumbled deep in Robby's chest and Brutus scampered off, sufficiently frightened by the sudden movement. Robby cracked an eye open to look up at you, reaching with both arms towards you, "C'mere before I eat you."
You hesitated for just a moment before crawling over him, sighing contentedly as his arms wrapped tightly around you, your ear pressed to his chest.
You were reminded again of that one night with him decades ago, you atop him not unlike this, trying to warm yourself with his body in the frigid apartment.
"It's strange," you said softly, "I don't really know you anymore, but I feel like I understand you more now than I did then."
He hummed, "That's funny. You're still just as much a mystery to me as you were twenty years ago."
You lifted your head from his chest so you could see his face and felt his breath fan your cheeks, "I'm an open book, you just have to ask."
"Why pathology?"
You pursed your lips, brow furrowed in thought, "I liked the simplicity of it. That there were rules and structures and always a correct answer. There's always a clear path to and from diagnosis."
He shook his head, "I know you applied to the emergency medicine residency at Big Charity. I was the second choice, they wanted you."
You felt your cheeks heat, "I—It was so long ago, it doesn't matter—"
"No, you're right, it doesn't matter anymore," He ran a soothing hand down the back of your head to your neck, "It certainly mattered to me then. I was so pissed off at you those first few weeks of intern year when I found out. I tried calling every emergency medicine department in the country I could think of to find you."
You smirked, "You looked for me?"
He nodded, "Never crossed my mind that you would've gone into a different specialty. And pathology even? I never would have guessed. You were so good in the emergency room. A natural. I bet if I threw you in my ED now you'd do just as good as most of my residents."
You gave a short laugh, "Absolutely not, I don't even remember most of my rotations. Honestly, they were so hard for me I think part of my brain blacked it out."
He narrowed his eyes, "Yeah, they're hard for everyone, it's the emergency department."
You nodded, "I know. And I didn't want the rest of my life to look like that."
"Look like what?"
You opened your mouth for a moment and then sighed, "Like I was struggling to stay afloat in a sea of constant compounding grief."
He shook his head slowly, "I remember those rotations, you helped save a lot of people."
You nodded, "At the expense of my sanity, yeah."
"You don't think it would be worth it?"
You tilted your head slightly, "To martyr myself? Do you?"
He sighed and looked away from you, "I used to think so, yeah."
Robby used to come alive in the emergency department, as you recalled it. You knew he was empathetic and had his own struggles because he'd told you on occasion and because you'd seen it. Maybe he hadn't broken down visibly as often as you, but you recalled finding him at least a couple of times out in the ambulance bay, eyes red rimmed and wet.
But you had never doubted that he would thrive in the emergency room. You had been so busy feeling like an imposter yourself and he had made everything look so easy, it had never crossed your mind that maybe he had been struggling the same as you. He just hid it better, even from himself.
"You've lost a lot," You said softly, "the last twenty years, haven't you? Not just patients."
His eyes floated slowly back to yours and it didn't matter what he said, it was sitting there in his eyes as he looked at you. All the ghosts that haunted him, clawing to get out just behind his eyes. He looked tired. He looked shattered.
After a few moments he brought a hand up to your face, brushed the backs of his knuckles across your cheek, "I don't want to talk about that tonight." When he spoke, his voice hitched just slightly, but you politely acted as if you hadn't noticed.
It was a first date, after all. He didn't need to crack open his chest for you tonight, though part of you wished he would. You had never been one for small talk and you were always all in long before anyone else was. You were used to this, being the one kept at the perimeter, debating whether to ignore the Beware of Dog sign and hop the fence.
But he looked so tired and sad. You could be patient for now. Maybe befriend the dog while you waited, tossing treats through the hole in the fence, whistling gently on the wind.
"Okay," You pushed yourself up so your face was closer to his, "We don't have to talk."
A moment passed, two. Your eyes stared longingly at his mouth until his hand slipped to the back of your neck and pulled you to him, mouths crashing together.
You sighed at the feel of his lips on yours, simultaneously soft and rough from the scratch of his beard. It chafed against your chin, but still you pushed yourself closer, the new, but still somehow familiar taste of him intoxicating.
He still kissed the same, teeth digging desperately into your lower lip, tongue stroking against yours almost sweetly. But it was more refined, somehow. Like he'd perfected the art of kissing over the decades.
You'd had many lovers over the years, but few who would make out with you like this for very long without it quickly escalating. Robby's hands, hot and needy, worked their way beneath your shirt, thumbs stroking just below your breasts. Then, one of his hands slid down until it was on your ass, squeezing and groping over your jeans. It was at this point that he whimpered into your mouth and you felt yourself clench instinctually around nothing at the sound.
It had been a long time since you'd been touched like this and longer since you had enjoyed it this much. Usually, it was other partners that acted impatient, that were already tugging at your pants when you were nowhere near warmed up yet, but now it was you who had started grinding on his thigh, searching for friction. You who was frantically pulling at the buttons on his shirt, trying to get it off. You who was now fumbling for his belt when Robby finally stopped you.
"Mmm—Hold on—Wait." Easily, he secured your wrists in his hands and pinned them to his chest which was rising and falling rapidly as you both attempted to catch your breath.
"Are you—Are you sure? I don't want you to think—I'm happy to just end the night like this. I can go home right now—"
You pressed your mouth to his again, kissing him deeply before playfully nipping at his lip, "Do I seem unsure to you?" You asked, nudging your nose against his.
He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, "No," He said and kissed you again, fervently.
"Do I… need to beg you to fuck me?" You asked, sucking lightly on his neck as you spoke, "Because I can do that."
Robby sighed and gripped your ass tighter, "Fuck."
You dragged your center across his thigh, "Not an answer."
His hand gripped the back of your neck, forcing you to meet his gaze, "You would beg for me?"
You weren't exactly thinking straight as you looked at him, wild with want. You would have done anything he asked in that moment, you were sure of it. But still, looking at him now, you were dragged back twenty years to his icy apartment. To the way he'd opened up to you and then swiftly rejected you. He denied it now, chalked it up to alcohol, but somewhere in you was still that dejected girl, begging for any scrap of affection.
It'd been a while since you felt her, small and weak, at the edges of your consciousness. She'd been shortsighted and easy, pan handling for love on the side of the road. You still loathed her, felt she was pathetic. Robby could still pull her out of you. It felt easy to slip into her and her wants. You remembered insisting to yourself after that night with him that you'd never let him that close again.
And yet you found yourself tangled in him yet again. You were different, you assured yourself, lied to yourself. In reality, he already had you wrapped around his fingers. He could break you with a single word, a change of expression.
You pushed all that out of your mind, suffocating it with your mouth on his, his all consuming taste in your mouth, "Is that what you want?"
"I want," He said, hand still firm on your neck, kissing you between his words, "Whatever you want. Just want to make you feel good."
You sighed, "Then take me to bed."
Quickly, he sat up, keeping you in his lap. He kissed up the column of your throat to your earlobe, sending chills down your spine, "Lead the way, sweetheart."
On your bed, he undressed you carefully, taking his time in a way you weren't used to. After the way you'd been talking over texts and swapping photos back and forth, you thought he'd be ravenous. And he was, you could tell from his groans and whimpers, but still, he remained steady and patient.
Once you were topless, both of you kneeling across from each other on the bed, you reached to unbuckle his pants before he could get to yours. Robby had been competitive as you remembered it, but in bed it seemed he was fine with handing over the reins. He watched you with heat in his eyes as you spat in your hand and reached down his pants to fist his cock.
As your hand stroked his shaft down to his balls, his eyes rolled back and he swore. You were on fire watching him, his desire seemingly contagious.
"Please," He whimpered after a minute of so of this, "Please, can I… Can I suck on your tits?"
Your belly somersaulted at the thought and immediately you were nodding, scooting closer to him.
As his lips puckered and pulled at your nipple, he was whining more loudly than you were with each stroke of your hand. He muttered praises and pleas into your breasts, heat bubbling up at the sound from your belly to your chest to your neck.
Looking down at his cock in your hand, you noticed the small amount of precum beginning to leak. You leaned down to lick it off, but Robby stopped you before you could.
"No—Wait. Need to take care of you. Please." He was breathless and flushed pink. Needy and desperate to please. You weren't sure that anyone had ever been this desperate to please you.
You gave him a short nod and released him. Immediately, he kissed you, the momentum pushing you flat against the mattress.
As he crawled over you, you opened your eyes to look up at him. There had been times when you were students that he had been vulnerable with you, but that had only been under the heavy influence of alcohol. Mostly, he had been very guarded. And still, earlier this evening you'd sensed the same guard up, though it had been reinforced throughout the decades.
But now he was looking at you with a gentle, almost tender look on his face. Before you could fully digest what that meant, he had leaned back down to kiss along your jaw, rough fingers gently grasping your chin to kiss down your neck.
He kissed all the way down your body, looking up at you occasionally through heavy lids whenever you made a noise he particularly liked.
Down at your waist now, he carefully unbuttoned your jeans and wriggled them down, you lifting up your hips to assist.
In just your panties now, you watched the rapid rise and fall of his chest as he looked at you, ran his rough hands over your soft thighs, kissing and nipping gently at your hips, "So, so pretty for me." He murmured into your skin.
The man in front of you now so at odds with the boy you had imagined was revolted by you. Now he worshiped your body with lips and tongue and teeth. He kissed you now over the fabric of your panties, slowly and methodically, until you felt the fabric begin to soak, both from his saliva and your arousal.
You whined and tried to lift your hips, but he quickly braces an arm over your thighs, "Michael, please." You whimpered.
He groaned against your cunt, sending shockwaves through your body.
"Sorry, baby," He murmured and began tugging your panties down your hips as well, "You need my mouth on you properly, is that it? Need my tongue inside you?"
You nodded, a burning in your eyes from embarrassment or pure desperation, you weren't sure.
Panties out of the way, he ran a finger down your slick folds to separate them. As he sighed, your eyes rolled back, jaw going slack.
"Gorgeous," he murmured, fingers running slowly and gently around your entrance.
It didn't feel like teasing, but admiring. Your hips jumped when he pressed a chase kiss to your puffy clit. You had barely begun to whine again when he licked, long and slow, from the bottom of your entrance up to circle your clit.
The sensation was dizzying as he continued to repeat the motion, moving faster and applying slightly more pressure each time.
"Okay, sweetheart," He said breathlessly, your juices glistening all over his beard, slowly, he slipped his middle finger inside you, stroking the spot deep inside you that had your abdomen tightening in anticipation, "Think you can finish for me?"
Unable to form coherent words, you writhed against him, whining until he relented and lowered his mouth back down to your clit.
It was over quickly after that, though his tongue kept working you until you lightly tugged at his hair, pulling him off you. He wiped his mouth on the back of his forearm and crawled back up to you, pressing kisses all over your sweaty face.
Without preamble, you reached for his cock with the intention of lining it up with your entrance, but he pulled away, "Not yet." He said mildly, propped up on one elbow as he looked at you, his free hand stroking the backs of his knuckles gently against your cheek, "I'm not done with you yet."
You were still a bit dumb from the aftershocks of your orgasm and you blinked blankly at him, "What?"
"I figure I owe you at least three orgasms before I get to cum, that should wipe the previous horrendous encounter from your memory, no?"
A slow, sleepy smile spread across your face and he traced his thumb across your lips, "It's gonna take a while for me to cum again, never mind twice more."
He nodded, "That's why I'm giving you a break, sweet girl."
Flustered, you looked away from him. Who would have thought one man had the potential to be both your best and worst sex?
***
TWENTY SOMETHING YEARS AGO
Your eyelid was twitching as you sat at central, a phone receiver pressed to your ear as you listened to your mother drone on. As she spoke, your eyes drifted to a fresh blood stain on your white sneakers from the man who'd died maybe an hour or two ago from several gunshot wounds to the chest.
"I hear you, I just—" You tried and failed to scrub the bloodstain out with a wet wipe from behind the desk. The grueling twelve hour shift had ended something like forty five minutes ago with you crying into your hands in the ambulance bay. You were exhausted. "I just don't think now is the time for this conversation—"
"Well," Your mother huffed, "Maybe if you ever answered your phone at home we wouldn't need to have this discussion now."
You ground your teeth together, "I appreciate all the support you and dad have given me—"
"You know, I don't think you do. We clawed our way through law school with no help from our families, started our own firm, saved thousands just so you could be as educated as you wanted without having to struggle like we did—"
"—And I'm immensely grateful for that privilege—"
"Then why would you throw it back in our faces by choosing pathology, essentially a glorified lab technician—"
"That's not what it is at all—"
"You should be in neurosurgery."
You had had this argument what felt like a thousand times over the last few weeks when you had first admitted interest in applying to path residencies. Your mother's insistent argument that she knew best and neurosurgery would provide you with the best career and would utilize your strengths—an excruciating attention to detail and laser-like focus—in a way no other specialty could.
But you disagreed. And what you could never admit to your mother was that your emergency medicine rotations had proven to you that you would crumble under that sort of pressure.
"Hey, Bambi," Michael leaned over your desk, "Get off the phone and glove up, incoming MVA in two minutes."
You gave him an incredulous look, "Our shift ended almost an hour ago."
"Okay…" He said slowly, pulling on a clean pair of gloves, "So you're gonna let me just take this one myself? What if it requires intubation? You're gonna pass up that opportunity? You still haven't done one by yourself."
You were so burnt out and frustrated and once again on the verge of bursting into tears, you didn't have the energy for this, "So, what, you're keeping tabs on my procedure log now?"
He pretended to think about it, furrow between his brow, "Yeah, guess I am."
Neither of you had spoken about the night you'd slept together—if you could even call it that—and Michael had been acting like it never happened. Occasionally he'd reference the night it happened, but always before you went home with him. This was fine with you, it saved you from the embarrassment. Though, sometimes, it had you wondering if maybe you'd somehow hallucinated the entire thing.
"Who are you talking to?" Came your mom's tinny voice in your ear.
You hurriedly said that you had to go and hung up the phone, knowing it would lead to more phone calls later, but you had taken to leaving your phone off the hook when she began calling repeatedly like that. Which was often. It was the only way to ensure you got enough sleep.
Normally, you would jump at any opportunity to try to show up Michael in a trauma, but you were barely holding it together right now. The thought of watching another person die on the table today had you fighting back the instinct to dry heave.
You rested your elbows on the table in front of you and kneaded lightly at your temples, "You can have the MVA, I'm going home."
"That your mom on the phone?" Michael asked, leaning forward and apparently ignoring what you'd just said, "Is she waiting at home for you with a fresh meal and a warm bath?" He taunted, "Bambi needs to be pampered? The ER is too rough for the princess?"
Slowly, you tilted your face up to look at him, "You jealous that I still have a mother who takes care of me, Robinavitch?"
If you weren't as tired, you wouldn't have said it. As it was, your stomach churned when the smile melted off his face. Yes, he had taunted you and teased you and tortured you for most of both MS3 and 4, but you shouldn't have sank to his level. Really, you had sunk below his level, you thought. Even with how cruel he could be, he'd never mocked you when he found you crying out in the ambulance bay. On occasion he'd actually silently stood next to you or offered you a cigarette.
Your relationship was strange as he could be downright abusive in front of attendings or other colleagues, but when it was just the two of you it was like being on hallowed ground. He had only ever been nice to you when it was just the two of you with no one else around to hear. Something you struggled to reconcile. And now you had weaponized one of the only times he had opened up to you.
He shook his head, but otherwise didn't say anything, ducking away from you, "Michael—Wait—"
"It's fine, Bambi," He called over his shoulder, "Go home. As you've so astutely pointed out, not all of us have one of those."
Later, after you'd crawled into bed and couldn't sleep despite your exhaustion for the guilt that wracked you, you picked up the phone next to your bed and dialed Michael.
It rang for a while and you thought he might let it go to voicemail, but when he finally picked up his voice was rough with sleep.
"Hello?"
You hesitated, then breathed softly, "Hi."
A moment of silence passed, "Bambi?"
"Yeah."
"It's… late."
You sighed, "Yeah, um, sorry. Did I wake you?"
You heard him stifle a yawn, "You did, yeah." Silence again, but for the sound of both your breathing, "Um, did you need something?"
"I—Yeah, I, um… I couldn't sleep."
"Okay," He drew out the word, long and smooth, "Have you tried… Counting sheep?"
You huffed a laugh, "No, I—I can't sleep because I feel horrible about what I said to you earlier. About—about your mom. I'm so, so sorry, Michael. It was awful and—and it was unacceptable and unprofessional."
He was quiet for a moment, then, "It's alright, Bambi. I've said worse to you. You didn't know about—It was just a lucky shot."
Your mouth fell open slightly, confusion clouding your brain, "What?"
"You—What you said earlier hit a nerve, but you couldn't have known. I've—I've never spoken about my mother to anyone."
You stared at the popcorn ceiling of your apartment, mouth still agape. Did he not remember?
And you were nothing if not a coward, so you kept quiet. Didn't correct him. The fact was, what you said was so much worse knowing what you knew. And he didn't even know you knew.
"Right," You said, swallowing, "Well either way, it was a really shitty thing for me to say. So I'm sorry."
"I appreciate it and I'm sorry for pushing you earlier."
You exhaled slowly and closed your eyes, "Thank you."
"Think you can sleep now, princess?" Despite the nickname, his tone was playful, almost gentle in your ear. You had the insane thought that you'd like to hear him talk you to sleep.
"Yeah. Goodnight, Michael."
"Goodnight, Bambi."
***
Robby shot up in bed, his skin tacky with sweat and his chest heaving, lungs struggling to fill. Nightmares were common for him, but what was so disorienting this night was that at first, he wasn't sure where he was. The bed sheets were unfamiliar to him where they stuck to his skin. They felt more expensive than what he had at home, reminded him of hotel sheets. The mattress was softer as well.
And then there was the soft sigh the came from the pillow next to him. His eyes followed the noise and he saw you laying beside him, fast asleep. At the sight of you, his panic began to recede just slightly. He was in your bed. Had shared a lovely dinner with you and slept with you and spoke in hushed whispers across pillows until you'd fallen asleep.
When he had nightmares at home, he would often get out of bed, crack open a beer or smoke a cigarette, unable to properly fall back asleep. But looking down at you, he feared he'd wake you if he did that. The last however many hours he'd spent with you had been the most at peace he'd felt in recent memory. Even with the nightmare, he already felt his heart rate slowing, just watching the even rise and fall of your chest.
He sank back down into the mattress and laid his head down on the pillow, his forehead nearly touching yours.
Unable to help himself, he rested his hand against your neck and ran his thumb over your cheekbone. You mewled and then your eyes began to blink open.
"Sorry," He said immediately when your eyes opened into his, "Didn't mean to wake you."
You gave him a sleepy smile and nudged your nose against his, "S'okay… It's almost nice to wake up in the middle of the night when there's someone else here."
Lying close to you, he allowed himself to believe that he deserved love like this. That he deserved a life like this. That you could love him and stay despite the ugly parts of him he'd try like hell to keep from you.
He kissed you then, to avoid thinking about all the ways in which he was bound to disappoint you if this continued. And you kissed him back, pulled him closer, your hand at the nape of his neck and he catalogued it—the feeling of your gentle fingers stroking the back of his head.
"Mmm," You hummed and pulled away from him slightly, your brow furrowed, "Is it raining?"
Sure enough, as both of you stilled, there was the sound of rain tapping against the windows, "Sounds like it."
You grinned at him, "Would you like to drink tea and watch the rain from the porch?"
You seemed already giddy by the idea so he couldn't say no, not that he wanted to. It was so simple, really, the act of watching the rain. But you stood outside wrapped in a throw blanket, your hands warming a mug of tea, and looking out into your yard with awe as the sun started to stretch over the horizon, lighting up the storm clouds from behind.
He wanted to see the world like that. To be enamored by simple pleasures, the way you were.
"You seem so happy," He said into your ear.
You hummed, "I am."
"Is this what it's like being you? In this stunning house? Just a cup of tea while it rains can bring joy?"
You turned slightly in his arms to see his face and he recognized it when you scanned his face: You were trying to gauge if he was making fun of you. Old habits died hard, he supposed.
Seemingly satisfied that he wasn't mocking you, you turned back toward the rain, "It's a lot nicer when there's someone to share it all with."
You said it casually, but he heard the note of sadness in your tone, "You've been alone for a while?" You nodded, "What about family? Your parents?"
You stiffened in his embrace and he almost regretted it. He knew what happened when you got like this, if someone moved too quickly or suddenly—you bolted.
But after a moment, you softened, "We don't really talk much anymore."
"Oh," He said softly in surprise, "Sorry, I thought—You always seemed close when we were in school."
"You mistook financial support as love. And even if it was, they promptly cut that off the second I moved to Chicago."
He frowned, "You haven't spoken since residency? Why?" In the silence that followed, he sensed your hesitancy, "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."
"I don't mind," You said softly, "I just haven't thought about it in a while. We have talked since, but sporadically. It's mostly just happy birthday texts now." You sighed heavily, "The short answer is that they wanted me to go into neurosurgery and treated me going into pathology as some personal affront to them. It felt like they only ever saw me as some sort of investment instead of their kid."
Robby had been guilty of assuming that you had it all. After thinking it over more, he'd come to the conclusion the way he treated you had had more to do with jealousy than anything else. You always seemed so put off by talking to your parents, your parents who took care of everything for you. What he would have done to have anyone like that in his corner when he was in his twenties. He felt you were ungrateful.
But now, having done a lot of growing up himself and watching residents with all sorts of parental issues come and go through his ER, he understood that just throwing money at a kid was no way to raise them.
"I'm sorry," He said again and leaned down slightly to kiss the back of your neck, "You deserved better than that."
You turned in his arms to face him, "Do you really believe that? That what I do is just as important as what you do? Or neurosurgery?"
"Yes," He said immediately, "If it was me I might be… bored out of my mind, but we need pathologists. The ED needs them, surgery needs them, oncology needs them, hematology needs them, you're absolutely vital to all of us. But that's not what I meant. I meant that you deserved better parents."
Though you had changed over the years, not so skittish and quiet, there were things about you that remained. Your anxious state, bordering on paranoia the way you worried that others would betray you. Your quiet but desperate need of approval—of love. Your empathy, the way you felt everything so deeply and openly, even when you tried to hide it.
Right now, you were scared. Of him, of his ability to hurt you. He was also scared of his ability to hurt you. Terrified, really.
But still, you swallowed and looked away from him, "Thank you," you said quietly and tugged his arms tighter around you.
Bambi—his fawn—now stable on your own two feet. It'd be you that would have to keep him steady now, keep him from running.
***
When Robby was at work now, when the shifts got bad, he excused himself for just a moment and closed his eyes. He'd conjure your home in his head, your cat Brutus, the sound of your laugh, watching rain from your covered porch while drinking coffee, waking up to the smell of your shampoo on the pillow, movie nights on your couch, long showers and your hands on his skin.
It had been weeks now since your first date and things had moved quickly. It hadn't been discussed explicitly, but Robby spent most nights at your house now. The simple domesticity of it, of having someone to come home to, had felt nearly life changing. You often asked if he wanted you to stay at his place for a change to which he always turned down.
He loved everything about your place, from the way it always smelt like something delicious, to the fact that Brutus was always there, to just how lived in it felt. Just last weekend the two of you had spent entire days digging up the garden beds so you could start planting vegetables and fruits and herbs. You talked about cucumber salads and fresh baked pies and it all felt so… domestic. Mundane. And it was the only place he felt peace.
Today's shift had been horrible. And so after calling time of death on a patient that he'd worked on for far longer than was clinically appropriate, he told Dana he'd be outside for a few minutes. In the ambulance bay, with silent tears streaming down his cheeks, he tried to slow his breathing. In through his nose, out through his mouth.
Closing his eyes, he willed the images of the woman away, of her child. Instead, he pictured you, the sleepy smile on your face when he woke up first in the morning, whispered in your ear that he was going to make pancakes. He pictured you fast asleep on your couch, a paperback abandoned in your hand and Brutus snuggled up on your chest. He pictured you spinning around your backyard in the rain, green rain boots up to your knees and your wild laughter.
As his breathing slowed, the sound of the ambulance bay doors sliding open had him turning his attention to the doors to see Abbot walking toward him.
Silently, Jack stood next to Robby and crossed his arms, "Your girlfriend's down here looking for you."
Robby sighed and ran his hand over the back of his neck, "She's not my girlfriend."
"Sorry, your pathologist."
Robby huffed a laugh, "I guess she is sort of my girlfriend."
"Well, you better watch out because I hear all the nurses warning her about your… 'seven week itch' I think they're calling it."
He shook his head, "She's not the type to listen to rumors."
Jack hummed, "She might start if you keep her waiting much longer."
"Alright, alright," He sighed and pushed himself off the wall, "I'll go find her."
"'Atta boy," Jack said and clapped him over the shoulder, the two of them walking back into the Pitt.
Robby's eyes found you almost immediately, talking to Dana, and you, as if sensing his gaze, looked up to meet his. There was concern all over your face and Robby didn't even have the time to properly wonder if Dana had filled you in about the terrible shift they'd had before you were marching over to him.
You were apparently so intently focused on him, you didn't notice the puddle of water on the floor and before Robby could warn you, you'd slipped.
Your feet went up over your head and your back hit the ground—hard.
Instantly, Robby was there, a hand on your shoulder to stop you as you tried to sit up— "Hey, don't move, don't move."
"Ow," you groaned and tried to push him out of your way, "I'm fine, Michael."
"Did you hit your head?" His penlight was already out, ready to assess.
You sighed, "I don't know, I don't think so."
"Dana," he called over his shoulder, "What's open?"
"Central 11."
"I just wanna go home," You said softly, "I'm fine, I swear."
But seeing you fall like that after the shift he'd had, he couldn't seem to slow the spiral he was beginning to fall down. What if you had a concussion? A brain bleed? Untreated one could lead to irreparable brain damage and the other, death.
"It'll be quick," He said, "Promise. Just… Please, it'll make me feel better."
You tilted your head slightly, doe eyes out in full force. Like you were concerned about him. But you nodded anyway, conceded to him, even when he insisted on a wheelchair to transport you.
When it was just the two of you and he had started your exam, you continued to watch him carefully.
"Did something happen today?" You asked softly, "During shift?"
He hummed in question, gently turning your head this way and that, "What d'you mean?"
"You're being… hypervigilant. I'm just wondering if something happened today to trigger that."
The two of you had discussed covid and Adamson. You had been back in Pittsburgh at that point, but at Westbridge. Robby had felt a pang of resentment at first, thinking that you likely hadn't had to be on the front lines like he had.
But then you told him about the autopsies. How there were so many bodies that you, who had built a career off studying cancers and blood, had had to assist with autopsies. You told him how you hadn't really done an autopsy since residency, but now with how many you'd had to do during the pandemic, you could do them with your eyes closed.
"It fucked with me," You'd told him, "I saw those bodies everywhere, even if I wasn't in the hospital. I could smell them no matter how many candles I lit at home. I dreamt about them for weeks after. I cried for months."
And when you'd divulged that, the flood gates had opened for him. He told you everything, from covid to PittFest. When he got choked up, he found himself instinctually reaching for your hand, needing you to anchor him. Without hesitation, you practically pulled him into your lap, cradled his head to your chest and whispered soothing words in his ear.
So then it shouldn't have surprised him that you would catch on so quickly. For being so young when you went through med school, he had assumed upon first meeting you that you'd have no idea about anything. But it had struck him immediately how emotionally intelligent you were, how you had from the very beginning been able to read even the most closed off of patients.
Still, he felt himself recoil at your assessment, "You fell," He said, "I'm just making sure you're alright."
"Well I'm also a doctor and I'm telling you, I'm fine. There's no tenderness at the back of my head, no nausea, no dizziness—"
"I'm ordering you a head CT."
Your mouth fell open, indignation in the tug of your lips. After a moment, you scoffed, "I don't want that so please get me the AMA forms to sign, if you don't mind."
He raised his eyebrows and finally met your eyes, "Really?"
"You're exposing me to unnecessary radiation when I have zero symptoms—"
"You don't remember if you hit your head—"
"Robby?" He whipped his head around to see Dana in the doorway, "The cops are here, they wanna talk to you about the boy and his mother who—"
"Yeah, okay, I'll be there in a minute."
Dana left and he hung his head, braced his hands against his legs, hoping they didn't shake, "I would really appreciate it… if you could please stay for a CT."
He felt your gaze even as he avoided it, "Why are the cops here?"
He sighed, "A kid's here with no parental guardian."
There was a pause, then, "What happened to his mother?"
"I really can't talk about this right now—"
"Then I'd like the AMA forms, please."
He made an exasperated groan and looked up at you, tried pleading with his eyes, but you stayed firm, expectant, until he sighed, "A woman was brought in today with her ten year old son who'd found her unresponsive in the bathtub when he came home from school today. She'd slashed her own wrists. We couldn't get a pulse back." He ran a hand along the back of his neck, "The kid doesn't have anyone else."
In a moment, you were on your knees in front of him, his hands clasped in yours, "You worked the resuscitation?"
He nodded, and to his surprise salty tears fell onto your clasped hands. Embarrassed, he tried for nonchalant as he spoke, "It's uh—It's been a long day, but that happened almost first thing this morning. I don't know why I can't shake it."
"Well… That's unsurprising." You said slowly, "Considering your childhood."
His entire body stiffened and he pulled away, "What'd you say?"
You opened and closed your mouth, still lowered to the ground in front of him. He watched as you seemed to calculate your misstep too late and then rush to correct, "I just, um, I remember you telling me once that… that your parents weren't really… present in your life."
Robby shook his head, "I never told you about that."
You bit your lip for a moment and then shrugged, "You told me… everything, Michael. The night we slept together in med school. You were very drunk."
He bristled and scoffed, "Right, we got drunk, I told you that my mother killed herself, and then we fucked?"
It seemed absurd. The truth that he was so ashamed of, that he'd held so close to his chest, that he hadn't allowed anyone to know, he had told you. His grandparents had been the only other people to know and when they died they took it with them. He had assumed he would do the same. But here you were, this contradiction to the one fundamental truth he'd had. That no one would ever need to know the ugly truth that the single person on this Earth who was supposed to love him unconditionally had abandoned him with such violent permanence.
You seemed a bit embarrassed at his hostility, lifting yourself back up to your feet again, "Look, you don't have to try to humiliate me just because you don't believe me. I'm sorry I brought it up, I was just trying to let you know that I understand why that case was difficult for you."
"Yeah, well, it's not your fucking place."
He thought he saw you flinch, but just as quickly, you became stoic, "I think it's time for me to go and I'd prefer it if you stayed at your own place tonight."
You left without waiting for him to respond and immediately, the anger left him in a rush, replaced with shame. When he walked back towards central, you were gone, Dana looking at him now with a question in her eyes, "Your girl left in a rush, I thought you were leaving with her?"
He sighed, ran both hands over his face, "Where's the kid?"
"BH1," She said and leaned closer to him, "It's her birthday today and you let her leave here without you?"
Fuck. "It's her birthday?"
Dana nodded, "You don't know your own girl's birthday?"
"She's not—How do you know it's her birthday?"
"She told me about ten minutes ago."
Unbelievable.
"Well," He said, fingers interlaced at the back of his neck, "I don't think she'll want to spend it with me now."
Dana watched him for a moment, "Tell you what, Baran's still here, I'm sure she wouldn't mind handling the police. You should go. Get her a cake and flowers and apologize. You had a hard day, she'll understand."
You had understood, but he thought you'd likely be heaps and bounds less understanding now.
But hadn't he promised himself, when he first agreed to date you, seriously, that he'd be different this time? That he wouldn't fall back into old habits? That he wouldn't push people away when they got too close?
You already knew the worst of him, apparently. Had known it for decades it seemed and still, you wanted him. And as always, he'd hurt you anyway.
So, he was really prepared to grovel when he finally got to your place, a bouquet of tulips and white bakery box in hand. He knocked gently on the door and waited until he heard the twist of the doorknob, and then saw you. You were in sweats and a tank top and you crossed your arms over your chest when you saw him.
"Hi," he said softly.
"I thought I asked you not to come here tonight."
"I know, and I'll go, I just, Dana mentioned that it was your birthday so I got you a cake and some flowers and I just wanted to say that I'm—I'm really sorry. I just, I've never told… anyone about her, or so I thought, and it just caught me off guard. But, I shouldn't have spoken to you that way, you were only trying to help."
You stared at him for a few moments, mouth twisted to the side and bounced on the balls of your feet, "You got me a birthday cake?"
His mouth twitched into a smirk, but he fought it, "Yeah, but I didn't know what sort of cake you like so I—I got you funfetti cake. It reminded me of you."
Now it was you fighting a smirk, "Funfetti cake reminds you of me?"
He nodded, "Yeah, you're bright, colorful, pretty, happy—You're everything. Funfetti."
You uncrossed your arms and interlocked them behind your back instead, "You can come inside."
Ten minutes later, you both sat on the couch with a slice of cake, "No one's ever gotten me a birthday cake before."
Robby balked, "What?"
You shrugged, "My parents were always too busy to celebrate my birthday. I think they forgot most years. And I didn't have many friends growing up. And then when I got to be an adult I just… stopped telling people when my birthday was. To avoid being disappointed."
He felt an ache in his chest for the child he saw in his head, the kid he used to know. How lonely you must've been. "Why'd you tell Dana?"
"One of my students is a bit of a kiss ass and found out it was my birthday from the internet. Got the whole class to sign a card for me. Dana just happened to see it."
He sighed, "I'm really sorry if I contributed to your day being shitty."
You shook your head, "I really don't even think about it much anymore, truly. And anyway, it sounded like you had a much harder day than I did."
"That's not an excuse."
You put your plate on the coffee table and turned your attention fully to Robby, taking his face gently in your hands, "You came here and you apologized," You said softly, "And I've forgiven you. So enough with the self flagellation, hm?" You stroked your thumbs gently over his cheekbones, "And why don't you tell me about the mother that came in today."
Again, he felt the involuntary raise of his hackles at the suggestion that he discuss today. But there was warmth and tenderness in your eyes. Your fingers ran through his hair and scratched at his scalp gently, and his eyes fluttered closed, hackles falling.
And so the words flowed out of him. He recounted the horror and fear that reverberated through him as the woman was rolled in, her son shaking and sobbing at her side. How difficult it was for him to focus on anything other than this boy, this baby, now alone in the world. It was frightening, really, to come face to face with the boy he used to be. How young he was when his mother had passed, something he'd been unable to appreciate at the time.
He'd done a lot of work to forgive her for leaving. Had studied up on suicidality and bipolar depression. In his career he met many people who reminded him of his mother and his empathy had stretched and grown and while he'd thought he'd forgiven her, there was still just a kernel of bitterness deep in his chest.
He had never been confronted with himself, with the child he used to be, until today. How his heart bled for that child. He could recall every memory of that day, every smell, every sound, every touch. The world had fractured and reassembled for that boy today, much like it had for him so many years ago. And he'd had to listen to his colleagues all day, talk about that boy as if he was the one who had died and it pissed him off. That they could so easily written off that kid's future because of a single day, because of the choices his mother had made.
But then came the small, nagging voice at the back of his head, But wasn't it true? Aren't you broken beyond repair? Isn't that the one truth you've been running from all this time?
"You're not broken," You said softly to him when he'd finished speaking, still holding him tightly to you, now with one hand beneath his shirt and running your nails soothingly up and down his back.
You repeated it to him like a mantra until he leaned up, captured your soft, warm mouth with his. And whenever he opened his eyes to look into yours, he knew you didn't believe your own words. Walls that you had begun to deconstruct over the last few weeks were now built back up. Now, barbed wire adorned the walls like vines.
He had the distinct feeling that you'd never allow him to see over the walls again.
***
"Well I heard from Edith who heard from Sam who sometimes has lunch with Dana that Robby's been staying late and picking up more shifts again, since he bought that motorcycle… You know what that means."
"The seven week itch has struck again. That motorcycle's a breakup motorcycle if I've ever seen one."
You sighed heavily as you adjusted your microscope, "You guys are not being as quiet as you think you are."
Your students giggled at your admonishment, "Sorry, the drama is just way more fascinating in the Pitt than it is up here."
You were silent after that and their whispers died down, but never completely. You had never paid much attention to rumors around the hospital until you and Robby started seeing each other. The women in the hospital loved gossiping about him. And more and more it ate away at you.
Things hadn't been quite right between you since your birthday. You had forgiven him for how he'd acted, but still there was a cold dread in your stomach that seemed to intensify every time you saw him. You felt yourself overcompensating, looking for reassurance. You had convincingly kept up the illusion of confidence, but now it waned.
You had the feeling he had sussed it out, how desperate you were. Before, for any companionship. Now, specifically, for his. You were frightened by the way your heart squeezed when you woke up to him beside you in the morning. The way he had slipped into your routine so effortlessly. Helping you out in the garden on the weekends. Putting the kettle on at exactly 9PM for tea before bed. Trying all your desserts even after insisting he needed to watch what he ate. Recently, he'd began reading your well-worn, tattered copy of The Princess Bride aloud to you, using character voices that got more and more ridiculous until you were crying with laughter. More and more regularly, he fell asleep on the couch, glasses askew and Brutus on his chest.
It was terrifying how easily he slotted into your life. This was what you'd wanted, what you'd always wanted, had wanted so badly at times you'd forced relationships you knew would never work.
And you kept waiting, day after day, for him to leave and not come back. The day he'd been short with you in the ER, you'd been flung back to an earlier relationship. Remembered in vivid details the ugly fights you'd had.
"You're not listening to me!"
"Maybe I just don't like the sound of your voice."
It didn't matter how he apologized after, the words had burrowed deep in your head. They stuck with you from relationship to relationship and you'd heard similar disdain from Robby that day.
So with all of this, you were already struggling before the rumors and before the motorcycle. You felt him pulling away from you inch by inch and you clung to him harder, certain if you just enticed him the correct way he'd want to stay.
And for a while, you thought it was working, until dinner one day on the porch. The vibrant strawberry sky was beginning to bruise with dusk as you each sat in silent after cleaning your plates.
Then Robby cleared his throat, "You know how I've been fixing up the motorcycle with Duke?"
You nodded. You knew the fact that you were jealous of a sixty year old biker spending time with your boyfriend was not healthy. You were glad he had picked up a hobby outside of the ER, it was good for him. And still, you couldn't help the way dread curdled in your gut every time he spoke about it. What it really felt like was an escape plan. No matter how you tried to convince yourself it wasn't, you couldn't stop the constant spirals. The souring of your mood whenever he stated he was going to Duke's or he couldn't make it tonight because he stayed too late at Duke's so he'd just sleep at his own place. You knew he noticed the shift in energy whenever the motorcycle was brought up, but he never commented on it.
"It's finished," He gave you a wry smile, "It's rideable now, in really good shape."
"Oh," You said, "That's… great."
Again, he ignored the uneasiness in your tone. Or maybe he truly was oblivious. Because next he said, "I was thinking about taking some time off from work and doing a cross country ride."
"Oh," You said again, feeling dumb at your sudden lack of vocabulary, "For how long?"
"I don't know," He avoided looking at you as he said, "Three months?"
The pain in your chest was spectacular. Again and again you were reminded of how unlovable you were. You tried so hard and it was never enough, not for your parents, not for friends, not for every other partner who left quickly and quietly. Your eyes burned as you pushed back from the table and picked up your plate, "You don't have to flee across the country to get rid of me, you could just break up with me like a mature, grown man." You said bitterly and walked back inside.
Assumedly shocked at your outburst, it took him a minute before following you back inside, "This is not about us," He said quietly over your shoulder as you dropped the dirty dishes unceremoniously into your sink.
"Frankly, it doesn't matter if it isn't," You said turning to face him, "If you leave for three months our relationship is effectively dead. And you know this."
He scoffed, "Three months is not that long—"
"Three months is not that long when you've been in a relationship for a decade, it's everything when you've barely even been together that long."
He watched you and slowly shook his head, "It doesn't have to be. You could come with me."
You laughed and pushed past him, "What, and bring Brutus as well? Let my garden wither away? You don't really want me to come, you're just offering out of guilt."
"That's not true, I—I want to be here with you, being with you is the only thing that feels right in my life right now. I don't want to lose that."
"Then why are you running away?" You asked, exasperated and humiliated when tears began to blur your vision.
You were sitting on the couch now and he crouched in front of you, looked at you with his big wet, brown cow eyes. Eyes you adored, crow's feet you wished to sink into, freckles you'd counted and memorized over many nights.
"I feel like…" He said slowly, "Like… if I don't get out of that hospital, of this city soon that I'm a ticking time bomb."
You nodded and sniffed, pushed the heels of your hands into your eyes, "And I feel like if you leave I'm never gonna see you again."
He tilted his head to the side, eyebrow furrowed and watery eyes studying you. You waited and waited for him to say it wasn't true, but he obviously couldn't. Instead he cupped your cheeks in his hands and gently brushed away your tears, "C'mon sweetheart, don't cry. It's okay. I've got you."
Leaning in, he gently kissed your forehead, the tops of your cheeks, your nose, then your mouth, his beard scratching the soft skin of your face. Stifling the cries that attempted to crawl up your throat, you kissed him back fiercely, wondering if it would be the last time you got to do so. He matched your fervor, groaning into your mouth as you deepened the kiss—and then his hands were everywhere.
He hoisted you up and around his waist and walked you to the bedroom, a path he knew well at this point, could do it with his eyes closed. He placed you down and then crawled over you, arms bracketing your head as he kissed your lips swollen and raw. The smell of him, the taste of him, had become so comforting to you it was agony to imagine a time when you couldn't have them whenever you wanted. That he would be so far away from you, your house lonely and empty once again. And it was this thought that had you burst promptly into tears.
"Wh—What's wrong? Sweetheart—Do you wanna stop? We can stop—"
"No, no," You said quickly through hiccuping sobs and opened your eyes into his, "Please—Please don't stop, Michael, please—"
"Okay," He kissed all over your face again as your sobs began to quiet, "Okay, baby. I'm right here—" In response to his words, you pulled him closer until his weight was almost fully on you, "I'm right here." He repeated.
When your tears dried, he slowly undressed you, his kisses painfully tender and eyes that melted you. It took everything in you not to rush him along. The need to have him inside you, to fill you up, felt almost primal. You needed to be close to him, as close as you could be. Soon he'd be gone and all you'd have was the ghost of a feeling.
He leaned his forehead against yours as he slowly pushed inside you, both of you sighing into one another, "So perfect," He murmured and kissed you, "Feel so perfect, baby."
"Please," You kept saying over and over as he pushed himself in and out of you. You weren't quite sure what you were begging for, for him to fuck you? For him to stay? For him to love you?
Pulling out of you, he turned you onto your stomach, positioned your hips until you felt him press into you again, his belly against the small of your back and the cold chain around his neck falling against your shoulders, sending a chill down your spine.
The feel of him inside you was exquisite, like nothing else you'd experienced before. He pushed his hand beneath your belly until his fingers found your swollen clit and this coupled with the way he filled you up was too much, the sensation overwhelming. You were coming before you even had the chance to warn him, unraveling as he moaned and kissed the back of your neck when he felt your walls pulse around him.
The pleasure was so overwhelming and the feel of him so stifling, it was almost involuntary when you blurted out, "I love you, Michael, I love you."
With your face partially obscured by the mattress, you hoped he hadn't heard it. But his hips stuttered for a second and panic seized in your chest until— "Oh, God, fuck—" he came inside you.
His skin stuck to yours as he caught his breath, still inside you as he softened. You laid like that for a while in silence, spooning in your bed. The sun had still cast shadows in your room when you first came in here, but now it was nearly pitch black.
"You're still leaving?" You asked, voice steadier than you felt, unwilling to hope.
He was quiet for long enough that you wondered if he'd fallen asleep. But then came the soft, "Yes," in your ear.
You said nothing else that night. Neither of you spoke about what you'd confessed during sex and when you woke in the morning, he had left. There was no trace of him left in the house. He'd taken his toothbrush, his beard trimmer, his duffel of clothes and other toiletries. All gone.
He left a single t-shirt—by accident or not, you couldn't say—draped over your hamper. When you picked it up and brought it to your face, it smelt like him.
You sank to the floor of your closet like a child and cried.
***
Robby saw you everywhere and in everything. He thought about you most mornings when he put on a pair of pants and noticed how they were a bit too snug—Having regular meals most days at your place had meant he'd put on a few pounds while dating you. He thought about you and Brutus whenever Trinity showed him pictures of her new kittens. Whenever he had a cookie or a slice of blueberry pie, he remembered the sweet buttery smell of your house whenever you were baking.
He missed you with a devotion that felt almost religious, but he never picked up the phone. After having made you cry and then hearing you admit that you were in love with him, he'd been absolutely certain he couldn't have you. He'd thought in the beginning, he'd been able to delude himself that he could have someone like you. That he deserved someone like you, so sweet and gentle and loving. But despite his precautions, you'd still crumbled to dust in his hands.
He was terrified that if he didn't leave he'd repeat his mother's mistakes and leave you even more devastated than you were now.
But when you looked at him and said you didn't think you'd ever see him again, he'd wondered if you'd understood. If you'd understood his fears and instead worried that if he did leave he'd become his mother.
He didn't want to think about that and so as he packed up his gear and clothes and whatever else he thought he might need onto his bike, he tried and failed to stop thinking about you.
As he left town, he rode by your house knowing you'd be at work. He rolled slowly, memorized every detail he could of the house, the only place he'd ever felt at home besides his grandparents' house. In a last minute decision, he pulled out his phone and took a quick photo.
This was when he saw Brutus in the window, watching him, tail swishing back and forth. He'd miss that little rascal, too, even if he had broken his favorite mug. He gave a quick salute to Brutus and then he left before he could change his mind.
For a while, being on the road felt as freeing as he hoped it would. Everyone before he left seemed so worried he was about to kill himself, but honestly, with new air in his lungs, he felt great. For around four hundred miles.
He was a few days into the trip, having only driven something like a hundred miles each day, and closing in on Chicago when the fatigue really began to set in. Every part of his body ached. He had been very careful not to let his mind wander to you since he'd left, but it wandered anyhow. Now he thought of the Epsom salt baths you insisted on whenever he had aches and pains. He wished more than anything that you'd be there in Chicago, waiting by the hot bath, pretending to resist when he coaxed you in with him. You'd sit between his legs, back to his chest as you told him about your day as he gently kneaded your shoulders with his thumbs. You'd talk about the study you were working on. Or, since it was a Saturday, maybe you'd spent time in the garden, pulling weeds as you listened to an audiobook for a new mystery novel.
Robby was so immersed in the fantasy, he didn't register the oncoming headlights until it was already too late. Still, as the car crossed the double yellow line into his lane, on instinct, he jerked the bike away from the oncoming collision.
He was able to avoid the car, but lost control of the bike, skidding off the road and into a guardrail. He felt it when the gravel tore through his pants, then his skin, the weight of his bike pinning him to the ground as he came to a complete stop.
Robby was so used to watching other people die, he thought he knew what it'd be like when his time came. Stupidly, he thought he'd made his peace with his own mortality, his inevitable demise. But in the split second it took for him to see the oncoming headlights and jerk his bike out of the way, he understood immediately and with complete clarity that he didn't want to die.
As he felt his skin being torn up and his leg being crushed, time slowed, and he saw your face. Heard your voice tell him you loved him. The sound of your laugh. The smell of your shampoo.
And just as quickly as it happened, it was over, and the pain exploded throughout his body.
Pain, glorious pain, and as he categorized it all he understood it meant he was alive and he laughed, wildly. The paramedics that showed up afterwards and told him how lucky he was likely thought him insane as he laughed and laughed.
He was alive. He was fucking alive. And the realization filled him with indescribable joy. Logically he knew most of this was due to the adrenaline rush, but he couldn't help but feel like this had to have been some divine intervention. And soon enough, as the adrenaline fled him and the pain meds kicked in, he couldn't stop crying.
The nurses and doctors looked at him with sympathy and one nurse, Angela, asked gently, "Is there anyone we can call?"
The only person he wanted to call right now was you. His bike was totaled and he found he didn't even care. He just wanted to go home. He wanted to play chess on your porch while it rained. He wanted to play hide and seek with Brutus while you giggled from the sofa, watching him. He wanted to let you pick a movie for movie night only to have you unceremoniously fall asleep in his arms less than ten minutes in. He wanted to beg your forgiveness. He wanted to tell you he loved you, was in love with you, like he should have before he left. He wanted to go home.
But he shook his head, wiped his eyes and asked if he could have his phone. He would be waiting a while for imaging on his leg. The thought for sure something was broken and based on what he felt when he went down, he concurred with that opinion. He thought it possible he might even need surgery, though they hadn't said as much yet.
Angela returned with his phone and a smile, repeated as he looked at his cracked screen that she'd be happy to call, but he thanked her and waved her off.
His phone seemed to be working fine and he immediately scrolled over to his photo album where he pulled up photos of you. Photos of the two of you together, you making a silly face at the camera and him with a toothy smile on his face as he looked down at you. Happy.
He felt suddenly very stupid for how he'd handled everything. Wished he'd listened to you when you asked him why he seemed to be sabotaging the one good thing in his life.
The answer was that he didn't think he deserved anything good, least of all, you. He was destined to a miserable life and a miserable death and he had no desire to bring you down with him.
But looking at this photo, it was becoming more and more clear to him that you had changed him. He thought he was destined for tragedy, but you'd rewritten his ending. Only he'd been much too stupid to see it.
Eventually, he worked up the courage to call you, not expecting you to answer. As the phone rang he could picture you in your pajama set, sleepytime tea on your nightstand and Brutus curled up in your lap as you stared at the caller ID with rage in your eyes.
But you surprised him. You picked up after just three rings.
"Hello?" You sounded a bit breathless and a lot confused.
"Hi."
"Michael?" He closed his eyes at the sound of his name, always so sweet from your mouth, "What's wrong? Where are you?"
"Why are you assuming something's wrong?"
"Because I haven't heard from you in weeks," You said bitterly, "And I can hear beeping monitors in the background and I know you're not at work because Abbot told me you left for your sabbatical days ago."
"So you've been asking about me?" He said, teasing lilt to his voice.
You sighed, "Michael, so help me, I will hang up this phone—"
"Alright, okay, sorry, sorry, you're right," He ran a hand over his face, "I'm sorry—I—I'm in an emergency room in Chicago and I just wanted to hear your voice."
"Why are you in an emergency room?" He could tell you were fighting to keep your voice level from how slowly you asked the question.
"I totaled the bike," He scratched at his beard, "I was driving too late and I was tired and a car drifted into my lane and I swerved and went into a guardrail."
"Oh my God—Fuck—Are you—Are you alright?"
"Yeah, I have some pretty bad road rash and think maybe my leg's broken—" He heard movement on the other end of the phone, "What're you doing?"
"Packing." You said matter of factly, "If I leave now I should get to Chicago by morning."
He felt his eyes burn immediately. That after everything you'd still go to him without hesitation. Again, he felt that pang in his chest, that overwhelming ache that said he didn't deserve you.
"You shouldn't drive this late," Was all he said, swallowing past the lump in his throat.
"Please," You said dismissively, "Do you need anything from your house? I can stop on my way."
"Sweetheart, I'm—I'm so sorry for leaving. You were right, you're the only thing that matters and I thought I didn't deserve it—Deserve you and so I ran away. I'm a coward. And I don't expect you to forgive me, but I'll beg for it anyway. I love you so much and I just want to be with you, if you'll still have me."
There was silence on the other line and then a soft sigh, "You're on so many drugs right now, aren't you?"
"What? No—Well, yes, but that's not why—"
"We can talk about it in a few days when you're not high out of your mind. Do you need anything from your house?" You repeated it like you were talking to a petulant toddler and he felt stupid again. He hadn't considered what this would look like to you. And yes, his accident had forced him to confront what he was actually doing and feeling, but that didn't make it less true. He'd known he loved you long before he left, long before you even said it. He thought he'd likely been a little bit in love with you since med school.
Your caution was understandable, though, so he wouldn't push.
"No," He said finally, "No, thanks. But would you mind sharing your location with me since you insist on driving through the night? Would make me feel better if I can follow along."
"Sure," you said, and he heard the way your voice softened at his concern, "Goodnight, Michael."
For a moment, time seemed to crunch like an accordian and he was back in med school, your voice in his ear in the middle of the night, asking for his forgiveness. He felt a bit fuzzy at the edges.
"Goodnight, Bambi." He murmured and his phone slipped from his hand.
***
Michael was asleep when you got to the hospital and had been admitted to Ortho upstairs for surgery.
Your emotions were all over the place, but seeing him in a hospital bed, a bit bloodied up and hooked up to monitors, you felt your defenses falling. You wanted to be angry with him, but how could you be? When you had been so close to losing him for good?
As you got closer, you noted that he'd let his beard and hair grow out a bit longer since the last you saw him. It made him appear softer. You had been pleased before he left when his cheeks began to fill out a bit having made him eat properly since you began dating. That weight was still there, if not as obvious as before.
The rush of affection that filled you upon seeing him was nearly suffocating.
As you pulled up a chair to his bedside, he began to wake and you smiled at him with watery eyes, "Hi."
He smiled back and reached a hand out for you which you immediately took and brought to your lips.
"I'm sorry," He said immediately, but you dismissed him with a shake of your head.
"What did the doctor say? Why do you need surgery?"
"It's… shattered. The bike fell on it, crushed my leg. Have to screw it all back together."
You frowned as he grimaced, "Are you in pain? Let me go get a nurse—"
You stood to go, but he wrapped a hand around your wrist, "No, no, don't. I asked them to… take me off the meds."
You stared at him, mouth agape, "Why would you do something like that?"
"So that I could tell you how in love with you I am with a clear head."
You nearly laughed, "Michael Robinavitch, have you lost your goddamn mind?"
"You said we should wait," He shook his head, "I don't want you to go another second thinking that I don't love you."
Your eyes watered, but you shook your head, "It's gonna take a lot longer than you saying it once for me to trust you again."
"I know that," He grimaced again, "I just wanted to say it now."
You brought a hand to his cheek and scratched lightly along his jaw, "Can I go grab a nurse now if you're done with the dramatics?"
He smirked and nodded and you hid a grin as you stood and walked from the room.
It was a day or two after surgery that Robby was finally cleared to go home with you. On the way home, high on pain meds, Robby read The Princess Bride to you in his silly voices to keep you entertained.
At home, you set him up in bed with strict instructions to Brutus to keep him company while you made him food.
And slowly, the two of you settled back into the usual rhthym. He told you he loved you many times a day. Even when he didn't say it, he'd run his fingers over the tattoo on your wrist, or say something just to make you laugh. He watched you with an expression on his face that you'd never seen before and when you asked if something was wrong, he shook his head, said "Everything's perfect."
As he got back on his feet, you took slow walks to and from the park, fed the birds. Robby even downloaded an app on his phone that could identify the birds by thsid song. His face would light up with joy whenever the app told him a bird he didn't recognize was around.
Life was quiet and peaceful and love found a way to fill every crack and crevice in each of your hearts.
A year later, when Robby's leg had healed entirely, when the only pain was used to predict the rain, was when he asked you.
"Sweetheart?" Your head was in his lap on the sofa, you watching TV while he did a crossword. You hummed in response so he knew you were listening, "I've been thinking and I think it's time I put my house up for sale."
You sat up slowly and looked at him. Your eyes instantly scanning for deception.
Robby was a great roommate. He was pretty handy and so could usually fix most minor wear and tear problems without having to call in an expert. He took care of Brutus and the plants. He loved gardening with you. He never let the chores go too long without being done. Always washed the toilet because he knew it was your least favorite chore.
You had no qualms about living with him. But you always assumed, even though most of you had grown to trust him again, that he'd keep his house as a backup plan. It was realistic, you told yourself. Relationships all had expiration dates.
"Really?"
He nodded, "The last year I've only ever gone home to to make sure nobody's broken in. I've moved everything I use here already. My clothes, my toiletries, my tools, my books, my records—everything's here. It's a waste, don't you think?"
You opened and closed your mouth, ran your fingers absently over the tattoo on your wrist, "What if… What if we fight and you want space?"
He shrugged, "I don't think that would happen, but I could always get a hotel for a night. I still have the cabin in the mountains."
You swallowed and looked down at your hands, "If we break up you'll hate me because you sold your house."
You felt the couch shift as he sat up and took your hands, "If we broke up, I could never hate you. Besides, this is my decision. You didn't pressure me into it. I also figured this way it was only fair that I start helping out with the bills here. Now, if me permanently moving in feels like too big of a step to you—"
"No," You said quickly, "No, I want you to. I love having you here, it's been…" You shook your head, "It's been the best year of my life."
He smiled and brought your hands up to his lips, "Mine too."
And as the two of you talked over a bottle of wine about the logistics of moving the remainder of his things into your house and calling realtors and what you should do with the extra money (Should you travel? Put it into retirement?) it was like the final piece of your previously shattered heart was glued back into place.
Before Michael, you often wondered if you were too picky. If your standards were too high as your mother loved to tell you and that's why you'd end up a spinster. Alone and bitter, always denied the one thing you wanted and craved most in the world: love and companionship.
But as you and Michael talked late into the night and fell asleep in each other's arms, you knew you'd been right to wait.
You couldn't rush soulmates and you would've waited forever and a day if it meant you got to know love like this. Luckily for you, you'd only had to wait twenty something years for Robby to realize he was in love with you. In the face of forever, it was a blink of an eye. And for that, you'd thank the sun and the moon and all the stars every day for the rest of your life.
synopsis Robby is known to speak before he thinks sometimes, but when the cost of his words is losing you, he’d rather die (6.6k words)
warningheavy angst, language, hospital stuff, mention of drowning, near death experience, robby is constipated emotionally as always, jack to the rescue, kinda yearning Jack if you squint, inaccurate medical practices I am noooo doctor!
authornotethannk you so much for the request!!! and thank you for your kind words! I had so much fun writing, I think angst is probably my favourite to write over anything especially when Robby is the one yearning. I hope you liked! (Gif credits @emziess :)
Pitt masterlist Last robby fic!
As a resident in the Emergency Department there was a lot you knew.
You knew that preeclampsia effected about eight percent of all pregnant women worldwide. You knew how to intubate and had in fact done so many in your time at PTMC that you were sure you could do it with your eyes closed. You knew that in the bottom draw of Dana's select spot at the nurses station was a pack of nicotine gum hardly used because Dana thought they were a bunch of bull; in spite of the literal doctors orders.
You knew there was a leaky faucet in the women's bathrooms that drove everyone insane when they went in there to steal a moment's peace. You knew the computer in central fourteen was the faultiest one which was why you avoided charting in there all together.
So you knew there must have been a reason why Noelle from insurance was biding her time with your new boyfriend. There must have been a reason why he was grinning big at her like he hadn't with you for days.
“Hey!” said Samira falling at your side at the counter.
You were still too distracted by the two to even tear your gaze away and look at her. “Hey.”
Samira followed your eyeline. “You're staring, you know that?”
You nodded.
Robby rubbed at the side of his face as his cheeks flushed, Noelle shifted her weight onto her other heeled foot- apparently getting herself comfortable.
“Who is that, again?” asked Doctor Mohan.
“Noelle. She's from insurance.”
Samira nodded. “Noelle from insurance. Annnd do we like Noelle, from insurance?”
At that you realised just how transparent your glares might have been.
“Oh, you know,” you mumbled, finally looking back down to your tablet that had grown dark in the absence of movement. “It's our job to like everyone.”
Santos passed by you then, dropping herself down into your favourite chair in exhaustion. “Not everyone.”
“So we're all having a great day, I see,” you commented, sarcastically. However the sardonic tone of your voice was over-saturated with a loud laugh.
Your head practically snapped up to see Noelle laughing at something Robby had said. Even his face was scrunched up at his joke. You watched as Noelle's hand darted to his bicep, playfully hitting him in a way that could only be recognised as flirting.
You watched as Robby looked down to her hand on him and then he looked up, finding you and finding your watchful gaze. Only then did the pink in his cheeks subside and the wrinkles of amusement die.
“Didn't they have a thing before you and him got together?” asked Santos.
You sighed. “Yes, they did, thank you, Trinity.”
“Hey, just trying to be helpful.”
“Save it for the patients,” you said.
Robby took one step in your direction but you'd already dismissed yourself from Santos and Mohan, walking the ward like it was a battle field.
But you could hear your boyfriends heavy boots close behind you.
“Don't do that,” he said, calling after you.
“Do what? See a patient?”
“It's not what you think,” he said.
“Of course it's not,” you said, trying your best to be indifferent.
You knew about Noelle and Robby's history, just as you knew about his and Heathers, and his and the pathologist from upstairs, and the one from ortho. You knew and you understood, heck you'd even been around to joke about with Landon. Robby's famous seven-week itch.
Rumour had it before he finally got to hold your hand and kiss you whenever he liked he'd been trying to nail you down for years, but you weren't sure how much you believed.
It had been nine months, maybe closer to ten since you and Robby had officially started seeing each other. It was the real boyfriend-girlfriend deal where you could call each other at any moments of the day, could get take out together and discuss the boring things together.
Yet, you did none of that.
Robby and you didn't talk.
You fucked- but only each other. You worked on cases together- strictly professional. On the days where you were desperate there was an on-call room Robby could book out and steal time away with you.
But you didn't remember the last time you'd laughed like that with him.
“It's not,” said Robby again.
“Of course it's not.”
Robby sighed, falling closer behind you. “Well, it doesn't really sound like you believe me.”
“I believe you,” you said. “Do I believe Noelle...”
“Oh, c'mon,” Robby chuckled, like the very idea of them was ridiculous. Like the two of you didn't begin where they ended. “You seriously gonna be hung up on that?”
“Don't,” you warn, shaking your head.
You reached for an exam room door, where a sixteen year old boy was complaining of migraines but Robby grabbed your wrist and stirred you away.
“You wanna argue, not here,” he said.
“I don't want to argue.”
Robby led you out to the ambulance bay. Any nurses stealing a couple minutes of peace quickly diverted back in and even ambulances seemed to divert away. He let go of you, standing away and folding his arms over his chest, defensive. “So come on, tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
“You're mad because I was talking to Noelle- about a case, might I add,” he said. There was nothing soft in his tone, nothing that calmed your nerves on edge. He said it all like it was a joke that he already knew the punchline to.
You rubbed at your temple. “You can talk to Noelle about cases, of course you can-”
“- Oh, thank you, glad I have your permission,” he chuckled.
“Can you just not be a dick about this, for once!” you snapped.
Robby's brows rose to his head, almost shocked at your snap at him. He held out his hands. “Okay, I'm not being a dick.”
“You are, and it's like sometimes you don't even realise.”
His hands were worn with the mornings patients and you could see the stress he tried to hide away as he wiped up and down his face.
You took a deep breath. “Robby, if you don't want this to work out all you have to do is say.” You said it, un-sure if you even meant it. Un-sure that you could ever go back to who you were before meeting Robby, let alone sharing in his life. In the small moments grabbing take out together and eating it on his sofa. In the mornings where you both naturally woke up early enough to just admire each other before you had to get to work.
Robby chuckled dryly, hands on his hips. “Oh my god, all of this because I spoke to another woman?”
“Because you laughed with her like you haven't with me for weeks!” you argued.
For once, Robby was silent.
You told yourself after the seven week mark that it would be any day now, that he'd tell you you were better off friends; colleagues. Every day and week it didn't come, every month he got more comfortable in your bed you figured you'd easily get rid of him in your life as easily as you welcomed him.
Now you stood across from him in the early morning light of the ambulance bay knowing if he left you now you'd never get back on your feet again.
“I see the way Noelle looks at you, how the others from upstairs do to,” you begin.
Robby shook his head, something earnest in his gaze. “They're not- they don't-”
“- I know, I know,” you said, cutting him off with a grimace of a smile. “ ”I know you don't love them, Robby. I'm just not sure you love me either.”
As un-cultured as you were with your own relationships you weren't sure when the right time to say I love you was. You knew Santos had said it to Garcia drunk one night and woke up with regret pinning her to the bed. You knew Dana and Benji had said it to each other a week in. You knew you loved Robby before you even kissed him.
Robby looked down to his boots, shaking his head. “That's not fair.”
Your heart pinched. “I know I love you, Robby. But I can't watch all these woman over you and-and wonder.”
“Your insecurities are not my fault!” Robby snapped.
You knew he didn't mean it, or hoped he didn't. You knew in the very small arguments you'd had that he spoke without thinking and came grovelling back.
Maybe it was worse this time because you knew it was the truth. You knew these women- his ex something's- didn't get to see Robby in the early mornings and be the last thing he spoke to at night. You knew Robby wasn't inviting them into his self, but he wasn't pushing them away either.
They'd all been quick, snaps of bands on wrists. You were supposed to be something more.
Maybe you weren't.
Biting on the inside of your cheek, you felt the familiar burning in your chest, rising up to your neck.
“Okay.” You held yourself tight, heading past him and to the doors that were already welcoming you back.
Robby was hot on your heels, quicker even as he pushed himself ahead of you. “No, no, no- hey- wait, no I-I didn't mean that.” His eyes were wide, hands held out in front of you, not quite clasped together, pointing to the sky but pleading none the less.
“We shouldn't talk about this now, Robby-”
“- I- we... honey, please.”
He stood in between you and the doors. Beyond him you saw the chaos of the room, the charts being passed, the labs being reported. The world still turned.
Robby's hands fell to your shoulders, rubbing up and down your arms. “Let me- jus' let me-let me-”
“Hey! You two!”
Robby didn't jump apart from you, he squeezed your arms tighter as the two of you looked back to Dana who rushed out, wisps of grey hair falling around her. “What is it?”
“There's been a crash down the docks, all hands on deck!”
You thought you knew chaos, having seen all sorts of terror and oddities in the Pitt but the scenes at the dock were nothing like it. A complication with a boat, an explosion- small enough- rattled ferries and had them crashing into one another like terrible scene of dominoes.
Heck, you weren't even sure if the docks were safe to be standing on.
There were fire trucks and ambulances that didn't just respond to PTMC but Presby too. Police were corning off the area, talking to any witnesses but everyone blurred in one as you weaved in and out of them.
You'd been sent as an emergency respondent thanks to how level-headed and sturdy you were in the Pittfest. You still remembered how Robby nominated you as well as Whitaker to go with some from surgery, his eyes dark on you, a trusting nod passed before you were handed a jacket and pushed into an ambulance.
You'd already pulled a sheet over three bodies, one of them too small for your liking.
“Any for me?” asked a first emergency responder, you think his name was Spencer, catching it in the rig you caught a ride in. “We can take two.”
“Yeah!” you yelled and led him away. “This guy, approximately in his thirties, head lack to the right, needs to go to surgery immediately. This woman, late twenties, lost consciousness, possible pelvic bleed but she's stabilised, need's a ultrasound.”
“Got it!”
You'd gone through almost all the gloves you had in your pockets. There was blood seeping into your scrub uniform at your knees. You'd forgone your coat to a little girl who took an ambulance back with her mother, trembling from the cold.
A steady, firm hand settled between your shoulder blades.
“How you holding on, Slugger?”
Your heart soared in relief when you recognised Jack's voice, felt his steady hand and saw his easy smile in the middle of all the pain.
“Jack, thank god. Are you here with your team?” you asked, eying the uniform he was in.
“Yeah, we came to secure the area, doing everything I can to help,” he said, the two of you nudging your way through the people, stepping over the rubble and pools of water or blood. “How you holding up?”
“Lost three,” you told him.
Jack looked down at you, the weight of his gaze always heavy. “And how many you saved, huh? Focus on that number.”
The wind picked up, sending a chill over your bones.
“Hey, where's your jacket?” asked Jack, a frown taking over his features.
You chuckled. “Probably half way to Presby by now, think we've handed off all the traumas PTMC can take.”
Jack tutted and shook his head aside. “I reckon they've got one more in them.”
You didn't know how you and Jack had got so close, somewhere along the lines of hand-offs and covering night shifts you just always gravitated toward each other, working well and saving lives. Every daring procedure you'd taken was with him over your shoulder only for him to go and boast about you to Robby later.
Jack led you to Robby, for that you always had to be thankful.
“Hey! I've got a guy seizing over here!”
With your case in hand the two of you rushed off.
The man seemed middle-aged with no obvious wound to him as you and Jack took either side. The man was at the edge of the docks, the crashing of the waves fighting against you as you worked to stablilse him.
Jack steadied him. “Check if there's any medication on him! It might be a disorder!”
You checked, coming up empty pocketed. You fumbled in your bag and tried your pockets before finding the vial and clean needle. “Pushing diazepam!”
With five cc's in his seizing slowed to dull twitches.
“We need a back board and neck brace,” said Jack, looking around to try and flag down anyone.
Nobody was catching your eyes. This close to the water you were out of the way of most of the chaos.
“Go!” you told Jack. “I'll stay with him, make sure he doesn't sieze again.”
Jack's brows pinched together for a second. “You sure?”
You nodded. Your hands remained on your patient, feeling his tremors and already timing his pulse with your watch. “I've got it, go!”
In hind sight you should have thought about the implications. You'd been grabbed and yelled at and spat at in the ED by less sever patients but once you'd been attacked by a man who just woke up from a seizure, dazed and confused and naming you his enemy.
Robby had never been so close to murder.
It took weeks for the bruises to go down, for your hand to heal properly from the fall and you were on bed rest for a week.
You knew what it meant to be alone with a patient, but sometimes you supposed it couldn't be helped.
The diazepam should have helped- you've seen it help- but soon enough the man started twitching, slow at first, before it started to fit and his whole body moved.
He was a strong man. You weren't.
“It's okay, sir- sir!” you threw your weight against him to hold him still, wonder what you can do to stop him biting down on his tongue with the little equipment you had.
The man was mumbling to himself, thrashing violently.
“C'mon Jack, c'mon-”
It only took a wide sweep of the mans arm to send you hurtling back and crashing into the icy water.
The sky was darkening by the time Robby counted off his thirtieth patient of the day. Twenty-five of them had been from the incident at the docks. Only one he couldn't save, two sent up to the OR.
He counted the patients, counted the hours that ticked by, counted every ambulance that came by not carrying you. He'd expected you back by now, expected to have a little piece of mind with seeing you back in his eyeline.
Robby's heart was being squeezed progressively as the day went on, ever since he'd snapped and said words he never even meant.
Every second, passing from patient to patient and tearing off gloves to replace them with clean ones he checked his phone for any update from you.
Nothing.
You must have been busy down there.
But just three ambulances ago Whitaker returned saying he lost sight of you practically immediately.
So where the hell were you?
“Hey, Dana-” he called, rounding on the nurses station.
She looked as dishevelled as he felt, wisps of hair, dark circles under her eyes.
“Can you get a hold of transport, ask where the hell is my resident.”
“I just got off the phone with them, Robby-” she reached over and placed a hand on his, the one that had been tapping relentlessly. “She's on her way in now.”
Before Robby could even wonder why Dana had to hold his hand to tell him, why her eyes were glassed over and her voice trembled to tell him the doors bust open.
“Robby!” Jack yelled out.
He turned, catching sight of his old friend, the greying hair damp and sticking to his skin. He was half dressed in SWAT gear, his jacket discarded and bits of tinfoil falling from his shoulders. Jack was set over a gurney, hammering down on a chest and going in for CPR the old fashioned way.
“What happened? You fall in-”
Robby got to the other side of the gurney and breath caught in his chest.
“She's been down thirty- thirty-five minutes, I dunno, man,” said Jack as he continued hammering down on your chest.
It was you. Blue in the face and eyes closed, droplets of water at your lashes. Your hair was turning to ice fanned out underneath you. He'd been running his hand through your hair just that morning, had he not. There was a blanket, maybe two, thrown over you but your body only reacted to the thumping Jack delivered on your chest, pinching your nose to breath down your open mouth.
This morning you'd been warm, so warm, with a leg thrown over his hips in attempts to keep him in your bed. And he'd been close, so close to burying himself in your warmth.
He didn't even have to touch you to know you were cold.
“I found her- in the water- pulled her out-” gasped Jack as he continued compressions.
“What do you mean in the water?” asked Robby, surprising himself by how calm he sounded.
“She- she fell, or-or something, I dunno man-”
“You don't know?” he snapped. “Why isn't she bagged?”
“We ran out,” said the paramedic pushing you in.
“You ran out?!”
“Robby- Robby!” Dana's hands were on his chest, keeping him at bay before Robby even knew what he was going to do.
Robby shook her off. “What's open?”
“Trauma two just got cleaned up-”
He grabbed the gurney and pushed you into the room. The weight of Jack on top of you trying to save your life squeaking the wheels against the floor not long wiped from blood. Robby was aware of other voices, of people wondering if that was Jack and was it... no... it couldn't have been.
The doors closed behind a team of people all teaming in, stuttering when they saw you.
“Hook her up!” ordered Robby, ignoring any protocol of gowns and gloves. If he was going to get you back he was going to feel the beat of your heart under his palms. “Jack, move!”
Jack slowly climbed down and Robby jumped up next, quickly taking over compressions.
He remembered kissing down your chest, hiding himself there on mornings he wanted to steal away five minutes, pulling the covers up past the two of you. How he was breaking ribs to keep you alive. “Somebody get a bag on her, now!”
“She's- she's been down a long time,” said Jack, catching his breath.
Robby thumped down on your chest, kidding himself with the dull flutter of your eyelashes, knowing it was only through the force of his hammering down on you. “She's alive.”
“Jesus, Jack, you're as cold as ice,” said Dana from somewhere behind Robby.
“I'm fine,” he dismissed. “Robby, you shouldn't be working on her, brother.”
Others in the room stopped, hearing that.
It was protocol family waited outside, that if family or friends ever came in demanding help the same DNA did not attend. They were too emotionally clouded. To invested to think straight. The last time Robby found himself in this situation: blood pumping in his ears, chest tight was trying to save Jake's girlfriends life.
He'd failed.
The only person to pull him back from that was you.
There'd be nobody if you didn't pull through. He'd be left in that pedes room, never to leave.
“Robby!” Jack tried again.
“Shut up and get me some warm saline!”
“Oh, no,” said Jack, walking around till he was on the other side of your gurney. “No, I'm not going anywhere.”
Robby was still pressing his hands down on your chest when Jack reached over, past the bag they'd finally clamped over on you, and stroked back your hair.
“We're gonna get you through this,” he uttered in an oddly tender moment.
“We need to get a central line in her,” said Matteo.
Jack looked at Robby. “Brother.”
“No.”
“You have to move, we need to get a line in her.”
Robby knew that. He knew so much as a doctor, as chief attending. But he couldn't stop, he physically couldn't bring himself to.
“Robby, man, you gotta let go.”
“I can't... I can't... I can't...” he said. The only thing keeping him sane was the one, two, three, four count in his head, was the cold feeling of your flesh under his hands. “Push three milligrams of epi.”
Jack huffed in frustration, probably the only thing keeping him warm. He marched around your bed to his side. “Robby, so help me god I will drag you out of here if you don't let her go!”
“I can't!” he yelled.
It was selfish but Robby had some how convinced himself he could be selfish with you. He could hold on tighter in the mornings and let you go for the rest of the day. He could watch patients get close to you because he knew it was him who got to kiss you. He could hold back the worst parts of himself to keep you, no matter how much it tore him apart to push you away on the days he wanted to be closest.
No, Robby could never let you go.
If you ever tried to leave him, he'd hold on tighter.
Robby dropped his voice low. “I can't.”
Jack took in a slow breath, a gentle hand on Robby's bicep. “Okay. Okay. You don't have to let her go... but to save her you have to move aside.”
A monitor somewhere in the room beeped.
Slowly, Robby moved from your chest.
The people swarmed you. Someone cut into you, getting a central line in on your other side.
Robby stayed where he was, a hand holding yours tightly as if he could squeeze his own life into yours. He cried- maybe loudly- at the feel of how cold you were.
“What's her temp?” asked Jack.
“Eighty.”
Robby looked up to the monitor reading your vitals. “That's- that's too low.”
“We're getting her warmed up.”
“Get the warm saline.”
“We are.”
Robby leaned over you once the line was placed, brushing back your hair and trying desperately to ignore how cold you were. “You're not dead, you're not,” he said, low for you. Your vitals may have been saying different. “You're not dead.”
“Doctor Robby-”
“Please,” he begged with trembling lips. “Please, don't do this to me.”
A monitor sung low and dry. The classic song of a flatline.
His head jerked up.
Jack caught his stupor and pushed him from you, sending him into Dana's ready hold. “She's going into V-fib!”
Dana held Robby. Physically she wasn't strong enough to hold him back but Robby wasn't strong enough to fight against her. “Robby... Robby, c'mon, let's wait outside.”
He was shaking his head.
“Panels, charge to three hundred!” called out Jack.
Dana had just managed to push him out the doors as he shouted clear!
Through the glass Robby watched your body jerk but not respond.
“Please, please, please,” he uttered. His back hit the nurses station, his knees giving out as he slowly slid and sank to the floor.
“Okay, okay,” muttered Dana, falling with him and holding him there.
The Pitt seemed to stand still at the sight of their boss, white faced and hands trembling, brushing back his hair. Noise travelled quick, that it was you in the bed, ribs breaking from compressions, chest hurting from the shock.
Robby's hands clasped in front of him, his star of David chain clenched in his hands. “Please.... she can't do this to me, please.”
Dana tugged on his body, bringing him in closer. With her sharp gaze she pushed everyone else that dared try and get closer away. “C'mon, Robby, she's strong, you know that. And stubborn like hell, huh?”
Robby nodded along with her words, un-sure if he could believe it.
“Charge again, three hundred, let's go!” called Jack, rubbing the panels before everyone backed up. “Clear!”
There was a small beep, a pick up in the line.
“There! Resume compressions!”
“Doctor Robby!” Santos ran up, her gown like a cape around her. She slowed to a stop in front of the two slumped. “Dana. Dana, is it- is it true, is it?”
Robby looked up, tear stained cheeks red.
“Yeah, kid,” said Dana, sadly.
Santo's jaw trembled before she shook her head in resolute, saying one simple word. No. Then she stormed into the room.
Robby knew you favoured Santos and somewhere along the way Robby had come to look for her when an interesting case came in. He came to favour the way you smiled at Santos when she did things right and Robby searched for any smile he could get from you.
So, he pushed himself up on shaky legs and followed her in- back into the chaos that was your room. The blankets had slipped from your body in the shocks and he desperately tried to hold himself back from fixing them.
“Doctor Abbot-” said a nurse or a intern or someone in the room. “It's been thirty minutes.”
“Hold compressions.”
Robby knew it was to check your pulse but he winced when they paused, when your body didn't respond.
“Still asystole, resume compressions.” Jack caught Robby's gaze.
He'd seen that look on Jack's face. Had seen the hopelessness and the devastation at losing a patient not only in his face but in his own reflection. “Don't-”
Jack lowered his head. “Robby.”
“No, Jack, her temp is not up! She's cold,” he said, walking back around the room. He rolled his shoulders back, pulling on gloves. If nobody else was going to save you he would. “She is not dead! She's not- She's not dead till she's warm and dead! Push another round of epi!”
Matteo jumped at the chance.
Jack stood by Robby's side. “Just... prepare yourself, okay? She's been down a long time. She might not come back from this.”
Robby glanced back at him. “She will.”
“And even if she did-”
Robby cut him off. “She will.”
They couldn't send you up to the OR- there was nothing surgical to do. They couldn't send you to the ICU- you weren't stable. They could work on you for hours, in the pitts of hell.
Robby didn't stop Jesse from compressions but he leant over you, leaning his lips into your forehead. “You'll come back, you have to come back.”
“What's her temp?”
“We're up to eighty-eight.”
“When was our last epi?”
“Ten minutes ago.”
“Push again.”
At some point Santos pushed her through the crowd, taking compressions from Jesse who she deemed weak-armed.
“Doctor Santos-” said Jack, the only one seeing this for what it was. A disaster. One more emotional person in the room wasn't going to help. If you woke you might just choke on tears from them all.
“I can do it,” she argued, nodding to the night attending. “I can do it.”
Santos was as stubborn as you. If anyone might have been able to beat her heart into beating, it would be her.
Robby leant over you. Robby could feel your skin cold against his lips and he pet back any bit of you he could reach, trying to warm you. He caught Jack's tired gaze, his lifeless stare like he was already grieving you. “I never told her I love her, Jack.”
“Get an APG,” said Santos.
Jack clasped his shoulder. “Tell her now.”
Robby looked back down to you, past the bag pushing your breath, through Santos keeping your heart beat. He kissed your forehead. “I-” he chocked on the words. He couldn't remember a time where he'd said it and meant it like he does now.
He knew Jack was giving him a way out. He knew Jack was giving him the chance to live with no regrets.
But Robby would regret not dying with you if you didn't make it.
There was a silence throughout the room, not even the beating of a monitor keeping him sane.
Robby's hot tears hit your cheeks.
“Temp?”
“Up to neinty.”
“Halt compressions.”
Santos paused.
Nothing.
Then a shrill beeping.
If Robby thought it was life he was going to be souly mistaken.
“She's in V-fib again!”
Robby backed away, tucking his head down to his chest as he watched Jack get the panels, rub the gel on.
“Charge to three hundred- clear!”
Your body jolted again, blankets slipping down your bare body and Robby suddenly wanted to cover you, wanted to pull every tube keeping you alive out and just hold you. Warm or cold. He just wanted to hold you.
“Again, charge. Clear!”
There was a silence. Maybe you were so angry at him you were proving a point by dying. You were a good swimmer. Why didn't you swim?
Everyone in the room paused, seeming to wait for someone to call it.
Jack looked at Robby.
“No,” he said, pushing past everyone.
“Robby-” interjected Jack.
He snatched the panels from Jack. “Charge again, three hundred-”
“-Robby-”
“I said charge again!”
The room was heavy as Jesse moved to do so, charging them up.
“Clear!”
Your body jerked again, violent. Your face remained peaceful, Santos remained off to the side, waiting for orders, waiting to know. Everyone else was looking to each other, silently deciding who would be the one to drag Robby away from your body.
“Wait- there!”
In the middle of them all there sat a pick up in your heart.
The room jumped into discussion about how to carry on, about how to keep the momentum going while Robby pressed his stethoscope into his ears and the other down on you. He listened, catching the beat of your heart.
“She's warm, she's warm and she's alive,” said Jack with a smile.
You were dreaming. It was a sweet sort of thing.
It was a warm body blanketing you and hands holding you. It was lips you knew pressing along you and drawing out pleasure. There were three tiny words spoken into flesh.
It was Robby, his head laid upon your chest in your bed and mumbling the words, tracing every letter over your ribs. When you reached for his hair, when you tried to say the words again you coughed up water instead. You clawed at your throat. You chocked in panic-
Then there was a beeping bringing you out of sweet dreams.
“Hey, hey. Honey? Honey, can you look at me?” a warm hand was running over your head, pushing back your hair. “Open your eyes.”
You tried to. They felt heavy. Sleep heavy.
But someone was coaxing you through it, holding your hand and brushing back your hair.
“Yeah, there we go... there we go, hey.”
The lights were bright, almost painfully so as they blared in your eyes. It took you a couple blinks to get them right but when you did there was a dark shadow looming over you, blocking out the lights.
There was the ragged pull of a beard and the slope of a well known nose.
You breathed in and smelt burnt coffee and hand sanitiser. “Robby?”
He smiled, crows feet at his eyes. “Hey, honey.”
You pushed up your arm, finding it oddly weak like it had been weighted down. You found an IV down in your arm. The white lights... the white walls and the IV all made slow sense.
“Wh-what?”
“Easy, easy.” Robby grabbed at your arms, holding you. He helped you sit up, reaching over and plumping your pillow and holding you there.
Only when you heard the monitor calming down and felt the pain lessen did Robby let you go, perching close on the bed next to you and grabbing your hand again.
“What happened?” you asked, finding your throat parched.
Robby sighed, pulling your hand into your lap. “There was an accident at the docks. You went with the responders to help. Your patient had a seizure and...”
You remembered the dock, the wind cold and the yells. You remembered Jack was there and the patient, he was seizing. “What happened to him?” you asked.
Robby stared at you, a small shake in his head as his brows pinched together.
“The seizing, the patient.”
There was a small look of disbelief, a soft smile creasing his chapped lips.
“What?”
His smile turned sharp with affection as he looked down. Your hand, engulfed in his, was pressed to his lips. He stayed like that as the scenes played in his head and the smile slowly started to fall. “You were brought in, your body temp was eighty. Jack was- was doing compressions. We- we had to shock you, so much, you don't- ” Robby sighed out a shaky breath. “You don't know what it was like.”
The dock, the bodies, Jack. The bite of cold water like a thousand daggers piercing into your skin. You had gasped for breath, limbs flailing.
It had felt like dying.
“Oh.”
You rubbed at your chest, pain blooming.
“You might be a bit burnt, from the shocks. And we were- we did compressions for a while so you broke a rib,” he said, chocking down a cry.
You squeezed his hand. “We?”
He nodded, chin tucked into his chest. His lips were pursed.
You'd seen Robby cry before, in shades of red face and clenched palms and always trying to hide it away. But you'd never seen him try to hide away as much as he was now. Your hand escaped his hold, caressing down his cheek.
“Robby.... hey....”
His lips puckered to your palm, pressing a kiss there. His palm was large as he held your hand up to his cheek.
“Hey,” you cooed.
Robby glanced up at you. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry.”
“It's okay.”
“No, no it's not, it's not okay,” Robby took a shaky breath and scooted closer. His arm came over you, bracing himself on the bed. “You almost died.”
You searched his eyes but only found pain and defeat. He looked tired. Really tired. “But I didn't.”
“That's not the point,” he said. He brushed back strands of your hair, kept petting it down in a way you guessed comforted him more. “Jack was doing compressions for almost an hour. Your temp was down the whole time. We shocked you four times. Four.”
Robby's voice broke.
“You almost died and the last thing we did was argue.”
You didn't know what to say to that. The words I'm sorry were already rising and like he sensed it, Robby gave a small shake of his head. “Yeah... probably wasn't the best timing.”
“We're never arguing again, you understand?”
You smirked, wrapping your fingers around his wrist. You could feel the race of his pulse. “Give us a week.”
“No,” said Robby. “Never.”
Something sour tasted it your mouth.
“Because we- are we, broken up?”
“No. No. We are not,” he said sternly.
You let out a breath. “Good. Good. I'd have hated to wake up from near death to that.”
“I should have listened to you,” he uttered. “Noelle is nothing, everyone else is nothing, nobody means anything to me, only you. Only ever you. And I am never letting you go again, ever.” He kissed your hand again.
You smiled at him. “What if I need to pee?”
“You can hold my hand.”
“And on mornings where I have really bad morning breath?” you teased.
“That doesn't happen, you know that,” Robby smiled.
Without any arguments left you gave up, sinking into your sheets with a shiver.
Robby frowned. “Are you cold?” he was up at once, pulling at the covers over you and the blankets. He was all but tucking you in as you laid there, taking it.
“Robby.”
“Yeah?” he hummed.
You tugged at his arm, pulling him down.
“What are you- what are you doing?” he chuckled, lightly.
“I'm cold, you're a human furnace, hold me.”
Robby was on the verge of complaining even as you pulled him down on the bed. He grunted at the squeak of the bed, was careful of the monitors assessing you. He squeezed in, pulling the rail back up as you curled up to the side to give him space. “These beds are not made for two.”
“You'll have to get onto the attending about that,” you teased, resting your head on his shoulder.
“Yeah, first thing tomorrow.”
“Meh, I can persuade him, if you like.”
Robby smirked. “He'll do whatever you say.”
His arm slung over your shoulder and rested there, holding your body into him till your head was on his chest and you could feel the beat of his heart. It was just like you dream. Of comfort and warmth.
Robby said your name in a whisper.
You looked up at him to see his eyes screwed shut before releasing them.
“I...”
You watched the move of his lips. “Robby, you don't have to-”
“No, I want to,” he said. Robby's hand was careful as he cupped your face.
“You don't have to say it just because of what happened.”
“I'm not, believe me, I'm not,” he said. “I love you.”
It was the words you wanted to hear, the words you needed to know, the very thing to finish off your dream.
“Robby-” you interjected.
“I love you,” he smiled, grinning wide at you. “I've said it now, I don't think you'll get me to shut up.” There was fake remorse in his voice, a feigned sort of sorry.
“I can think of a few ways.”
Robby's lips were warm and giving as you puckered your up to his, kissing him slow. If you lost your breath kissing him it'd be a hell of a way to go.
Robby smiled against your lips. “That might work.”
His body half rolled onto yours, the bed creaking in protest. Only when your monitor warned of you losing breath did he pull away and check the machine.
“Get some rest, Robby, you look like you need it,” you said, kissing his cheek slow.
There was fight of protest in him that quickly gave up.
Robby looked up at you, wide eyed. “Can I stay?”
You nodded.
“I love you.”
The words he'd given you, the words he'd never forget to say. The words he'd spoken and would never take back.
Mouthing Off - Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x Reader
Summary: You and Robby are always fighting as the two day-shift attendings, to the point of screaming matches on the ED floor. After a particularly brutal back-and-forth, it seems like using each other to get off is the only way to settle things.
Tags/Notes: enemies to lovers, hate sex, oral (m & f), rough blowjob, face sitting (riding/grinding/smothering, really), kinda porn without plot, porn without plot with context?
Content: maybe a second of dubcon but it’s more like one of those moments where things reorient
A/N: oops saw a blurb and shit out a fic. shamelessly and consensually stolen from actual icon @spookypeachpitt13 so everyone say thank you!! anyway this is so wildly outside of my comfort zone so i hope it's okay aksdjfh
Word Count: 3.3k
“My office. End of shift.”
The words snarl off Robby’s tongue and you know you’re in for it – or, really, he’s in for it, because you’re ten times as stubborn on your best days. That’s what makes the two of you work as attendings on the same shift. You never take each other’s shit and, fuck, there's a lot to shovel between the two of you.
Today, though, it’s been so bad you’re making the residents shrink and the nurses exchange suspicious glances. It started with a normal disagreement over a course of treatment for someone who’d been in overnight and spiraled the whole day between stab wounds and fevers and car crashes.
And then you and Robby both crossed the line. The unspoken one between you that keeps your disagreements to the medicine (even though ‘the medicine’ often also includes his handwriting on charts [a literal chicken would do better work, Michael], your bedside manner [you don’t have to get every male patient to give you his number], his bedside manner [and you don’t have to show them why hospitals have HR departments], his clothes [you look like June in this year’s ’Lazy Assholes of Pittsburgh’ calendar], your clothes [y’know they make scrubs that don’t fit like spandex, right?], his teaching style [they won’t learn anything if you make them feel like shit], your teaching style [they won’t learn anything if you make them feel invincible]). And so on. And so forth. And on and on and on.
But today? Today went something like this.
MICHAEL: You know that you should’ve taken the exact opposite approach back there, right?
YOU: Funny; it looked an awful lot like he’s going to survive because of my approach. Don’t worry, though. If I wanted the patient dead, I would’ve assigned him to you instead.
MICHAEL: Sure, he'll live, but he’ll always-
YOU: What? Be able to run faster than you because I saved his leg when you would’ve sent it to be chopped off?
MICHAEL: Quality of care isn’t always about whether-
YOU: You just want everyone to be as miserable of a fuck as you are; god forbid I actually prioritize what’s best for my patients instead of-
MICHAEL: If you even finish that sentence, I swear I’ll-
YOU: Oh, I’ve gotta hear this! Go ahead, Robby, what’ll you do to another attending for disagreeing with your genius and making a good call when you were too much of a coward to take a risk? Bend me over your knee? You don’t get to question my approach just because you’ve been practicing medicine since the dark ages.
MICHAEL: And you don’t get to defy my direct orders just because-
YOU: Your orders? Are you fucking serious?
MICHAEL: Yes, I am! You can’t go around making decisions like you’re in charge just because you’ve got half the doctors in the hospital begging to screw you!
Your eyes finally dropped away from his. When they lifted back up, they were a storm. Anger, yes, but hurt, too. He’d never questioned your intelligence or your place as an attending before. Never weaponized your femininity. He knew right away that he’d pushed you further than you could take, past the point of bending.
So you push back, “How about my office right now? Because there’s absolutely no way you’re walking away from me when I need to strangle you.”
Robby huffs, “You know what? Fine. Might as well spare your students the embarrassment of listening to you talk out of your ass another second.”
You pin your lips in a straight line and storm past him toward the offices, where you and he have the pleasure of sharing a thin wall that doesn’t always stop you from arguing while you catch up on paperwork.
Robby slams the door behind himself – locks it – and you’re in his face right away, no meekness or hurt left in your expression anymore as you square up to him, posture totally straight so you can almost look him in the eyes. “You are such a fucking asshole, Robinavitch. How dare you talk to me like that?”
Robby rubs the back of his neck like he does when he knows he’s fucked up but isn’t ready to back off. “Look, I know that last comment was too far, and we both know I didn’t mean it, but that doesn’t change the principle that-”
“You’re just pissed off because you know you were wrong back there and you can’t deal with a woman being better than you.”
Robby takes a step closer to you at that; you can smell his sweat and his fading deodorant. “This has absolutely nothing to do with you being a woman. Don’t even imply that-”
“Like hell it doesn’t,” you scoff. “You’re mad because I made a better decision than you. Because I pissed all over your favorite fire hydrant. But if that had been Abbot or Shen, you would never have chewed them out like you’re trying to here.”
He shoves one hand on the side of your head now, pinning you against the wall without either of you realizing. “Maybe because the two of them have actually proven themselves in my ED.”
You roll your eyes so hard you think they might fall out. “Y’know what, Robinavitch? You need to ask yourself if your dick is really big enough for this kind of fucking macho attitude because I have a sneaking suspicion it isn’t.”
You go to move, to storm off, but Robby’s grabbing your wrist before you can. Your breath catches in your throat as your chest collides with his, your mouths nearly touching. Sure, yeah, several of your fights have turned into makeout sessions (whose haven’t?), but he’s never acted like this. Absolutely no apology in the mean, borderline cruel way his long fingers wrap around your arm and force your hand to his half-hard cock beneath his cargo pants. "What do you think? Big enough for you?"
All the air floods out of the room.
Fuck, it is big. Definitely big enough to back up any bullshit he spews. Big enough to make your mouth water and that’s not the only thing dripping at the thought of what he must look like fully hard. Hot everywhere all of a sudden, you go to yank your hand away but he grips it harder, grinding into your palm and refusing to drop eye contact.
Even as undeniable lust crawls into your chest and cheeks, you scoff, unable to let him get the upper hand. With your meanest sneer, you cut back. “You’re hard from me yelling at you? Got a shame kink or something?”
“More like I’m looking forward to fucking that attitude out of you,” he growls, one hand wrapping around your throat and shoving you against the wall. You’re not scared. It’s Robby. Of course you’re not scared. You fucking hate each other and you spend an hour laughing with him on FaceTime before bed most nights because you both can't stand being alone and only the other understands. But your heart still drops into your stomach at the darkness in his eyes.
When he puts his hands on your shoulders and pushes you down, onto your knees, something hungry inside of you can’t help but let him.
Robby shoves two fingers into your mouth and coos sarcastically when you instinctively wrap your lips around them, “There you go. Useless brat until she’s got something in her mouth.”
You go to pull off so you can snark something back at him, but he grabs the back of your head with his free hand and gags you on his fingers instead. The gesture goes straight to your cunt, hot shame and arousal pooling in your underwear.
“Oh no you don’t,” he tuts. Then he lets go just long enough to let you catch your breath, tugging his cargos down barely enough to fish his cock out of his boxers. When you once again open your mouth to piss him off, he shakes his head and presses the head of his cock to those pretty lips of yours. “Don’t back down now, princess, I’m sure that big mouth of yours can take it.”
A bead of his precum clings to your lower lip and your tongue flicks out to taste it without your consent. The slightly salty, clean taste lights you on fire. So you open your mouth wider and let him slide his cock over your tongue, secretly savoring that rapturous expression he’s trying to suppress. Then, when you can tell you’ve got the power again, you rake your teeth ever so lightly down his shaft and he looses a pathetic, shaky keen so loud he smacks his hand over his mouth in the middle of it.
He glares down at you and hisses, “Seriously?”
When your eyes twinkle back and you hum in amusement, he looks at you with murder in his eyes, grips his fingers into your hair, and fucks your mouth the way you deserve. The way you were trying to provoke him to. His fat, leaking head slams against the back of your throat and you gag around him as your eyes water as his sharp zipper stings against your chin. But you can take it. That’s what he loves about you. You’ll always take whatever he can throw at you and then give it back just as hard.
Robby watches with a sadistic glee as you settle your weight over your ankles, tilt your head slightly, and give him even better access. As his thrusts pick up speed, barely letting you breathe, he pants, “See? Is this so goddamn hard? Shutting up and letting me take charge for five minutes?”
He expects you to grunt some sort of annoyed disapproval, but you don’t. He notices your expression going calm and placid. Lids heavy, jaw completely limp, body calm. He swallows hard and whispers, half a mean chuckle and half a desperate kind of prayer, “Fuck, you’re really getting off on this, aren’t you?”
You’re too far gone to give any response but a satisfied moan that rockets up his spine. Your drool seeps down his balls and onto your scrub top and he’s never seen anything so gorgeous as this. Then he shoves his booted foot between your legs, the leather creating friction against your inner seam right on your clit, and you whimper. The sound is wet and pathetic and needy with his dick stopping you from being able to express anything coherent. When you start to unthinkingly rub your clothed pussy over his shoe, Robby’s cock pulses.
At the sight of you being so goddamn pretty and submissive instead of driving him insane for once, Robby slows his pace, edging himself over your tongue, and murmurs, “Knew you were a good girl under all that attitude.”
You nod greedily, mind quiet for the first time today as you chase that perfect friction and let him control you. It silences everything that had been pissing you off. With his pleasure tightening up, Robby bites back calling you perfect, baby, just right, so good, angel, fuck. He can’t do that when he’s still simmering from today’s fighting. But he does cup your cheek and brush a tear away with his thumb, the gesture so tender it’s out of place.
And when you gaze up at him through watery lashes, he knows he’s done for.
Not just now. Not just this.
Robby doesn’t ask before he cums in your mouth. You didn’t want him to. You want him to demand everything. His bitterness floods your tongue, pump after pump of it, and you dutifully swallow. There’s so much that some of it dribbles down your chin. Once he’s fully soft, Robby kneels down and, while guiding you back to your feet, licks his own cum from your skin. Then he kisses it back into your mouth, his tongue taking dominance over yours, refusing to let you miss out on even a drop of him.
As your brain turns back on, Robby shakes his head, lets out a sharp breath, and tucks himself back into his pants. He looks at your dreamy expression for a second and chuckles. Then, with a gentle kiss to your cheek, he says, “There we go. I can work with this.”
Your familiar anger climbs back up when he moves even a fraction of a step toward the office door.
“Nope, absolutely the fuck not,” you bite at him. Blocking his exit, you point at the carpet. “Get on your back on the floor. We aren’t done here, Michael.”
When he realizes what you’re asking for – demanding, expecting – his knees weaken. Butting heads be damned, he’s definitely thought about those thighs smothering him before, especially when you put another doctor in their place instead of him. So, with wide, blown-black eyes, he lays back obediently, the anticipation making his soft cock twitch, debating how long it needs to come back to life.
You hastily kick out of your scrub bottoms and panties, toss them aside, and jokingly shove the center of his chest as you drop down into his lap. “Now who’s pathetic? On my disgusting office floor waiting to be used like a sex toy.”
“Oh, fuck you,” Robby tries with an eye roll, not convincing at all, “I could get right up and leave you-”
You shove his chest hard this time. So he falls flat on his back. You watch his pupils dilate and his lips part as red crawls into the apples of his cheeks. “That’s more like it. Big bad Doctor Robinabitch just needs to be manhandled.”
All he can do is nod and mutter, “yeah, maybe,” eyes locked to your juicy thighs as you crawl over him. You settle your knees on either side of his head and memorize the borderline pleading expression on his face when he sees your swollen cunt. You’re absolutely glistening because of him. You don’t even pretend you’re worried about breaking his nose or crushing him or whatever you’re ‘supposed’ to do before climbing on a man’s face and riding him like a bronco.
You just demand, “open up,” and drop your weight down onto his waiting mouth. His bear scratches your sensitive inner thighs and his nose nudges the hood of your clit back and- Fuck. Fuck, this isn’t going to take long. Of course Robby’s good with his tongue. He’s so unfairly good at everything. For a second, he takes charge of the moment, wrapping his arms around your hips and eating you out the way he’s dreamed of more times than he’d care to admit. Fuck him for thinking he can just get you off and call it a day. No, you’re taking this.
Without saying anything, you wrench his hands from your waist, pin them above his head, and mount his tongue like you mean it. You keep one hand on his wrists, pushing them hard into the floor, and grab his hair with the other so you cna keep his head tilted at just the right angle. His eyes roll back as he loses the ability to breathe at a regular pace, forced to gasp in air only when you ease up. It’s bliss.
Once you have him where you need him, you find exactly the rhythm you need in no time. Your fingers tighten into his hair, pain zinging from his scalp and down his back harsh enough to make his hips buck. You huff and grunt, “Shut up and take it, you big baby.”
Robby can’t help moaning, which only makes you worse. You rut your clit down on his tongue hard enough that you feel the texture of his tastebuds creating enough roughness to send you to the border of overstimulation right before you cum. You slow your pace ever so slightly when you feel your walls clamping down, working the orgasm out of yourself, so lost in the sensation that you don’t even hear how Robby moans and begs for you to use him to finish. It’s the ridge of his nose and the softness of his lips and the firmness of his tongue and you’re breaking open all over him. You feel your wetness coating his beard as a fresh flood of it comes, thinner and milder and sweeter. Robby groans through your whole orgasm, lapping up your juices until he’s positively drunk.
As you ease off him to sit on his lap, your thighs shake and your chest heaves. Satisfaction weighs heavy in your limbs and you know he feels the same way – spent and placated.
You both stay there, panting, looking at each other, for a few minutes.
There’s the silent understanding that things are different now.
Robby’s eyes soften.
So do yours.
You stand on shaky legs and tug your bottoms back on. He follows right behind.
Then Robby pulls you into a hug. Tight, warm, earnest. You nestle into his chest and breathe him in as he kisses the top of your head. Neither of you speak. What else is there to say?
As he pulls back slightly, arms still around you, Robby cuts you a borderline sheepish gaze. “You know it’s because I respect you, right? The arguing, I mean.”
You roll your eyes. “Shut the fuck up, Michael.”
“I’m being serious.”
“Of course I know that.” You flatten your lips into a line, cross your arms over his chest, and stare him down. “I know that you respect me. You wouldn’t even entertain my arguments if you didn’t. But what you said today was still over the line. You can’t talk to me like that in front of my students. You can’t let them think I get advantages because I have great tits.”
“You’re right.” His eyes flick down to your breasts, wishing he’d had the forethought to get you to take them out during…whatever the hell this was. “On both fronts.”
You give him a little self-satisfied smirk and tell him with your hand on the doorknob, “You can apologize by buying me dinner tonight. I like that new place on seventh.”
He gives a shit-eating grin and raises his eyebrows. “Pretty expensive spot.”
You nod and reply, “You owe me a pretty big apology.”
“Deal.” He leans in, places a downright sweet kiss on your lips, and murmurs, “Can I eat you for dessert?”
You waggle your eyebrows playfully. “Want seconds already?”
He tugs you close by the waist and kisses you hard. “Abso-fucking-lutely.”
“So greedy,” you tease against his lips. When he goes to kiss you again, you dodge him, eyeing him with so much tease in your expression he can hardly stand it. “Say ‘please, doctor.’”
“You fucking brat.” But he can still taste the champagne of your orgasm on his lips and he needs more, plain and simple. He’ll get hungover without another taste. So he puts on a pouty face and does as you ask in a gentle, small voice: “Please, doctor.”
“Now that’s a good boy.” You pat his face affectionately, halfway to a slap. “I’ll wait by that ugly car of yours after handoff.”
He balks. “That ‘ugly car’ is a Bentley.”
You stand on your toes and kiss his forehead “And the fact that you spent six figures on it only makes you look dumber. I’ll see you soon.”
♡ pairing: frank langdon x fem!reader x michael robinavitch
♡ synopsis: during his time off for rehab, frank keeps in contact with you to keep up with the goings-on at ptmc. but when things go from bad to worse—abby threatening divorce & a custody battle over their children, him continually relapsing, & the worry that if he can't get & stay clean, then he may lose his license & job as a whole—he begins to lay his baggage at your feet when he believes you to be all he has left. what begins as you trying to be a good friend ends in you running to robby for help when you begin to fear for your safety due to langdon's obsession.
♡ content: mentions of drug addiction/being high, stalking, codependency, robby is protective, pining!robby, unprotected p in v sex, infidelity
Ding ding
With an exhausted sigh, you roll onto your side, despite already knowing who it is.
With a quiet huff, you throw your hand atop your bedside table and grip the plastic corners of your phone case before sliding the device into bed with you.
Peeking open blurry eyes, you squint at the illuminated glass screen and pull down on the text notification displayed.
You awake?
"God, Langdon, it's almost 2 a.m.," you mumble.
Everything okay?
typing. . .
typing. . .
Just thinking about you.
You groan while pinching the bridge of your nose.
Before Langdon's dismissal due to apparently smuggling patients' prescriptions out of the ED and back home for his own personal use, he, as well as the likes of Robby, Abbot, and McKay, were some of your favorite mentors. And when Frank was sent packing on the road to recovery, you became someone he regularly confided in.
You'd initially thought it was because he missed being at work and just wanted to keep up with the goings-on in the ED. Now, you wonder if it wasn't due to loneliness because things haven't exactly been going well for him.
Between the situation at work, trying and failing at rehab due to continually relapsing, and Abby threatening divorce, as well as taking full custody of their children... Some days, all he seems to do is spiral.
That's where you come in. It began as just the occasional text, then a random phone call, a request for a coffee meetup, and somewhere along the way, contact started bordering on obsessive.
You'll never forget the first morning you woke up to nearly a dozen texts from him—half being apologies for flying off the handle because he was in the middle of a manic episode.
That should've been the moment you blocked his number.
But instead... It's what women are always taught: you must be nice. Put their wellbeing above your own, even to your detriment. They have it so hard, after all. Their feelings are so fragile.
So you forgave him.
Now, here you lie sacrificing sleep for his benefit.
I need to go back to sleep for work tomorrow. Goodnight.
typing. . .
typing. . .
Sorry. Night.
You roll your eyes at his clipped, passive aggressive tone. All because you're not willing to stay up and entertain his feelings.
He shouldn't be talking to you like that anyway, especially given the hour.
Tossing your cell back on the nightstand, you roll onto your side facing away from it in the hopes of drifting off again soon.
You're in the midst of aiding Robby with prepping a patient for a thrombectomy before they're carted off to a specialized suite when your phone vibrates in your pocket.
Frank—that's your first thought now anytime it buzzes or chimes or anything pops up on your screen. Like when a mouse trap snaps, and you're left to assume it's caught a pest in its metal hinges. You don't know until you've checked it
Another buzz and you grit your teeth.
You need to put it on do not disturb at your earliest convenience.
Once the elderly man is deemed fit for travel across the hospital, a team comes shortly after to retrieve and wheel him away. Snapping off your gloves with irritation, you toss them into a waste bin and slip your phone from your pocket with a quiet curse—a sound that surprises Robby when he glances in your direction.
He watches as your thumbs fly across the digital keyboard and a crease knots itself right between your furrowed brows. "Everything alright?"
"It's fine," you snap—still typing.
Crossing his arms, as well as the room itself to reach you, he waits with pursed lips. "Boyfriend problems?"
You snort. "He's married, so not likely." You glance straight ahead, then press the heel of your palm to your forehead in annoyance. "We're not... He's just a friend."
Robby's attempt to skim the tiny text on your screen is futile without his readers on. "Going out on a limb, but did this 'friend' used to work here until quite recently?"
You quickly lock the device before tucking it back away and turning to face him. "He's going through a hard time and just needs someone to talk to."
Robby takes a small step forward, closing the gap between you. "Some particular reason that person needs to be you? And during work hours?"
Vibrate.
You step past him. "It's not a big deal."
"Didn't realize you and Langdon were that close," Robby remarks while following along behind.
Once you've reached your destination of the nurses station, you lean your head back and study the board above. "Frank feels alone right now, and—"
"It's Frank now, huh?" he asks with a surprised, yet humorless chuckle.
You roll your eyes before doing the same with your head, but in his direction. "I feel like you're trying to imply something."
He shrugs before glancing away and watching idly as your coworkers bustle about. "Just seemed like a heated exchange is all."
Robby looks at you again.
You exhale a quite huff of air before stepping away. "I need to grab another patient."
"You need to be careful," he calls after you.
"Always am," you mumble.
It's well past the middle of the day before you get another chance to really check your phone. You did briefly in the restroom and it only had one text from Frank:
FaceTime me during your next break ☀️
You'd raised a brow at the emoji, but didn't respond, deciding to wait like he suggested before you reached out.
Now sitting outside in the sun and fresh air, you sigh, then hold your phone at a distance from atop your knees before calling.
It's on the second ring when he picks up.
"Hey," Frank says with a smile and sleek, tousled hair falling over his brow. With an arm resting beneath his chin, you get a glimpse of a bare shoulder.
"Are you in bed?" you ask nervously.
His brows furrow. "Huh? Oh, yeah. I had a meeting earlier so now I'm just kinda...lazing around."
You nod while glancing away and watch as a pair of birds take flight from a nearby sign.
"Your day okay so far?"
You return your attention to the screen. "So far," you reply. "You asked me to call you. What were you...wanting to talk about?"
Shifting positions, you get a flash of Frank's bare chest before he leans back against the headboard behind him. "Just wondering if you wanted to grab dinner after your shift." He smiles. "My treat. I can pick you up when you get off, take you out, then bring you back."
You blink a couple times. "And talk about what?" you ask warily, already feeling like this is a bad idea.
He smiles softly. "Whatever you want, sweetheart."
A frown tugs at your lips. "You shouldn't call me that."
He chuckles. "What if I told you that's what I have your name saved as in my phone?"
Your eyes flit between his. "I would say that that's inappropriate."
He huffs and rolls his eyes. "I'm kidding, Jesus."
You kick a pebble with the toe of your shoe. "After work I usually just like to go home and take a shower." Your eyes flit back to the screen. "Get something to eat, then—"
"Look, you're gonna eat anyway, so let me take care of dinner tonight. Less dishes for you to wash," he remarks with a grin.
You shift in your seat. "I don't know that your wife would like that."
He snorts flippantly. "Well, getting her opinion would require her actually talking to me." Frank looks at his phone again. "I could always call her? Ask what she thinks? Maybe give her your number. I mean, the two of you could compare notes about me and—"
You throw your head back and groan in irritation, which earns you a laugh.
"So what'd'ya say? I won't have you out long. Hour or less. Promise."
You chew the inside of your lip.
"C'mon," he insists softly. "It's the least I can do to repay how good you've been to me since all this crap started."
"Just trying to be a good friend," you mumble.
"So am I," Frank states quietly.
This is a chance for you to seize. Being face-to-face, you'll have a better chance of getting through to him that the late-night texts need to stop, as do the pet names. And that he needs to put just as much effort into maintaining meaningful contact with Abby. That while you have no problem being his friend, he needs to lean heavily on his sponsor instead. It isn't...right to put it all on you—fellow medical professional or not.
"Okay," you relent with a nod. "But just for a little while."
He practically beams. "I'll be waiting for you in the parking lot at the end of your shift."
"There she is," Frank says with a smile while popping open the passenger side door of his vehicle.
Unlocking the trunk of your own, you quickly toss your pack inside before slamming it shut again and relocking it.
Even as you're sinking inside, Frank can't help himself from sliding a palm down your arm.
"So," you begin while pulling your ice water toward you. "What were you wanting to talk about?"
Frank leans back and you watch as a small smile plays on his lips. "Whatever you want."
You release a quiet exhale through your nose. Ok, fine. Works for you anyway. Just when you go to open your mouth, however, the waitress returns with your respective meals: a cheeseburger with all the fixings for him and grilled cheese sandwiches with creamy tomato soup for you.
You grant the woman a quiet thanks and a sweet smile, then take a bite of one of your buttery sandwiches before speaking. "I'd like for the late night texts to stop," you say gently.
Frank's brows knit together and he plops his burger back onto his plate before wiping his hands with a few cheap brown napkins.
"Just...nothing after 9 p.m., okay? It doesn't feel appropriate."
He crosses his arms. "That a rule for all your friends, or just me?"
Him getting defensive took a shorter amount of time than you thought it would. "Frank, I'm not trying to hurt you. It means something to me that I'm someone you feel safe in confiding in, but boundaries have to start being set. The same goes for my breaks. I only get a couple small chances during my workday to decompress for a moment before going back to it, and I prefer not to spend it on the phone. The ED is hectic enough as it is, and not being able to get a breather in because I'm FaceTiming or on a call doesn't help the matter."
A muscle in his jaw ticks. "Anything else?"
"No more pet names." You debate tacking on something about no more in-person meetups as well, but are unsure about it. Ones that're late like this one feel more akin to dates, which you're absolutely not alright with, but being on dayshift... Eating a late meal is really your only option, in terms of going out for food.
Frank rolls his eyes and shakes his head before taking a sip of his Coke.
"I want to be your friend. One who's there for you to confide in, but this is starting to feel like dependency at times. I mean, the night that you spammed me with texts—"
He suddenly slams his hand off the table and it causes the dishes to rattle and you to jump, as well as other customers to glance in your direction.
You sink down in your seat from embarrassment.
"I wasn't myself that night, alright? I was—"
"Using?" you interrupt. "I have to be able to rest for work."
He snorts. "Work, work, work." He deadpans. "Because you really think that place gives a shit about you? That Robby does?"
"Robby is the only reason you were put on leave to get clean instead of having your license revoked as a whole," you say while doing your utmost to keep your tone level. "So, yes, I think it's safe to say that he does indeed care."
He blows a raspberry and your temper climbs another notch from the immature gesture.
"You need to talk to Abby," you say quietly. "She's not the one who did wrong, so the obligation is on you to reach out to her. She's your wife. You have two little ones together. You need to fight for your family. For yourself."
He glares at you for a moment, then picks up his burger again, signaling that the conversation has clearly come to an end.
The remainder of dinner was a silent affair, with you replaying every word you spoke to him on repeat in your head, wondering if maybe you'd been too hard, or had overthought things he's done, and thus had an overreaction. He's delicate right now, isn't he? What if tonight only makes him worse; sends him spiraling? Gives him cause to feel all alone again?
"I really do care about you," you tell him with care. "But I'm not a sponsor—someone who's equipped to know how to handle the throws of addiction. I just...feel overwhelmed at times. I'm terrified I'm going to do or say something, and then you'll get worse and it'll be my fault."
His shoulders loosen, as well as his grip on the steering wheel. "I'm sorry if contact from me has felt excessive. I just... I don't really have anybody else to lean on." Reaching over, he settles a hand atop your knee and gives it a gentle squeeze. "Which is why I need you right now."
You speak once he's returned his hand to the wheel. "The people in NA—"
"They don't know me like you do," he states with a shake of his head. "I mean, how many of them, if I shot them a text at 2 a.m., would've answered right away?"
You knew you made a mistake in doing so.
"You're all I have for the time being. And if Abby follows through with divorce—"
"She won't," you interrupt. "I'm sure she's just saying that because she wants to know that you'll do everything you can to fight for her and the family you've created together."
He shrugs. "Or they'd be better off."
You frown. "None of them will. Tanner and Penny need their father. Abby needs her husband. And PTMC needs its doctor back. Frank, I want to see you succeed in every way possible. But you have to want it for yourself for it to happen."
He clicks on his turn signal and makes a right into PTMC's parking lot. "I just don't know if I can get through the first year, which everyone keeps telling me is the hardest. Just one week is bad enough."
"You're going to fall off the wagon," you say while unbuckling your seatbelt as he pulls up next to your car. "But what counts is whether you make the effort to get back on it."
Once he's parked and switched off the engine, he unbuckles as well, so you stay rooted to the spot incase there's something else he wishes to discuss.
"I just... I need to know that you're not going anywhere. Because some days," he says while turning toward you. "It feels like you're all I have left. I can't..." he extends a trembling hand toward you and cups your cheek tenderly. "Sweetheart, I can't lose you, too."
You swallow thickly, then swipe your bag from between your feet. "Okay, I think I need to get out now."
Dropping his hand, Frank turns and quickly locks your door from his side. "I just need you to listen to me. Five minutes, that's all I need," he explains in a rush of words while leaning over the center console.
You keep your eyes trained on him while sliding your hand along the door behind you in desperate search of the handle. "Frank—"
"Baby, just listen to me."
"H-Have you been using tonight?" you question while reeling back.
"I took a little something before I left the house." He shakes his head while taking your face between his hands. "It's not a big deal. If you just kiss me, you'll know. You'll feel what I do. It's not all in my fucking head, I know it."
You shove against his chest, but it's futile as he continues to lean in closer and closer.
And then you decide to scream. "Let me out! Now! Let me out of the fucking car!" you shout while slamming your bag against his dash. "Unlock the doors, Frank!"
"Fine! Fine! Jesus!"
Turning swiftly around, he clicks to release the locks, and you stumble out of the car a moment later.
He throws himself across the seat you've just vacated. "Listen, I'm sor—"
His apologies are cut short when you slam the door in his face and unlock your own vehicle with violently trembling hands before sinking inside and immediately locking the door behind you.
You don't even bother with your seatbelt before tearing out of the parking lot to race home.
"Hey," a familiar voice croons from behind you while a large palm is pressed to the small of your back.
You shriek and drop everything which was previously cradled in your arms and ready to be stored away in your employee locker and watch as it clatters to the floor. Swinging around with wide, searching eyes, you sigh when you see that it's only Robby.
"You alright?" he asks while kneeling with a groan before scooping up your personal belongings and handing them up to you.
You nod feebly. "Yes. Fine," you reply while hanging up a thin jacket, followed by a small backpack.
Standing again, he crosses his arms, watching as you wrap your stethoscope around your neck. "I come and find you every morning and that's never been your reaction. Hardly seem fine. Somethin' happen last night, or on your way here?"
Him showing concern is enough to open the floodgates you otherwise thought you'd put a pretty solid barricade over last night before going to sleep, which took you rather long to find as you tossed and turned—trying your very best, and subsequently failing, to calm your body's panicked response after earlier events in the evening.
You click your locker shut and shake your head while blinking away tears, because if you open your mouth, all he's getting in response is an ugly cry.
You go to step past, until Robby grabs you gently by the forearm. "Hey, talk to me."
So much for trying.
Burying your face in your hands, you start to cry. Full-on sobbing which wracks through your body and leaves you gasping for air.
Taking you gently into his arms, Robby winds them around you while you burrow into the safety his chest provides.
He presses his lips to the crown of your head and murmurs against it. "What happened, honey? Tell me what's got you so tore up this morning."
You shake your head. "Not here," you mumble while fisting his black scrub shirt in your fists.
"Let me take you somewhere that we can talk privately, then."
Now standing under the bright sun, which is covered only by a few fluffy clouds that float lazily past, you gaze across the city of Pittsburgh in all its bustling glory.
Robby is meanwhile busy watching a video on your phone which was recorded last night on your outdoor camera.
"He was out there for two fucking hours?" he hisses in disbelief before glancing up to you.
You nod. "Maybe he... Maybe he meant to scare me because I jilted him." You shake your head. "I don't know. Like I told you about all the texts and calls, it's not the first time his behavior has bordered on obsessive—"
Robby pushes off the railing. "Sweetheart, we're far past that. This?" He says while shaking your phone before planting it in your palm. "Is stalking."
You pocket the device.
"He tried to force himself on you after you made clear how uncomfortable he's made you, and then he sat outside your house for hours in the middle of the night. I think you have more than enough cause to file a police report at this point."
You shake your head so hard that it makes you dizzy. "No, Robby, I-I can't do that. This isn't him. He's not himself right now, and you know that. It's why you didn't report him yourself." You wave your hand. "Me doing something so drastic and reactionary could jeopardize not just his recovery, but his entire life: his marriage, custody—"
"Well," Robby says with a dramatic shrug. "Maybe he should've considered that before he locked you in his car, and, now, made you fear for your safety in your own home."
You sigh and throw your head back. "I didn't tell you because I wanted to give him a criminal record." You lower your chin. "I just...wanted to confide in someone."
He takes a few small steps forward.
"I want to believe that he's going to beat his addiction and get his life back on track. I have no interest in preventing it. Not when—when he was here—he was so helpful toward me and my education."
"I think you've more than repaid that kindness," he states while crossing his arms. "Don't you?"
Worried that he won't stop until he's pressured you into making a trip down to the local precinct, or at least into talking to Ahmad, you turn on your heel to head in the other direction.
"Alright," he says, yielding to your refusal. "We let it go for now. But if he does it again, then you really need to consider going a step further by filing a report. Otherwise, it's not going to stop. If anything, you'd be putting yourself at risk of things getting worse by allowing him to get away with it."
You shift from one foot to the other. "I'll think about it. In the meantime," you say while turning to head back down. "I packed a bag for a couple nights. I plan to wait a few hours before I book a room because I'm not sure yet, but I may stay at a hotel tonight, just to be safe."
"You shouldn't have to do that," Robby comments while following along behind you.
"Just for a night or two," you reassure.
Once you've opened the door to the stairwell, he holds it in place. "I have a guest room."
You pause, then turn back to him.
"You're more than welcome to use it."
A smile of thanks graces your lips. "I appreciate that, Robby. A lot. But—"
He shakes his head. "No 'buts'. It'll save you a few hundred, and make me feel better by knowing where you are. It's why I have it in the first place. I thought..." he nervously scratches the back of his head. "I thought I'd get use out of it when I got married someday. In-laws, or a bedroom for one my kids. Some place friends could stay if they visited during the holidays."
He doesn't look at you when he attempts a shrug of indifference. Attempts, because you know it bothers him, even if he's trying to pretend otherwise.
His eyes flit to yours. "Tonight after your shift, follow me home and you can crash there. For however long you need."
"This is important to you?" you question, wanting to make sure he doesn't feel somehow obligated to do this. You obviously understand a desire for privacy, especially in the moment, and you don't want to interrupt his.
He cups your cheek while nodding. "This is important to me."
Never ever ever, in your wildest dreams, did you think you'd so much as visit your attending's house, and now here you stand in the guest room right next to his own, turning down the bed after a shower.
You've expended effort to memorize every moment that you've been alone with him tonight. From standing at his back while he unlocked the front door, to taking inventory of his personal living space—which includes a considerable record collection that you pointed out, which he replied to with a humble shrug and a mumbled "Just wish I had more time to listen to 'em"—and even curiously sorting through his soaps in the shower.
It'd felt so intimate holding his razor in your hand before setting it back down and lathering yourself with a washcloth that you couldn't help but think about Robby using on himself.
Now washed and brushed and ready for bed, you're dressed only in panties, socks, and an over-sized t-shirt as you turn down the queen-size bed provided.
You're unaware, but there he stands behind you, leaning against the doorway with a small, satisfied smile which quickly morphs into pursued lips as you bend over to throw the covers back, thus granting him a generous view of your backside before your shirt slips back into place.
"Anything else you need before we both turn in for the night?" he asks quietly.
You turn back to Robby with a smile and a shake of your head. "I think I'm okay. I don't imagine I'll be doing much sleeping, anyway."
He raises a brow of interest. "Oh?"
"I'll probably spend the next few hours battling racing thoughts," you explain. As well as continually checking security cameras on your phone...
Robby considers, but fleetingly. "Would it make you feel safer to sleep next to me instead?"
Just as you're about to slip into bed, you turn back to him. A barrage of thoughts journey through your head in the blink of an eye.
Does he want that for reasons other than just making you feel safe? Why does your safety mean so much to him, anyway? Is he truly hoping you'll say yes? What is this dynamic between you, exactly? Does he see you more like a child, or a woman needing a man's protection? Is sleeping all Robby would intend for the two of you to do?
Of course it is! He doesn't adore you the way you have him since the first day you met. Shameful truth admitted? If roles were shifted, and it was him stalking you, the advances wouldn't be quite so unwanted... But you can't say such a terrible thing. No, it must remain strictly in your head.
"I wouldn't want to keep you up," is your expertly planned reply, whereas your heart and mind are both enthusiastically screaming 'Yes, now's your chance! Screw his brains out! Make him yours at last!'
You busy yourself with fluffing a pillow. "I'd ruin your sleep by tossing and turning all night."
Robby takes a small step forward, causing wooden floorboards to creak beneath his weight. "Rather you do it beside me."
Tossing the pillow back down, you go to speak again to refuse one last time, knowing he's just trying to be kind, until he twines his fingers between your own and tugs you along to his room. "C'mon, you'll feel safer with me sleeping next to you."
He keeps staring at you. Maybe he thinks you don't notice because you're turned onto your back while he's otherwise turned onto his side, but you do. You're aware of everything he does. Constantly.
Even just the whisper of his voice sends your mind afloat and your body abuzz.
Does that make you a stalker? You roll your eyes at the ridiculous thought.
You only spy on him in various trauma bays...sometimes.
"What're you thinking about?" he rumbles.
The fact that you're lying beside me entirely naked, save for a pair of briefs which I wish you'd take off, too.
With an arm thrown over your forehead, you shrug. "Everything."
He chuckles, then slides a hand all the way up your arm that's resting at your side until it's come to settle just under the cuff of your t-shirt. "Sounds like you've got a lot going on in there." A pause. "Any of it about Langdon?"
You nod.
He brushes his thumb over your skin. "You think about him a lot?"
Your brow twitches. "All the time."
His lips tug into a frown. "Is that why, then? That you're trying so hard to protect him? Because you have feelings for him?"
You smile at such a silly thought and shake your head. "No, I don't. I just want to see him succeed as a friend and coworker. He's someone I greatly admired in the ED, and I thought he, Abby, and their children made such a sweet family." You roll your head to the side to look at Robby. "Him, the prestigious doctor, and she the sweet stay-at-home mother with two little ones, a pretty house, and a dog."
"You're a good friend," he whispers.
"Maybe too good," you reply.
"That something you want? A family?"
You nod slowly. "I do. But with our schedules... How our lives revolve around work makes even attempting to find someone difficult. On my days off, the last thing I want to waste my time with is a dead-end first date. So I do literally anything else while telling myself that the right one will come along when he's meant to."
"I thought I'd have one by now," he murmurs. "A wife to come home to. Kids grown up and off to college—living their own lives. Hell, maybe even a grandkid or two... At least on the way."
You turn fully onto your side and he lies his hand between the two of you, which you rest your own atop of. "You could live another fifty years, Robby. You could still have that. I know people think otherwise, but so long as people try to take care of themselves, seventy doesn't have to be that old. You can still have a family; children you get to watch grow up."
He forces a smile, then cups your cheek while brushing the pad of his thumb over the apple of it. "I was jealous, y'know? Of the attention you'd been giving Langdon."
Your brows furrow. "What? Why?"
His smile slowly falters, but the way he's touching you doesn't. "Maybe I thought..." He sighs. "I'm sorry. I don't want to be another superior who crosses a line. That's the reason you're here in the first place."
Is he... Is he coming onto you? You've spent so long continually beating yourself over the head with the thought that he would never so much as glance twice in your direction, and yet here you lie in his bed where he seems unable to not touch you.
"Tell me," you whisper. "Please."
"You're in my house, sweetheart. My bed. What does that tell you about how I feel?"
You're practically buzzing with excitement and eagerness to climb atop him and shower him in affectionate kisses, all while telling him that you'd be more than willing to give him all those things he's seemingly convinced himself that it's too late for him to have now.
You're crazy about him, but if you go off the deep end, you'll scare him away by morphing into Langdon 2.0.
You scoot closer and press your palms against his belly while gently kneading the soft swell of it. "Do you have any idea," you begin breathlessly, since your heart is now pounding. "How elated I was when you invited me to come stay with you?"
A look of surprise paints his aging features. "Really?"
You grin while nodding. You cautiously slide your hand upward, through the smattering of dark hair that covers the planes of his stomach and chest. "All I ever wanted was your attention."
Robby moves his hand to the crown of your shoulder, then down your waist. "You've had it, sweetheart. The whole time."
Sliding your fingers into the coarse, scratchy trimmings of his beard, you can't stop yourself from giggling in exhilaration.
"You're far more interested than I thought," he states while carefully repositioning himself atop you, ready for you to withdraw.
Instead, you spread your legs to grant him plentiful room between them.
You throw an arm around the back of his neck while cupping his cheek in your other hand. "You have no idea," you sigh while lifting your hips, wanting him to undress you.
He leans down and fully settles his weight atop you, and you moan when his belly pushes you further into the mattress. Kissing your cheek, you can't keep yourself from smiling like a love-crazed teenager who's hot for teacher.
"You asked me to tell you," he groans against your ear. "So now it's your turn."
You shudder when he slips a calloused hand beneath your shirt. "What if I ruin it?" you sigh while throwing your calves over his own.
He finally presses his lips to yours. "You won't."
He says that now...
It'll scare him off, and then this perfect moment will be over. You'll lose him before you even have him. Just the thought makes you want to burst into tears.
"I'm scared," you whisper before kissing him back.
"Of?" he inquires while pushing your shirt to just beneath your chin so he can suckle at your nipples.
God, you're in Heaven.
"You stopping. Or...losing you."
He plants a kiss between your breasts. "You won't. So, tell me."
He moves his palm up your forearm before twining his fingers between your own.
Throwing your head back, your eyes flutter closed. "I think I'm in love with you."
His cock stirs, so he hooks a thumb under the waistband of his briefs. "Say that again if you want me inside of you," he rasps.
"I love you," you cry while holding tightly to him.
Robby doesn't even consider protection before sinking between your thighs.
The following morning comes far too early for you both. One time hadn't been nearly enough, so he insisted the two of you keep going until he could no longer maintain an erection. Three orgasms later, and he was finally spent while you lied there crying tears of joy as he leaked out of you and down your thighs.
You'd curled up against his body—literally trying to get as close to him as you possibly could—before drifting into a deep and peaceful slumber.
You had felt so, so safe in his arms and against his brawny chest.
And just as you slipped off to sleep, you could've swore you heard the sentiment returned: I've loved you from the first.
First what you didn't catch. Time you met? Time he looked at you? Spoke to you? All those were on the same day.
You suppose all that matters is that the feeling is returned.
When Robby's alarm sounds, you stir quietly, but don't rise. Neither does he, instead choosing to savor the moment of your limbs twined tightly around his like you're afraid of letting go. When he wakes you, it's with a kiss and an offer of a shared shower. Something you easily accept. Before washing, you stand beneath the hot, steamy water, merely holding yourself to him while telling him over and over again how happy you are.
At least with the water running, you can't make out the tears he sheds.
The two of you manage a discussion on the way to work—in his truck, no less, as he insisted on driving. You had nervously started it by already trying to roll back last night incase he felt regretful because it'd just been the heat of the moment for him. Until he reached across the center console and took your hand while reassuring you that while this may be brand new, and that you may each be unaware of the exact direction that it'll lead, he wants nothing more than to find out along with you.
So you'd held quietly to his hand for the remainder of the ride while your skin tingled from the lingering effects of his touch, including a pleasant ache between your thighs where you'd held him.
A handful of people seem to notice that something is different. At one point, Dana even makes a comment that you seem to be glowing, coupled with a knowing look in Robby's direction, but you had merely smiled and said that maybe it was the good weather.
When Cassie finds Robby staring at you for a moment longer than usual—which is truly saying something—she simply walks away with an amused grin and a playful shake of her head.
Your walking on air is cut short during your afternoon break, however, when you go outside for a bit of respite, only to run smackdab into the unexpected presence of Frank.
"I need to talk to you," he insists while holding tightly to your arms.
You stutter for a reply, but because he's taken you entirely by surprise, your mind is lagging the least bit behind as you pulls you further from the ambulance bay's sliding doors.
"F-Frank, what're you—"
He takes your face between his hands and when your eyes stare into his, which are glossed over with pinned pupils, your heart sinks. "Are you high?" you ask in disbelief.
"Doesn't matter," he mutters with a shake of his head. "I need you and I cannot lose you, okay? You are the only one who sees me. Who gets me. Sweetheart, I love y—"
"Hey!" Robby shouts before gripping him by the back of his t-shirt and tossing him to the side. "You get the hell away from her!"
Shoving you behind him, Robby stations himself squarely between the two of you.
Frank goes to advance toward you again, until Robby shoves him back once again, causing him to stumble. "I cannot believe that you would show up here of all places in this kind of fucking shape, Langdon."
Frank seethes. "Get out of my way. This doesn't concern you, Robby."
You consider making a run for it to get Ahmad to come outside and stop this before something terrible happens.
"You're damn right it does. She told me what you've been up to. Calling at all hours, coming onto her, sitting outside her goddamn house at night?" he asks incredulously. "You can't be that far gone that you think what you're doing is appropriate."
"She's the only thing I have fucking left!" Frank yells while gesturing toward you. "What's the problem, Robby? I have something that you never will? Huh? That it?"
If only he knew...
"Yeah," he says while coming closer with a malicious grin. "I've seen the way you look at her. Pulling her off other cases so she can be with you all day. You just couldn't wait to get me out of the way, could you?"
Keeping one arm behind himself and around your waist, you press yourself against Robby's back in fright.
"If I wanted you gone, Frank, I would've gone to the medical board. But I didn't, did I? Instead, I gave you a second chance. Seeing how that's going, maybe I made a mistake."
He leans in toward him. "You need to think about what means more to you: your family, job, and right to practice medicine, or her. Because you only get to choose one."
Frank's eyes flit to his. "Because if somebody posed the same choice to you, you'd have such an easy time picking. Then again, I guess you don't have to worry about the family part, given that you don't have any to lose." He sneers. "You can't keep me away from her."
"Watch me," Robby spits. "You ever come near her again—you ever put your fucking hands on her again—and I'll destroy what's left of your pathetic life. I'll go to the Medical Board, help her file a protective order, and testify in court on her behalf of how you've given her cause to fear for her safety. That'll put one hell of a wrench in staving off losing custody of your kids, won't it?"
You peek from around him while clutching at his hoody.
Frank tries to reach out to you, but Robby bats his hand away. "Go home, Frank. Get the hell out of here before I call security to have you arrested. Now!"
He takes a small step back, knowing that he's on the losing side. "I'm not giving up on us, baby. I know what I want."
Frank makes a reluctant turn and stumbles his way back to the parking lot.
Once he's out of sight, you collapse in Robby's arms in a heap of regretful sobs, feeling like this is your fault.
After the day of the confrontation, you were forced to change your number because Frank's constant contact became so excessive. He never showed up outside of your house again, at least, nor did he appear at work, much to your relief. So, for awhile you were left in the dark as to what was occurring in his life you'd once been so enmeshed in.
Things become easier before long without the stresses of his sobriety resting upon your shoulders.
With your mind back to focusing strictly on work, the only difficult part of your days becomes unruly patients, and your evenings center wholly around Robby—the center of your world.
You begin spending most nights at his place, until he finally poses the offer you had thought too good for you to ever hear: he wanted you to share his home; his bed; his life.
And you continue lovemaking without the hindrance of prophylactics. You never have a discussion about it, as it's just an unspoken agreement between you.
You're both teased about your longing looks, and lingering touches—by Jack most of all—but...you're both so very happy, so you're willing to take it in stride.
And then there's the inevitable: talk of Langdon returning so many months later.
Robby makes clear to you that he wants to you maintain a healthy distance from him, at least initially until he proves himself worth trusting again, and that if he ever touches you or makes unwanted advances again, you are to report straight to him and he'll take every step necessary to make it stop.
But to Langdon's credit, his return is rather unremarkable. There's awkwardly exchanged glances, but he doesn't trail after you or corner you by the lockers or in the restroom like you worried about the first few days.
The first time he speaks to you is almost two weeks later, in the employee lounge.
"Hey," he says weakly from the table shoved against the left wall.
With a protein shake now in-hand, you turn back to him while nervously eyeing the door. "Hey..."
Flashing his palms, he gestures that he means you no harm. "I wanted to apologize. I mean, I wanted to the first day I got back, but thought maybe I should give it a little while. Let you have your space."
You finger the plastic wrap around the bottle you hold.
"I wasn't myself. Yes, I knew what I was doing, and I knew that it was wrong, but the benzos..." he sighs and shakes his head. "I've been clean for awhile now. Every day is an uphill battle, but that day out in the ambulance bay... It was a wake-up call. I hope you know that it wasn't entirely about you. It was about me being selfish."
You toy with the twist-off cap on the bottle.
"I'm so sorry that I ever scared you. I hate myself for it. For that, for the way I hurt my wife, disrespected my family and myself..."
He glances up to you after studying his hands for a moment. "I don't expect you to forgive me. I don't know that I'm even asking for it. I just wanted to apologize. Try and make amends if I even can at this point. You were there for me at my lowest point and instead of being grateful, I took advantage. I'm so sorry that I did."
You take a small step forward. "Maybe I will in time." You twist the cap all the way off, then tighten it again. "Did you tell Abby?"
He nods. "Everything. I came so close to losing her because of it. But if I'm going to hold myself accountable, then no more lies. Y'know?"
You nod. "I'm glad that it seems like things are on the mend for you."
He nods toward the doorway, where the ED lies. "You, too. I mean about you and Robby." He hangs his head. "I drove you right into his arms, didn't I?"
You chew your lip. "Sorta. It might've happened anyway. At least something good came out of it," you say with a light chuckle.
He lifts his head again and forces a smile. "The two of you seem happy."
"We are," you confirm. "We... We live together now. And we're trying."
His brows furrow. "Trying for..." he nods. "Ah. That."
You turn toward the doorway. "Well, I should probably..."
Just as you're about to step over the threshold, he rises. "Just so you know—"
You turn around.
"It wasn't... The way I felt wasn't entirely due to the drugs."
You frown slightly. "Have you told that to—"
He runs a hand through his black tresses. "She wasn't happy to hear it, I can tell you that much."
You waver on your feet, unsure of how to craft a response.
"I don't know if that makes things better or worse, but it was something I felt like I should let you know."
You force a smile. "Thank you for being honest."
He sits again. "I'll let you get back to it, then."
"See you around," you say with an awkward wave before finally turning to leave.
