A check-up. That's all you need to do. It should be simple, in and out.
You didn't want to be on Robby duty. In fact, you begged not to be. You try to steer clear of Robby on a good day, let alone one where he's been doused by some experimental, sexy, street drug. Hell, you don't even like dealing with the horny-drug patients when they're not your hot boss.
But Dana asked Mel to do it, and you owe Mel a favor, so now you're the one to suffer.
You knock twice, announcing yourself, and after a five-count, you push the door open. The curtain is pulled around the bed, giving Robby the privacy he needs. You stop just along the edge, fingers gripping the fabric tightly. The air in the room is thick, and you try not to notice how much it smells of sex.
"Dr. Robby?" You caution. "May I come in?"
A quiet curse is followed by fabric rustling. Then, "Yeah."
Pushing past the curtain, you're met by a very shirtless and very aroused Robby. Your eyes widen at how the blanket over his lap tents around his, evidently, hard cock.
You've seen this in half a dozen other patients under the influence of the same substance. And you're an adult, it's not like an aroused man is new. Still, something about seeing Robby like this makes your head spin.
Robby seems to catch onto your discomfort, because he grabs the edge of the blanket, lifting it to shroud his length from you. "Sorry," he says sheepishly.
"No need to apologize," you assure. Swallowing, you add, "It's my turn to see how you're doing."
"Ah. Okay," Robby lets his head fall back. "Give it to me straight, doc."
"You make it sound like you're dying."
"Maybe I am."
You bite back a smile, "Wait 'til it's Langdon's turn to check on you before doing that."
You take the moment of levity to observe Robby physically. Pulling his chart up on the computer, you note his visual symptoms. Flushed skin, heavy breathing, muscle tension.
"How are you feeling, Dr. Robby?"
"Bad."
He shifts on the bed. You swear you can spot his hips thrust, and when you find Robby starting at you (as you stare at him), you glue your eyes to the computer screen.
You continue questioning him, "Any pain?"
"Yes."
"On a scale from one to—"
"Seven," Robby gasps.
Your head snaps over. Robby is just as he was before, though perhaps squirming more. This time, you keep your eyes on his face and not those hips that are, decidedly, thrusting now.
"Seven?" You echo, frowning. That's awfully high for someone who was dosed well over five hours ago. Around this time, patients typically experience a decrease in pain. "Are you sure?"
"Really fucking sure." Robby digs his hands into the mattress gripping the sheets like his life depends on it. The tent between his legs jostles, bobbing slightly with every thrust of his hips. Heat rises to your face when, thanks to a definitely accidental glance, you spot a small wet patch near where his tip should be.
"Uh, okay," you nod, logging out of the computer. "Dr. Robby, I'm going to have to check your vitals. Is that alright?"
When Robby nods, you get to work. Your head is spinning, trying to figure out what's wrong with him while simultaneously coping with the fact that Robby's noises of discomfort are starting to sound a lot more pleasured than not.
You put on your stethoscope, "Lean forward for me?"
Robby moves instantly, draping over himself with a soft whine. You listen to his breathing like that. While his respiration rate is elevated, there's nothing of concern.
"Your lungs sound fine," you say, returning your stethoscope to its home around your neck. "I'm going to find Dr. Al-Hashimi, see if she has any insight."
"Don't," Robby shakes his head. He drops the blanket to swipe his hands across his face. From the corner of your eye, his bobbing cock taunts you. "Just discharge me. It'll take care of itself."
"Dr. Robby, I would love to discharge you, but I'm afraid this could be a bigger issue."
"It's not. Discharge me."
You purse your lips, "No can do. Not until we know what's wrong."
"Nothing's wrong."
"Well, according to your pain level of seven, something is—"
"I can't come." Robby whines, hands flying between his legs to squeeze his covered length, "Fuck! I can't— haven't been able to since... shit. I'm sorry." Robby shakes his head, "That's unprofessional. I— I apologize."
Ignoring his apology, you press, "You can't come?" The doctor-wheels in your head are turning now. "Why?"
“I don’t know,” he admits.
“That’s not good,” you press the back of your hand to Robby’s overheated forehead. He gasps.
“I know.”
“That’s probably why you’re still in pain.”
“I know.”
You take your hand back, putting it on your hip as you think. As you observe him, Robby shifts. His hands shift slightly, and you’re reminded that he’s still holding his somewhat-covered cock.
Following your gaze, Robby cringes, “I’m sorry. It just…”
“Hurts, I would imagine,” you finish for him. “No need to apologize.”
“Thanks… thanks…” Robby nods, closing his eyes. His throat bobs as he swallows, “Do you mind if I…?” He vaguely picks up his cock and shakes it. Your stomach does a flip.
“I have more questions for you.”
“I know.”
Your face heats. Before you can realize how bad of an idea it is, you say, “Please do.”
You try not to look. And fail. Even as you log into the computer in the far end of the room to resume charting, Robby doesn’t evade your field of view. You see it all, from the way he slowly lowers the blanket to the way his large hand wraps around his thick shaft.
“Um,” your hands shake as you type. “How’s your pain now?”
Robby’s pace is relentless. You cringe at the thought that he’s been going at this for hours now, abusing his poor cock, utterly helpless to the substance coursing though his veins, one he hadn’t wanted in the first place.
“The same,” he rasps.
“Oh,” you say simply. After a beat, you add, “Are you… do you think you’re close?”
Robby bites his lips, which you see because you are now openly staring at him. He doesn’t mind though, not if the way he’s staring at you with dark eyes is any indication.
“Maybe. I dunno.” His tip weeps, with fat drops of pre-cum dribbling down his cock to be spread by his fist. It’s a lot of release, enough to act as plentiful lubrication for his pleasure. Or, lack thereof.
“You don’t know?” You press.
“No, I— I don’t. I think—“ Robby closes his mouth, groaning behind his lips. He stops stroking himself, squeezing his tip harshly. “I think I need help.”
You blink.
"Help?"
"Please," Robby begs. His plea is undercut by the rhythmic thap of his pleasure. "I can't take it. I need to come. I need to come right now. Please!"
"Shit," you glance at the chart one last time before logging out of the computer. "Fine, okay. Don't worry. Just... just relax."
Robby is still stroking himself when you arrive at his bedside. His bloodshot eyes find yours.
"Are you sure, Dr. Robby?" You ask, biting your lip.
"Please," he croaks. "I need y— it."
Here goes nothing.
You don’t get very far once your hand is around his cock, not much further beyond the recognition that Robby’s cock is hot, shockingly so. But after a small handful— pun intended —strokes, Robby starts to writhe on the bed.
“Fuck, just like that! Ah, yeah, baby,” his hips jerk. In an instant, Robby is painting your hand in thick, warm cum. “Yes, yes, thank you. Thank you!” He moans, babbling your praise as his orgasm tears through him.
You're reduced to the ability to merely watch him, observing almost technically as he moves though pleasure. Robby is slow to come back to reality, and when he does, his cock is still hard in your hands. You reluctantly release him, watching as his cock falls to the side, resting still-erect on his thigh.
"How's the pain?" You eventually ask.
Robby laughs, but the way his hand finds his cock again doesn't go unnoticed. "A five."
You bite your lip, nodding, "Good. I'll be back in an hour to see if there are any changes."
Biting back a moan as he strokes himself again, Robby asks, "What if it doesn't?"
"If it doesn't," you swallow, "Then my shift is over in two hours."
Summary: Everyone knows that Pope Cody's girlfriend is a real sweetheart. What they don't know is that, behind closed doors, you're a real fuckin' freak, too.
Warnings: +18 explicit content MDNI, porn without plot, established relationship, shy!reader, unspecified age gap, size difference, pope teaches you how to shoot a gun and touches you at the same time, face slapping, face fucking, reader has hair that can be styled, messy blowjob, reader helps complete a job, praise, car sex, reader makes out with pope over a mask so masked sex, restrained hands, creampie, overstimulation kinda, only barely lightly edited
Note: take that p w/o plot tag seriously cause uh....yeah. this is just me wanting to fuck pope cody bad
WC: 2.3k
[masterlist] [AO3]
Everyone thought Andrew Cody was a pervert.
And, really, how could they not?
They see him; all big and brooding, with wrinkles around his eyes and rough hands. And beside him stands you; soft and innocent, all shy smiles and quiet words. A sweetheart by every definition of the word.
He's older than you. Bigger than you. Meaner than you. All it takes is one glance at your manicured fingers around his broad bicep and your cheek pressed to his shoulder to know that, yeah. He's probably (definitely) taking advantage of you.
A girl your age doesn't know any better. Naive little thing. All you see is the handsome man that stands in front of you, who foots the bill when he takes you out to a nice restaurant or on a shopping spree. You see the way he stares down a guy who looks in your general direction a little too long and the way he walks just a step in front of you in a public setting, clearing a path of safety.
What young girl wouldn't want a man like that?
But what they don't see is the way you don't even flinch when you're riding shotgun in his truck and Andrew sets his pistol in your lap. They don't see the blade he'd bought for you—sharp and small, wedged right between your breasts every time you leave the house without him.
They don't see the way your skin prickles when he teaches you the proper way to shoot a gun, standing in front of the bathroom mirror, pointing the barrel at your reflection.
His hands are at your hips, thumbs resting at the elastic band of your pretty, red panties. Andrew's voice is low and slow in your ear. "Mm. Tuck your elbow in. Squeeze the handle a little harder. Yeah, there you go. Now put your finger on the trigger, baby. Just like that. And when you're ready, you just gotta pull it."
You breathe in slowly, and your finger presses down on the exhale.
The gun clicks.
"Yeah, that's it," he says, sliding his hands lower, beneath the crimson fabric. What he finds is unsurprising to him, of course. Arousal pooling between your thighs, your clit slick and swollen and desperate to be touched. He circles it slowly, tentatively, lovingly. "Again, sweetheart."
Andrew doesn't speak much on the rumors that go around about the two of you. He's sure even his brothers believe some of them.
It's to be expected, really, with that mousy demeanor of yours.
You put your hair up a different way one day and when Craig compliments you on it you get all shy, hiding behind Andrew's shoulder with your cheeks flaming.
He thinks it's real cute. The way you act all timid in front of them, murmuring a thank you with that soft voice of yours, unable to meet Craig's eyes all because he complimented you.
But only an hour later, Pope's undoing the clips in your hair while you look up at him from down on your knees, saying—begging, "Hit me."
And Pope does. Smacks you hard, one good time with his palm against your cheek. The sound is like lightning through the open air. He doesn't do it because he wants to, he does it because of that misty look in your eye, because of the way you moan at the impact.
Because of the way you look up at him through your lashes and smile real wide, giggles falling off your kiss-swollen lips, like there's no place you'd rather be.
He gives you just what you need, fucking your mouth until you're crying for it, burying himself at the back of your throat.
Each little gasp for air you make pushes him closer and closer to release, but what really does him in is the way your hand finds his thigh, tracing a little heart-shape into the denim of his jeans while you choke on his length.
Andrew finishes at the back of your mouth without warning, filling you until his release spills from the corners of your plush lips.
His cock still aches when he pulls himself out of you. Your pretty makeup that you spent all that time doing this morning runs down your cheeks now, and sticky webs of saliva and cum connect his cock to your tongue.
"You look so pretty, swallowing me down like that. My beautiful girl. Say it."
Your eyes are bloodshot and watery but filled with love as you look up at him. "I'm your beautiful girl," you say, smiling wide, sticking out your tongue to show him the mess he's made of you before swallowing hard.
"Yeah you are," he murmurs. "My sweetheart."
You've even got Smurf fooled.
They're having a family meeting one afternoon, planning out the details on how to rob a marijuana dispensary that pays its employees exclusively in cash.
While you're moving around easily in the kitchen, Smurf watches you from the living room with a drink in her hand.
Craig and Deran are bickering, trying to figure out a way to distract the night shift security guards that stand watch at the front entrance.
And then Smurf suddenly says, pointing with the rim of her crystal glass, "Her."
Pope shakes his head. "No. Not happening."
"Think about it," Smurf says. "You go in right as the last employee walks out. She walks up, begging to be let in, and says she'll pay extra. Girl like her? They won't expect anything. Just a pretty sweetheart looking to end her day with a little indica."
His brothers are quiet, looking between you and Pope, toeing the line of choice.
In the end, Andrew lets you choose. Makes it clear that if working a job with them makes you feel uncomfortable in any way, they'll figure something else out. He lays out the risks and the reward and reminds you to be honest about your feelings.
But you agree almost immediately and no amount of talking on Andrew's part sways you. It's over the moment you take his big hand, press his palm to your cheek and say, "I love you, Andrew. Even this part of you. Especially this part."
It melts his heart and fills him with this almost uncomfortable level of tenderness. He would kill for you, die for you—all to keep you here by his side.
The job goes perfectly. Andrew and his brothers are able to slip through the ceiling vents unseen, all because you're batting your eyelashes and making your shy little jokes to the guards out front.
They leave the warehouse with duffel bags full of cash and get away clean and undetected.
You're waiting three blocks away in Pope's truck, sitting casually behind the wheel, coating your lips in that pretty lipgloss while looking in the rearview mirror. But your phone is clutched tight in your hand waiting on a text of confirmation.
Pope makes Deran drop him off so he can set his eyes on you sooner rather than later.
And the moment you see him, your eyes light up in this way he knows all too well. Pope nods, adrenaline high as he lifts the clear plastic mask over his face just enough to set it on the top of his head. "We're good," he says.
The hesitant look on your face turns into a grin, soft giggles flitting off your tongue. You slide back across the cab to make room for Pope behind the wheel. You look past him, to Craig and Deran in the car with no plates full of stolen cash. "We'll see you at home," you tell them.
And maybe they don't understand at first, but Pope does. Of course he does—he can feel the way that wanting, lustful energy buzzes beneath your skin.
He puts the truck in drive and pulls out of the lot, but he doesn't make it two blocks before you're wrapping those sharp, painted nails around his bicep.
Pope just smiles as you kiss his shoulder repeatedly, nuzzling the cords of muscle through the fabric of his black hoodie. It seems like such an innocent, sweet touch. But he knows the truth—knows it's not only sweetness in your heart, it's hunger.
"Hang on, baby," he says, hand resting on the inside of your thigh, squeezing tightly. "Lemme pull over."
He finds a secluded alleyway that offers just enough darkness to remain undetected. And the minute he puts his truck in park, you're climbing into his lap.
Pope welcomes the taste of your hungry tongue. Lets you slide it into his mouth, over his teeth, licking and sucking like your life depends on it. He's already half hard in his jeans, but the second you tilt your hips, grinding yourself down against his bulge, he's done for.
"You look—god, you look so good," you whimper, hands around his neck. You don't squeeze, but rather just rest them there, thumbs feeling the quickening beat of his pulse through his jugular.
"Did such a great job today," Andrew says, fingers flexing hard around your hips. "My perfect girl. Such a sweetheart."
You whimper at the namesake, a term he'd coined just for you, his shy, gentle girl. "Andrew, please."
He knows what you're asking for. And who is he, after all, to deny a girl like you? Someone good and soft and so very desperate.
He reaches beneath you, between your legs to find the buckle of his belt. In one swift movement, he undoes it with a clink, and pushes his jeans and boxers down.
"Wait."
Andrew freezes.
At first he fears he might've done something wrong. Assumed wrong or maybe gone too far or pushed too hard. Like usual. Like usual.
His mind starts to spiral, because who could ever hurt you if not a monster? Sweet girl. Sweet heart.
He's a monster. He's a fucking—
And then you smile, and those invasive thoughts disappear as quickly as they'd manifested.
You bat your eyelashes at him with this innocent look on your face, and tug the plastic mask on the top of his head down.
Pope understands then. Of course he does—because you're his filthy, sweet girl. His.
Your clit pulses and he can feel it against his cock, even through the cotton barrier of your underwear.
Andrew tilts his head, watching you through slightly plastic-obstructed vision. He waits for you to move first.
And you do so by leaning forward and laying a wet, open-mouthed kiss against the mask, right over his lips.
It's the most erotic thing Pope has ever experienced.
Because he knows you want him—the awkward, quiet Andrew.
But right now, you're asking for a different version of him. A much more violent version of him; you want Pope.
The part that thieves and breaks and kills. The very worst of him. And not only do you want it, you're twitching for it. Breath coming out like a sigh, hands clutched tight, pussy aching for him.
And the realization—God. He could die. He could fucking die from how much he loves you.
He takes you right then and there. Pulls your underwear to the side beneath your skirt and sinks his cock into you in one hard, claiming thrust.
Pope holds your wrists together tightly behind your back and makes it hurt, because he knows good and well that's what you want. All the while your tongue laves against the plastic of his mask, breath fogging up the surface, a sick, perverted indulgence that drives him insane.
He circles your clit with his free hand, reveling in the way it throbs beneath his rough hands.
It doesn't take long. It never does. He feels the slick velvet of your center squeeze his cock like a vice. Pope doesn't let up, rubbing your clit until you lean back with your eyes squeezed tightly closed, chasing the release you've needed since the moment he'd asked you to help them on this job.
"Look at me," he demands. It's not a request but an order.
You do, mouth open to make room for the cute moans that echo in the cab of his truck. "I'm gonna—god, please please I'm gonna fucking cum—fuck—"
He doesn't say anything. Just tilts his head and watches you.
It hits a second later, and it's beautiful. The way you fall apart in his lap, thighs shaking, fingers flexing beneath his hold, fighting desperately to keep your brain tethered to the earth.
Andrew fucks you through it. Circles your clit until you're squeezing your thighs together, running from the sensitivity.
He finishes inside you a moment later, cock twitching as his orgasm settles low in his belly. And when he's finished, spasming with the aftershocks, you lift the plastic mask from his face and discard it on the floor of the passenger seat.
You smile and kiss him softly and say, "Let's go home. I'm hungry now."
Andrew knows the two of you will take one step into that house and they'll all know what you've gotten caught up doing. They'll see the mess of his curls and the flush on his face. They'll see your swollen lips and the spit drying at the corners and they'll think, 'Jesus, Pope. You can't get off that poor girl for even ten minutes?'
And he won't say anything, of course. He'll just let them go on believing the rumors, believing that he's the one who's insatiable for the shy girl who's gotten caught up in his gravitational pull.
Pope will let them keep on believing you're just a sweetheart.
'Jesus, Pope. You can't get off that poor girl for even ten minutes?'
SWEATING actually!!!!!!!!!!!! this was so hot and perfect and yeah wow i have no adequate words my jaw is on the floor and hasn’t been picked up tbh!!!
I'm just drinking to call someone / Ain't nobody's safe when I'm a little bit drunk / Could be John or Larry / Gosh, who's to say? / Or the one that rhymes with "villain" / If I'm feeling that way
Overview: What you had thought was the healthiest relationship you had in years ended in tears and being ghosted. Which is impressive considering he's your damn attending. You see each other every day and he can hardly look at you.
That is, until Santos convinces you it's a good idea to go out and get tipsy. But brokenhearted + drunk = waking up in your ex's bed. How the hell are you getting out of this one?
a/n: I love this show so much more than I thought I would. (Haven’t gotten to S2 yet, no spoilers) and was shocked when I went for Robby rather than Jack considering how much I love Shawn Hatosy.
Though, I have noticed all fics for Robby seemed to revolve around near-illegal age gaps. I kept this pretty age neutral. Remember you can always go back to school, there’s no one specific age for a resident. So, for any older women out there who can’t relate to being a ditzy twenty-year-old with a fifty-year-old man, I hope this works for you.
wc: 5.3K
more at: Belle’s 3K Extravaganza
“You really should come out with us,” Santos insists for the nth time this shift. You’re hardly past noon, and she’s already been making plans with the other doctors to go out for drinks. You might've said yes if you didn’t know you were a horrible drunk after a breakup.
Though you’re not sure that you can count his side-chick texting you after finding your bra, a breakup. More so, a horrible loss of one of your favorite brassieres. You should have known better to leave a good piece of lingerie at a slut's house.
“Yeah, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” You pretend to be completely invested in the case on your tablet, but you know she doesn’t believe it for a second. Not with the way her eyes are boring into the side of your head.
With a huff, you finally force yourself to look up. Her face lights up and you shake your head. “I don’t feel like spending the whole night babysitting a drunk Whitaker and watching you and Garcia make aggressive do-me eyes at each other.”
Santos shrugs, “Alright, the do-me eyes are inevitable, but I can take care of Whitaker.”
You’re about to object again when a husky voice interrupts. “And what is so much more captivating than your patients?” Robby interjects. You don’t have to turn to know his eyes are narrowed, crow’s feet wrinkling in the most handsome way. You’re sure he’s even got his arms crossed like the slut he is.
Trinity offers a timid smile, though it’s hardly apologetic. “I’m trying to get her to loosen up for once and come out with me.”
“Which isn’t happening,” you interrupt with a sharp sigh. Risking a glance over your shoulder, you see Robby already staring at you. Swallowing down the lump of nausea in your throat, you force a semi-professional smile. One he doesn’t have the decency to return. Santos’s eyes dart between the pair of you, brows piquing with clear interest.
It’s not like you and Robby were ever known for subtlety. Dana and Jack had clocked the two of you the second you’d first started screwing around with each other. But that had been a long time ago. Long before he decided the best way to dump his resident was by ghosting her and having her temporarily shipped to the night shift.
You made it back on the day shift a few months ago, since then he’s made it his job to avoid any and all contact with you. Impressive considering you have to report literally everything you do to the man. Dana and Heather have gotten used to having to pass information to him on your behalf.
You’re honestly surprised he had the balls to even walk over here.
“Robby-” at the sharp look he shoots her, Trin corrects herself. “Dr. Robinavitch, would you please convince her to just have some fun for once?”
Turning to give him your full attention, you prop your tablet on your hip. Robby’s eyes flit to yours and you raise your brows expectantly. His gaze drops to the floor with an awkward laugh and the rage that floods through you is near blinding.
The asshole hadn’t even bothered with telling you why he’d ended one of the healthiest relationships of your adult life. Just dropped you like you hadn’t meant a thing to him. Six months of your life given to him, and now he’s fully reverted to a frat boy from college, never making it more than six weeks with whoever he decides to pick up next.
“You know what,” you drawl, before he can say anything more to piss you off. “I need a drink,” you tell Trinity, finally sparing Robby your glare. Her brows shoot up, face drawn in confusion, but she’s not going to argue. “Need to get the taste of my latest disappointment off my tongue.” You brush past Robby, heading toward room three, where your next patient is waiting.
You don’t make a habit of dating within the Pitt; you’ve learned from your past mistakes. And unlike Robby, you don’t wave new relationships in his face. He can figure out whether or not you were talking about him.
Based on the way his eyes track you the rest of your shift, you figure he probably hadn’t heard you’d gotten back into dating.
Your regret at agreeing to this is insurmountable as you sit in a sticky booth at the bar closest to the ED. Half the people here are first responders. Mainly paramedics, some firefighters, and then the residents.
Throughout your time in the medical field, you’ve learned that mixing with others in your field isn’t as convenient as one would hope. Cops almost always have a god/savior complex, which leads to one delusional narcissist. Firefighters are cool the majority of the time, though major adrenaline junkies. And paramedics, bless them, tend to be hot, but dumb as rocks.
Santos has been trying to get you to mingle, figuring drinking and fucking away your bad experience would be the best way to get your groove back. Which is easy enough for her to say as she’s snuggled up next to Garcia. Their fuck-me eyes have more chemistry than you and your ex ever had.
A few others are there, Whitaker, Samira, Langdon, sadly, and right behind him was Mel. She seemed way far out of her element, but you know her and Langdon have both been working on getting out of their comfort zones. Mel spends a night at a bar, and Langdon gets sensitivity training.
You’re pretty sure Jack had popped by an hour or so ago. But he never stays long, just gets a beer or two and then says good night. If you had been drunk enough, you might have gone over and said hi. Revenge screwing Robby’s best friend sounded mighty satisfying to your petty, tipsy mind. But Jack wasn't the type to stoop that low, unfortunately.
At this point in the night, so disappointed and so deep in your fruity drinks, Whitaker’s starting to look like a viable second option. His sad eyes and perpetually limp hair, something about it was almost appealing. Sadly for you, your type seemed to revolve around emotionally unavailable men. Specifically, the ones with grey in their beard.
“Hey,” Santos swats your shoulder. She’s got both Garcia and Whitaker’s arms thrown around her shoulders, which gets a little laugh out of you. “I’m gonna take them home. You want a ride?”
Shaking your head, you get to your feet and grab your purse. “No, I’ll just get an Uber.” She hesitates, clearly not liking the idea of leaving you alone.
“I’m a grown woman,” you assure her, helping readjust a slipping Whitaker before he crashes to the floor. “I’ll be alright," you swear. She spares you one last glance before nodding.
Opening your phone, you stare down at the Uber app. Still, there’s a sour taste on your tongue. You did technically come here to have some fun. All you’ve been doing is nursing your drinks and sulking in a corner. Slipping your phone back in your purse, you walk over to the bar.
Maybe a few more drinks will be enough to numb your mind and that horrible ache of rejection.
You didn’t have the chance to attempt any fun before your ex texted you.
Cuming ovr tonite?
Even drunk and bent over a bar top, you’re still disgusted. Not just by his poor excuse for grammar. But by the fact that you know he spelled coming like that on purpose.
You guess that the woman he’d been having sex with outside of your relationship had snitched on him to you, but hadn’t let him know you were now aware of each other’s existence.
There is some stuff you’d like to get back from him. But you don’t trust yourself not to do something stupid. So, you block him, possibly the most logical decision you’ve ever made drunk.
Which means, inevitably, one smart decision will most likely be outweighed by an incredibly stupid move later in the night.
It doesn’t feel like this funk you’re in has anything to do with being cheated on. It’s happened to you before, and it never stops hurting. But you hadn’t exactly invested emotionally in this relationship. He was just a half-decent lay to try and get over a man who’d ditched you like you hadn’t meant a thing.
It's sad that you regard your relationship with Robby as one of your healthiest. Especially considering how it ended and how distant he was even when you two were at your best. You suppose you simply have a low bar that Robby had just barely managed to raise during your time together.
You can’t even go to work without seeing him. And every time he so much as looks at you, you can see just how badly he wants to get away from you. Hardly a boost for your ego.
As your attention inevitably shifts to the wrong ex, the drinks start going down easier. Too many shots and too many fruity follow-ups have your temple pressed to a cool bar counter. And an unfortunate bartender cutting you off.
It being a weeknight, pretty much everyone’s cleared out by now. Were you sober, you would apologize for holding up her night and being so sloppy. But you’re not, and the best you can come up with is complimenting her blue hair and actively trying not to vomit on her.
“Christ alive, give me that,” she reaches over and snatches your phone from your hands, ignoring your protests. You glare at her before feeling your stomach turn and letting your head thunk back to the counter. “Password,” she demands. When you don’t answer, she lifts your chin and forces your face to look into the camera. The moment it's unlocked, your head is thumping down.
Robby leans back against stiff couch cushions and lets out a low groan. It’s telling how little he’s been home lately. There’s a thick layer of dust along his bookshelves. His furniture has gone stiff with disuse. It’s not exactly pleasant, coming home to a place decorated with a touch of each one of his exes.
Some paintings on the walls they’d suggested to make the place seem less sterile. Matching dishes in case he ever wanted to host something. Which he had laughed at when she’d mentioned it, but got the set nonetheless.
The most prominent touch is yours. He had been with you the longest when he’d first gotten the place. You’d made fun of him then, for getting an interior decorator who ‘lived in sepia tint’ as you’d said. Which had been fair, the place was disconcertingly brown and beige.
You’d brought color into his life, made the place feel more homely than he would have ever bothered with. The color seemed to leave when you did. It took him a while to realize it was just you that had brightened his life, not the blankets or throw pillows.
Now, he sat in a graveyard of failed relationships every time he had a day off. It was growing more and more unbearable to be surrounded by it all. Dana and Jack had both called him out on shirking the rare days off he got. But he couldn’t exactly explain to them both that his incompetence at relationships cost him the rare moment of peace.
His therapist said to trash it all and start over. Finding his own ‘touch’ might even change his outlook on life. Robby doubted that and he found it more difficult than he’d like to admit to actually try to give you back all your stuff. So, he lingered in a purgatory of past mistakes for no reason that he could decipher.
Scrubbing his hands down his face, he let out a rough sigh. He was debating taking a shower or just knocking out on the couch. His back wouldn’t thank him for it, but he didn’t feel like sleeping in a too-big bed tonight.
Before he could decide which self-imposed punishment to go with, his phone rang. Tossing his head back, he debated answering, but he figured he had to see who it was, at least. Fishing his phone from his pants, he frowned down at your name on his screen. He hadn’t changed the picture since you two had broken up. It was still the same poorly angled selfie he’d taken of you with your arms wrapped around his neck.
You never called, never texted; he hadn’t had to deal with the hurt of seeing you like that until now. He doesn’t really want to answer. Doesn’t want to hear your voice, hear you hang up, and then be stuck in the echoing silence of his house. Still, in six months, you haven’t reached out once. He can’t imagine you would unless it was important.
The thought spurred a little bit of worry as he swiped right. “Hey,” he muttered your name, brows furrowed.
“Hey,” the voice on the other end was rougher than your own and his eyes narrowed. “Is this, uh,” the person pulls away, voice slightly muffled. “What’d you say his name was? The contact just says asshole.”
Robby’s face falls as he lets out a scoff. In the background, he can hear your slurring voice. “Is this Rocky?” The other person, a bartender, he’d assume based on how you sound, asks.
“Robby,” he corrects, already getting to his feet.
“Yeah, probably what she was trying to say.”
“Can I talk to her? Where are you?” he asks, grabbing his keys from the bowl by the door.
“You could try, man,” the woman snorts. “I doubt you’d understand a word she’s saying. We’re down at Larry’s. I had to cut her off and I don’t like the idea of sending her off in a taxi. She said I should call you.”
Robby’s never been so grateful to a stranger. In most cases, he has complete faith that you can handle yourself. But he’s seen too many drunk, hurt women pass through his ED to risk anything. “I’ll be there in a few. Thank you.”
The lady lets out a sharp scoff, “No, thank you. I can’t listen to her cry anymore.” She hangs up before he can say anything else. Robby pauses outside his door, frowning down at the dark screen of his phone.
The bar’s dead when he walks in. He knows this is usually where residents and other first responders like to get after-work drinks. But it seems like you’ve even beaten out a cop's tolerance for depressingly shitty bars.
It’s empty enough that he spots you instantly. Though he’s sure he would have found you just as easily if the place were packed. The thought is more pathetic than he’d like to admit.
You lift your head from the bar, eyes squinting in his general direction. The frown on your face deepens the closer he gets. The bartender hovers beside you, nails drumming along the counter as she looks at something on her phone.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he mutters, grimacing at just how puffy your face is. No way you’re coming out of this without a killer migraine in the morning.
“Who the hell are you?” You snap and Robby’s eyes widen at the venom in your tone. Your eyes narrow further, the smudged mascara under your eyes painting an endearingly pathetic picture.
Robby does his best not to laugh at you, especially now that the bartender is paying attention. “It’s me,” he clarifies. “Robby.”
It takes a moment before your eyes widen, a big grin splitting across your face. He’s not sure what’s more surprising: how happy you look to see him or how quickly you fling your arms around him. Robby lets out a low grunt, quick to catch you as you practically melt into him.
The bartender raises her brows, letting out an amused huff. “I thought she hated you,” she mused.
“So did I,” Robby stares down at you with a furrowed brow, but he’s not just going to push you away. Not when you’re this drunk and hardly standing on your own.
“Here,” the woman hands him your phone and purse, which she’d had stashed behind the bar.
“Thank you,” he mutters, wrapping his arm around your waist to keep you upright. She waves him off, already turning around to start closing the bar. He’s grateful she was willing to stay with you; he’s not sure how much worse this night could’ve gone if she just kicked you out.
With her back turned, Robby digs through his pockets, pulling out his wallet to drop a decent enough tip in her jar. It’s the least he can do, but his movements are pretty hindered by the way you’re hanging off him.
Drunk or not, he really can’t comprehend that the same woman who can’t stand being in a room alone with him also looks the happiest he’s seen her in months right now.
“Alright, let’s get you home,” he mutters, walking you toward the door. You just hum, head falling into his chest as he leads you to his car. He’s careful as he deposits you inside, cupping the top of your head so you don’t bang it against the roof. You practically fall inside, curling into the seat as your eyes shut.
Robby lets out a little scoff as he rounds the front and gets in. It’s certainly not how he expected to spend his night off. He glances over to check on you and smiles slightly at the content look on your sleeping face. He’s not complaining, though.
Getting you up the stairs to his apartment had probably been a show for the neighbors. You’d forgotten who he was when you woke up, fighting as he tried to get you inside. He can appreciate your instinct for self-preservation, but he’s pretty sure you just got him put on a watchlist.
Yet, somehow, the moment he gets his door open, you’re walking through like you haven’t been missing from his place for half a year. Your steps are stumbling, but you still manage to make your way to the bathroom on your own.
He shakes his head and drops his keys in the bowl by the door. “Robby!” You shout. “Help,” he chuckles at the weak tone of your voice and follows you into the bathroom. You're slumped against the counter, eyes half closed as the sink runs next to you.
“What’s up, honey?”
“Makeup,” you grumble, struggling to keep your head up. Robby squats, knees creaking as he digs through his cabinets. As previously established, he’s horrible at getting rid of what reminds him of you. Including the makeup wipes you’d abandoned in his bathroom the last time you were here.
It’s like riding a bike, this routine with you. He’s taken care of you plenty of times before when you were even worse off than this. He knows if he scrubs too hard, your skin will be stinging tomorrow. Tilting your chin up, he’s as gentle as he can be as he helps you get rid of your ruined mascara and whatever else you’ve used tonight.
“Thank you,” you hum and he finds himself smiling. It’s all too easy to pretend nothing's changed and this is his every night. Being with you, taking care of you.
When your face seems clean enough to him- he’s never completely sure- he leads you toward his bedroom. He plans to just let you take the bed for the night, but your hand is wrapping around his wrist before he can leave.
“Stay,” you mutter, dragging him with a surprising amount of strength as you trudge toward his bed.
“I’m just going to sleep on the couch, sweetheart,” he tries to loosen your grip, but you shoot him a half-hearted glare.
“You’ve got a shit back,” you mumble. “Stay,” it’s not an offer this time, it’s a demand as you tug him onto the mattress behind you. He wants to be a gentleman, put up more of a fight until you just give up. But he’d be lying to himself if he said he didn’t miss this. Didn’t miss you.
He was fine at first, used to messy breakups and cutting things off before they got too real. But it’s been hell, and he already knows he’s a selfish man. What’s one more night of getting what he wants before it’s gone again tomorrow?
Robby lets out a contented sigh, settling against the pillows as you turn over and bury your face in his chest. He lets his arms wrap around you, enjoying the feeling while he can.
Your head is throbbing as you roll over, eyes vibrating with the regrets of last night as you let out a low groan. “Shit,” you hiss, burying your face in the pillow below you.
Wait… Shooting up and jolting an already bitch of a headache, you frown down at the bed. It’s familiar, but it is definitely not yours. “Oh, god,” you let out a terrified moan as you glance around the room. Your jeans are kicked to a corner, but your underwear is still on. Hopefully, that means you didn’t make the mistake you’ve been actively avoiding for six months.
Jumping to your feet, you swallow down bile as you stare at the familiar walls of Robby’s room. You’ve done some dumb things drunk. Some dumb people, honestly. But this takes the cake.
For once, you weren’t crawling back to an ex. You weren’t begging for a second chance or desperately searching for the reason you two didn’t work out. And now….
Now you’ve committed professional suicide.
If he knocked you to the night shift after ghosting you, what the hell is he going to do now?
“Shit, shit, shit,” you run through the room, grabbing your jeans, your…. Oh god, why is your bra on the floor! You are so fucked.
Snatching your purse from his dresser, you dig through to make sure your wallet and phone are inside. Tossing it over your shoulder, you throw open the door and jump into one leg of your jeans. You hop down his hallway, trying to get the other leg in as your brain reminds you of just how much you had to drink. It takes a Herculean effort not to just collapse to the floor and give up.
Shuffling into his living room, you come to a jolting stop, legs still barely in your pants. Robby sits on the couch, mug in hand and glasses perched low on his nose as he reads on his phone.
His head lifts, a smile flitting across his face at your sorry state. Your eyes widen and nausea bubbles up in your throat. “Morning, sweetheart.”
You jerk your pants the rest of the way up. “Oh, um,” your eyes dart to the door. Maybe you can make a run for it.
“Morning,” you force out. “So…” you offers sheepish smile, unsure how to even ask what’s prodding ruthlessly at your brain.
Robby lets out a low chuckle and gets to his feet. “Want some coffee?”
Not at all, you’d really like to find a ditch to go die in, actually. Yet, your traitorous body is nodding its head and he’s getting closer. It’s not your fault how easily you say yes to him. It’s his fault. And alcohol.
Never drinking again.
Robby keeps the smile on his face, eyes wrinkling at the corners in that way that used to drive you insane.
And still does.
His hand finds your lower back as he passes by. It takes everything in you not to jump at the contact. Casual touching cannot be a good sign after him ignoring you for so long.
Before you get a chance to really consider making a run for it, he’s already coming back. He’s got a mug in one hand, the other rests along your waist as he leads you to his couch. You’re hardly aware of what’s happening. By the time you realize you’re sitting beside him, the button of your jeans still undone.
Your nails drum along the mug and you still can’t meet his eye. “We didn’t have sex,” he announces, laughing at the way you jump at the admission.
Your face jerks to him. “Why am I here, then?”
Robby purses his lips and you have the horrible feeling he’s trying not to laugh at whatever he’s remembering from last night. “I got a call from the bartender when she cut you off. She didn’t want you in an Uber on your own.”
You let out a low whistle. You’re humiliated, obviously, but you’re eternally grateful to whatever saint put up with you last night. “She probably saved me an ED visit.” Robby hums in agreement as he takes a sip of his coffee. “I should have given her a bigger tip.”
“I did,” he offers, giving you a soft smile. Of course he did. You take a large swig of your coffee just so you don’t have to look at him too long.
“So,” your hand runs along your hair, not even wanting to think about what you look like right now. “Did I say… anything?”
Robby thinks for a minute before letting out a small huff. “You told me I have a shit back.”
A snort escapes you as you choke down coffee. “Oh,” you wipe off your mouth and offer him a grin. “Just the truth, then.”
“Hey,” he swats your knee and your body warms at the contact. It’s a feeling only he seems to evoke in you.
Guilt bubbles alongside the alcohol in your gut. You clutch your stomach as it burns, not meeting his eyes. “I’m sorry,” you force out.
He frowns, shaking his head, “For what?”
“For you having to come get me,” you lean forward, dropping your coffee on the table. “And for clearly screwing up your day off.”
“I don’t mind, sweetheart.” When you still won’t look at him, he reaches over, hand painfully gentle as he grasps your knee. “If you need help, I’m always there for you.”
“Yeah,” you glance over at him, hating the pain that twists your chest. If that were true, he wouldn’t have just stopped talking to you. He wouldn’t have ended your relationship without ever giving you a reason why. Or started to pretend like you never meant anything to him. You should say this to him. But the wound still feels too fresh, too raw.
Robby’s hand slips from your leg and he clears his throat. “If you don’t mind me asking,” you groan in mortification, already knowing where he’s going. Robby laughs as he leans back, arm spread along the back of the couch.
“What had you feeling like you needed to drink half the bar?”
You scowl, tucking yourself further into the corner of the couch. “It was not that much,” your pounding head and blurry vision would argue otherwise. “It’s just,” you let out an irritated sigh and shrug. “I was seeing someone.”
“Oh,” the smile slips from his face and his arm drops back into his lap.
“I found out he’d been cheating on me. Really, I was just more upset that I left my favorite bra at his place than anything else.” You can see him grimacing out of the corner of your eye and pretend not to notice.
“It wasn’t that serious,” you shouldn’t have to clarify, but you feel like you need to anyway. “He wasn’t really the reason I was drinking.”
His eyes lift to meet yours. You’re sure he knows the answer to his next question. “What was?”
You shrug and let out a hefty sigh. “Thinking about what a piece of shit he was made me think about you.” You realize a little too late how that sounds.
“Ouch,” Robby huffs.
“Not like that!” You swat his shoulder, laughing at the grin he shoots you. “It’s just, you’re probably the best relationship I’ve been in for a while.” You purse your lips, “I miss you,” you whisper, wishing you hadn’t said a damn thing.
Robby reaches over, his hand gently stroking your thigh as he leans in closer. “I miss you too.”
“Funny way of showing it,” you scoff, guilt stinging when he grimaces. “If you miss me, why would you end things the way you did?”
Robby sighs, taking his touch away and leaving you cold. He rubs his eyes. “I don’t have an excuse. I just wasn’t in a good place. I didn’t want to bring you down with me.”
You wish you could say that was a horrible excuse and storm out. But, with the things he’s seen, with the shit your job throws at you, sadly, it’s not surprising. “You could have talked to me, Robby.”
He shakes his head. “That’s the problem, I couldn’t. Jack pretty much dragged me to his therapist to get me to start talking. I just… I was starting to feel worse than I had in a long time and I couldn’t handle it if I ended up hurting you.”
You bite your lip and stare down at your hands. You’d thought being with Robby was one of the healthiest relationships of your life. That you were happy, that both of you were happy. “I should’ve noticed,” you mutter.
“It’s not your fault,” he assuages and you feel even worse. You’re not trying to make this about yourself. But if you were half as good a girlfriend as you claimed to be, you should’ve seen that your boyfriend was struggling. Or, at the very least, that something was wrong.
“How’s it going?” You redirect back to him, forcing yourself to meet his eyes.
He lets out an awkward chuckle, scratching the back of his neck. “Good doesn’t seem like the right word,” you offer a small huff of amusement. “But it’s better. I’m not heading up to the roof so much,” he tries for a self-deprecating laugh, but your heart is stuttering in your chest. You try your best not to let that show on your face, but it hurts.
“I don’t know how much this would mean to you, Robby. But I’m proud of you. Too many people in our line of work just let these things build up. They never ask for help and it always ends up costing them more than if they had just reached out.”
“That means a lot,” he whispers, reaching over to take your hand in his. You let him, turning your palm up so you can lace your fingers with him.
Nodding, you reach for your coffee and sip on it quietly. Neither of you is sure of the next move to make. When you're finished and there’s nothing left to distract yourself with, you force yourself to stand.
“I should head out,” you tell him, hardly meaning it. “Take a cold shower and clean up before my shift tonight.”
Robby nods, though he seems reluctant to let you go so quickly. He keeps his hand in yours even as he walks you to his door.
You stop just before the threshold, offering him a tentative smile. “If you ever feel ready for, I don’t know, anything, would you want to get a coffee sometime?”
The smile he gives you is so soft it makes you ache. He inches forward, pressing a kiss to your cheek. You lean into him, his lips just brushing the corner of your mouth.
“Yeah,” he whispers. “That sounds good.”
You clear your throat, forcing yourself to pull back with a tense smile. “Alright. I’ll see you at work, I guess.”
Robby chuckles at your sudden awkwardness. “I’ll see you,” he promises, opening the door for you. You spare him one lingering look before forcing yourself to leave.
And then, a few weeks later, on a rare day off, your phone is buzzing with a familiar tone you haven't heard in a while.
Ready for that coffee?
You grin down at your phone and let out a little laugh.
𝘎𝘰 𝘎𝘰 𝘑𝘶𝘪𝘤𝘦
𝘚𝘢𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘢 𝘊𝘢𝘳𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳 ♥︎
⇄ ◁◁ I I ▷▷ ↻
⁰² ⁰⁸ ━━━━━━━━━●━ ⁰⁰ ²⁵
💿 Ain't nobody's safe when I'm a little bit drunk 💿
synopsisyou and Robby had been going steady for a few months now but when a betting board is made on who your mysterious male friend could be, Robby is not happy with the outcome.
warningslanguage, smutish- allusions to smut, jealous Robby, mention of shooting- GSW
author noterobby x reader but platonic frank x reader, can you tell santos is my favourite cause i include her in basically everything i write
Santos had had a day.
More traumas than she could deal with and a young girl who came in with bruises that suspiciously looked like abuse. She’d had just about enough when she realised she’d have to give another two hours to the place to get her charting done.
When she came home she knew Whitaker was at Amy’s and you should have been home. She watched you practically bolt out the place. Santos hoped it’d be a night of crappy food and shitty movies.
So when she ditched her keys at the kitchen counter and listened out the last thing she expected to hear was moaning.
“What the?” she called out for you.
Maybe you were having a self-care night. Charged up a vibrator and such.
Santos chuckled to herself as she made to tiptoe past your room.
There was the unmistakable sound of another.
“Oh fuck.”
Trinity paused.
You and her were close, she could admit that. You were maybe her only friend. So she knew you had been going through a dry patch. Because you were making it everyone's problem.
She listened in.
There was deep groaning from a man and your moans, the soft thudding of a bed against the wall. Trinity thanked the heavens again that the head of your bed was against Denis's wall and not hers.
“Deeper, harder,” she heard you moan.
“Oh, fuck me,” the guy groaned deep. She didn't recognise the voice. Did she?
Curious she tried to listen to the mans voice, wondering what she could tell. He must have been busy as little else was said other than groanings.
Where had you met this guy? Had this been happening longer than she knew? Is this why you hurried out?
Santos thought you weren't one of one night stands. Were you proving her wrong?
She snook into her room and knew she had to tell someone, at least Whitaker.
Robby collapsed next to you on your bed, catching his breath as you pulled the sheets up to cover your slightly sweaty bodies. The bed creaked under his weight as he moved around, getting himself comfortable.
Your bed was a small double, not really built for anyone more than one. Let alone Robby.
“You want some water or something?” you asked.
Robby chuckled, the bed creaking again as he turned on his side to face you. “Aren't I supposed to be asking you that?”
You lifted your shoulders, tucking your hands under your head to admire him. “Well you're the senior citizen with the... bad back?”
His brows lifted. “Oh that's how you want to play it.”
He grabbed your hip and pulled you close.
You were still trying to recover from the multiple orgasms Robby had ripped through your body as soon as you'd stepped through your apartment door. But that didn't stop his hands from crowding around your body, pulling you into him as all his hardness turned soft.
His lips found yours as easy as one found home, kissing you the way he knew you liked to be kissed. Head tilted to reach deeper, nose moving against your cheek.
There was a sudden shriek in your apartment.
You pushed Robby off, sitting up quick in bed.
“What?” he asked, far less alarmed then you as his arm fell around your waist.
“Trinity.”
Robby hummed. “Thought you said she was at Garcia's tonight?”
“I thought she was,” you uttered as if she was in the room.
The dating with Robby had started maybe three months ago when you'd had a disastrous date at the same bar Robby frequented with his buddy Duke. He'd seen the distress you were in with your date when he wouldn't stop talking about why sports people should actually get paid more than health care workers.
From there you had drinks with Robby.
From there he asked to see you again outside of work.
From there you ended up in his bed and he in yours on the occasions you had the place to yourself, which with two room mates didn't happen often.
You'd thought tonight was one of them.
“You should go,” you said, throwing the cover back to find your clothes in the dark.
“What?” Robby laughed, without moving. Instead he got himself comfortable, throwing an arm around the back of his head and tugging the covers down to his waist.
“Yes, do you want Trinity to know?”
“She doesn't sleep in your room though does she?”
Still, you tried to find some clothes.
The word around the PTMC was that Robby was a seven week itch kind of guy, the sort to never tie himself down. So though you'd been on dates with him and though he'd brought you flowers before and held your hands in bars and took you to a fancy dinner, he still fucked you like a guy that could move on the next day.
And you didn't want to scare him away with talk of serious dating. A bit of Robby was better than none of him.
You just didn't want your friends to judge you for that.
“Hey-hey-” Robby moved over on the bed, arm darting out to wrap around your waist and tug you back in.
You couldn't even protest before he was pulling you into him, hooking one of his large legs over yours and trapping you in. Your quilt was pulled up and his head rested next to yours.
At least when you and Robby were done with the sex you never kicked each other out of bed. But you did go into work separately.
“But-”
“-I'll be out of here first thing in the morning.”
With his arms around you and his calming breath you didn't think you could push him off you if you wanted to.
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
Robby kissed the blade of your shoulder and for the rest of the night that was how you were and when you woke in the morning with two hours to spare before your shift started, Robby was already gone.
“So who's the lucky guy?”
You chocked on your coffee, peering next to you at Trinity. “What?”
She smirked, leaning on the locker next to yours. “Oh come on, I heard you last night.”
The bitter taste of black coffee turned to ash in your stomach. She'd heard. Or worse, she'd been up to see Robby sneak out in the morning.
“What-what do you mean?” play it cool, you could totally starve of the humiliation. Maybe you could persuade her it was a dream, a nightmare, that she was sleepwalking and actually heard/saw/knew nothing.
“I heard you last night,” she said. “Quite the dicking down from what it sounded like.”
You felt the heat in your cheeks. “Oh my god.”
“Hey, I think its good, you deserve it,” said Santos as you hid yourself in your locker, taking great care in peeling off your jacket and finding your stethoscope inside. “So is it someone I know, or...”
She didn't know. You rejoiced silently before realising she still knew there was someone. “That is none of your business.”
“Oh come on, you know Garcia!”
“Because she works here.”
“Does he work here?”
“No!” you close the locker door, not as amused as Trinity was clearly finding this situation. “Please, he's just... a guy.”
She leaned in closer for the gossip. Few things got her as excited as gossip did. “A boyfriend guy or a sleep around guy?”
Wasn't that the golden question.
“Oh my god, you don't know.”
“Santos!” the call of her name should have saved you. Not when it was Robby calling for her as he stood between the two of you. “Pelvic exam in three.”
She groaned but gave a salute. “You got it boss,” she said to him before aiming a finger at you. “This isn't over.”
Santos had turned, leaving and you hardly waited anytime to turn back to the lockers and bash your head into them. Not enough to hurt but enough to erase the terrible fact that Santos had heard you.
Robby liked hearing you moan and you liked Robby so you always moaned loud.
And she'd caught enough of it.
Usually, you wished for Robby to be a bit louder in bed. You were glad he hadn't been.
The cold metal of the locker was replaced on what might have been your twentieth go at hitting yourself with the back of a rough hand.
“Everything okay?” asked Robby, coming to stand next to you, leaning on the lockers. His eyes creased with concern.
“She knows.”
His brows shot up, which didn't indicate a good reaction. “She knows?”
“Not about you, don't worry,” you said with a light scoff. “She knows that I had a good time with a guy last night, she doesn't know who.”
Robby nodded in consideration. “So we're in the clear?”
You screwed your eyes shut. You hadn't realised just how bad you wanted him to shrug it off, tell you he didn't care if Trinity knew, that of everyone in the ward knew, that he only cared about what it meant between the two of you. You only realised when he didn't give you that option.
He wanted to be sure he wasn't affiliated with it.
“Yeah, you're in the clear.”
You left Robby at the lockers before suspicions could grow. Nothing wrong with a resident talking to their attending and so far you and Robby had done a good job at not having any suspicion- not even from Dana.
The least you could do for the guy was keep it that way.
“You had a hot date last night?” Princess slid up to your side before you were even half way across the ward.
You groaned. “Santos told you already.”
“Why didn't you say anything?”
“Say anything about what?” Javadi's voice suddenly came from Doctor McKay's side. The older woman tried to act uninterested but her keen eyes were watching you from over the computer.
“She had a date around hers last night,” said Perhlah, coming up to your other side.
“And she won't tell us who it was,” added Princess.
Javadi's smile grew and her jaw hung open. “Who?”
You shook your head and stared at your shoes. “This is the worst day of my life.”
“Okay!” Robby's voiced boomed out. He clapped his hands, gaining everyone's attention. “We have patients, how about we go ask them some riveting questions?”
Mel frowned from somewhere in the crowd that had formed. “We should go ask them if they know who the guy is?”
She realised quickly that wasn't quite what he meant.
Perlah and Princess walked off together, quietly scheming. “Men just don't get it.”
You gulped down, smoothing your hand over your head and where the growing headache was forming. “Thanks.”
Robby said nothing but there was the brief feel of his hands on your shoulders as he squeezed before moving past you.
It was going on lunch, you'd just gotten a trauma through and up to the OR when you spotted bright post-it notes stuck up on the board in Ahmed's office. The betting board, his mini kingdom had been put back together.
Three titles.
Who?
How long?
Casual or dating?
“Oh my god!” your shriek echoed around the Pitt.
“What? What is it? What?” Robby was at your side in an instant, body almost slamming into you with how quick he slid next to you. He steadied himself, holding on.
“That!”
Ahmed had set up a betting board based on your love life.
The who column was spread with names and the name of those that had bet scribbled underneath. In the middle there was how long had it been going on for, some thought it was only a few weeks, others guessed up to six months.
The last column, wondering if it was a casual thing or serious was filled with almost every post it note saying 'casual'.
“Oh,” Robby chuckled.
“It's not funny,” you argued. “Has every body here bet?”
“Not me, I had no idea. Besides I think that's kind of cheating, right?”
“I see you've found my latest and greatest,” said Ahmed, approaching behind the two of you. “We got this up and running two hours ago, you want me to break it down for you?”
“Holy shit,” you uttered, scanning the board. It was a great and easy way to find out what everyone thought about you.
Robby nodded, leaning on the door next to you. “Holy shit.”
“How much money's in the pot?” you asked.
Ahmed grinned like he was just waiting for you to ask. “Five-hundred and five dollars!”
Robby chocked on a breath next to you as your jaw hung open.
Someone was gonna make money of your guys' sex lives and none of that was going to come to you.
“And I'm guessing I can't get in on it?” you asked.
“No," said Ahmed. “Unless, you know, you wanna tell me who it is and I'll split the money between us.”
“And who do you think it is?” asked Robby. He asked casually, still leaning on the doorframe like he couldn't care less. If he was a girl in a rom-com he might have even checked on his nails or twirled his hair. But you'd studied him close the last couple months, you'd worked all his emotions out into your own little Robby dictionary.
There was a hint of jealousy.
“Well, I've gone with the fan favourite,” he said, plucking off his post it note to show you. “Frank. Three months. And serious.”
“Langdon!” Robby announced.
Uh-oh.
“Yeah, man,” he said. “More than half these notes say it's him.”
On further reading you noticed it did. On yellows and pinks and greens Frank's name was written in quick scribbles or thought out curves.
Frank? Sure the two of you were close. You'd worked close together for a year- nearly two. You worked coordinated well in traumas and with patients you always knew what the other was thinking.
Since his divorce with you'd been helping him as much as you could. You had a friend who was a good lawyer and when he had a chance to see the kids you always covered.
You knew, of course, everything that had happened with the benzos.
You knew Robby still wasn't back to being best-buds with the guy.
You didn't know everyone thought you and Frank were together!
Donnie side stepped past you, coming in with his bets. “I got it, I got it-”
Robby snatched them from his hand, scoffing at whatever was written.
“Langdon. Two weeks and serious.”
“Et-tu, Donnie?” you asked.
“I got fifty in the pool, looking to get a new tv, you know.”
Robby stormed off.
Donnie watched. “He got a bet in?”
“Not yet, sorry, you don't mind?” asked Ahamed.
You scoffed. “Do I have a choice?”
You left them to it, finding Robby sitting at the nurses station at a computer. His jaw clenched and fingers worked furiously over the keypads. You evaluated the area before leaning in. “If you put a pool in we could split the money?”
“Should I put a bet in for Langdon?” He didn't look up to you as he slid on his glasses.
It angered you because he seemed annoyed at something he knew not to be true and because he slid on the glasses that made him even hotter than he already was.
“Is there something wrong, Robby?”
“No.”
“You seem-”
“- I'm not,” he snapped.
He was.
Robby wouldn't admit how much he let his emotions rule, especially anger. He used to be terrible for it but for a while he'd been better, lighter on his feet, patient. Since about.... well, since you started seeing each other.
“Hey.” Langdon joined your side.
You noticed a vein in Robby's neck twitch. “Hey.”
“You seen what everyone's saying?” asked Frank. “Apparently we're seeing each other?”
“Yeah,” you said, turning to him. “I had no idea.”
“You think I should buy a ring next?” he teased.
Robby slammed his hands on the counter, pushing himself up and storming off without so much as a glance.
Frank watched. “What's his problem?”
What was his problem? You'd love to know. “He had a bet on someone else,” you excused.
“Oh bummer,” said Frank. “You think he lost a lot of money?”
You didn't have time to come up with another lie as you spotted Santos and Whitaker walking by. Politely, you ditched Frank, promising you'd catch him for lunch.
“Did you start a betting system on my sex life?” you asked Trinity.
She smirked. “That wasn't me, I had nothing to do with that, seriously!”
“It's true,” said Denis. “But she was the first to put down a bet on Frank.”
You looked at her. You knew the history between her and Frank. Why would she want you to sleep with him? “You hate Frank?”
She shrugged. “So I guessed you were sleeping with him and didn't want to tell me because you know I don't like him.”
You shook your head. “I didn't want to tell you because it's none of your business.” You considered Whitaker. “Who'd you bet for?”
“I-I didn't, I-I wouldn't-”
“He bet on Nick from radiology.”
All of this from Robby sleeping with you in your apartment. Next time- if there was even gong to be a next time- you were doing it at his.
By the end of your shift anyone that hadn't placed a bet had.
Franks name had doubled and the pot was up to one thousand dollars (the highest bet in Pitt history). Frank found it funny, cracking jokes about it all day, throwing arms around you and dragging you onto cases saying 'couples that save lives together, stay together.'
Any other time you'd have laughed.
But when Robby was around every corner, glaring yet refusing to talk to you you couldn't find amusement in it.
The night had come and you were catching a break at the ambulance bay, sitting down on the curb. You were home in an hour, Denis had already gone to Amy's to deliver a lamb or something and Santos was supposed to be at Garcia's tonight.
But you highly doubted you'd have company.
“Hey,” Jack greeted, walking over to you in his midnight scrubs and bag slung over his shoulder. “How's my favourite day shift resident?”
You smiled a tired one at him. “How much money do you have in your wallet?”
Without a beat Jack fetched it and offered you what he had. Because that's the kind of guy Jack was.
“No, no,” you chuckled. “I don't need your cash. There's a betting pool on about who I'm sleeping with. I just- I was gonna ask you to not place a bet.”
Jack laughed, setting next to you on the curb, stretching out his prosthetic leg. “Would be a bit unfair seeing's as I'm best pals with the guy you're dating.”
“Not dating,” you corrected. “Probably not even seeing each other after today.”
Jack listened as you explained the distance, the glares, the snapping that returned to Robby. He didn't jump to defend his friend, he listened to you and took notes mentally. “The guys an emotional wreck. You know that. I know that.”
“But I thought he was doing better?”
“He was- is. Since he started dating you,” he said. “You ask me he's dealing with some emotions he doesn't know how to process. Jealousy. Greed. What's the other deadly sin?”
You rolled your eyes playfully. “Lust?”
“Yeah. That.”
“So I'm supposed to what? Let him be a dick all over again?”
“Oh fuck no,” said Jack firmly. “Put him in his place.”
Admittedly you didn't want to. You wanted to go back to being whatever it was you had with Robby. You wanted to hold hands and share beers in shitty bars at least an hour out of town so it was kept a secret. You wanted the brush of hands between the rush of patients and the discreet meetings at his or yours.
But how far were you willing to bend before you broke?
“So who's everyone putting bets on anyway?” Jack asked.
“Frank.”
Understanding of the situation hit him. “Ah.”
“Yeah. Ah.”
Suddenly the wail of an ambulance cut through the quiet.
The doors burst open, Robby, Santos, King, Jesse all pouring out.
“GSW to the chest, forty-two year old male, weak pulse, un-conscious on the ride over,” said Robby tugging on his gloves as you and Jack jumped up. He spared a glance at the two of you before the ambulance pulled up.
You jumped into it, wheeling the gurney ahead into trauma two. Everyone working around the man.
“Okay we move him on the count of three,” said Jack as you all got a hold of the patient. “One... two... three!”
He was heavier than some, not that it would effect your level of care but it made moving him just that but more difficult. There was a breath of air and struggle from Jack and Robby, the noises you had to drown out.
“Lets get an intubation tray going!” called Robby.
The two of you crossed each other, swapping sides.
“Can we talk later?” he uttered as he paused for only a second.
“Whatever, Robby.”
He sighed heavy.
The rest of you carried on gaging the extent of his injury.
“So do you want me out the apartment tonight so your man friend can come around?” asked Santos at your side.
“I want you out cause I'm annoyed at you.”
“Ouch.”
“Okay we need to turn him to see if it went through, on my say!” yelled Robby.
The team had thinned as orders had been barked, there were two of you on either side of him: Robby and Jack, and you and Santos.
Robby passed a nod. “Okay, roll!”
You and Trinity pulled while the men on the other side pushed but maybe Robby didn't have a good grip or maybe he hadn't expected him to be so heavy.
Robby grunted and groaned. “Ah, urg-”
“Not through,” Jack grunted.
You tried to lower him as slow as you could but it wasn't slow enough as Robby's hand got trapped under.
“Oh! Fuck me!”
You and Jack lifted the body quick and Robby released his hand.
Santos was frozen.
The whole room seemed to pause for a second.
“Oh my god!” Santos cheered, arms thrown wide. “Oh my god, oh my god!”
What was wrong with her?
It took you a second to realise, memory of last night coming to you.
Robby over you, thrusting careful.
Your body moved with his thrusts but you wrapped your legs around him, pushing his pelvis in till you felt the length of him deep. “Deeper, harder,” you'd begged.
Robby had groaned out loud, just the way you liked to hear him. “Oh! Fuck me!”
He'd uttered the words into you as he pressed his weight down, squashing you onto your squeaky bed. He'd wrapped his hands around your neck, squeezing just enough to have your walls fluttering around his cock.
Santos had been home longer than you'd thought.
Now, she was practically jumping up and down, smirking. “Oh my god!”
“Trinity can I talk to you outside please?”
“It's- you- and-” her arms were waving around.
“Outside, please, Trinity!”
Everyone was staring.
“Trinity, outside!” You guided her out and she let you, abandoning the trauma and ripping off her gown. You returned, finding Robby's gaze and Jack's amused grin as he tended to the patient. “Sorry, Doctor Robby, may I talk to Santos outside for a moment?”
Robby must have jumped to the same conclusion as you. “Er yes, yes! Of course, go!”
You rushed out, nudging Trinity into an empty exam room as she laughed. You closed the door and pulled the curtain over the glass.
“It's Doctor Robby!” she said at once. “It's Doctor Robby! You're sleeping with Doctor Robby!”
“Can you keep your voice down?”
Santos laughed again, a full belly laugh. “Oh my god, this whole time I thought it was Frank. Oh, I'm so happy.” She wiped at amused tears.
“Hey!”
“How long have you been sleeping with him?”
You shook your head, tugging off your own hospital gown. “It doesn't matter.”
Finally Trinity considered you. Her laughter died. “What-what do you mean?”
How could you explain that what she'd heard last night was over hardly twenty-four hours later.
The door pushed open and Robby stepped through, gown and gloves already gone.
“Is everything okay in here?” he asked, looking between the two of you.
“You and you?” Trinity confirmed, finger gesturing between the two of you.
Robby ran his hands through the back of his hair.
“I just can't believe it,” she said. “You guys are dating?”
Robby sighed out a “yes” at the same time you shook your head, “no”
Now, Robby looked at you.
Santos folded her arms over her chest, smirking and watching like the two of you were her favourite show. “Oh.”
Robby's hands fell to his hips as he looked at you. “What do you mean, no?”
“What do you mean, yes?”
“What do you mean, what do I mean?” he chuckled.
Your rubbed at your temples. “I'm so confused.”
“You're confused, I'm confused,” Robby scoffed.
“Wait- I'm confused,” said Santos. “You guys don't know if you're dating or not?”
Robby's eyes squeezed shut in frustration. “Doctor Santos, please. Go make yourself useful.”
Trinity didn't move. She looked at you, waiting for what you wanted. Because yes, Robby was her attending but you were her friend. When she was insecure about Garcia you were there telling her how much better she could do.
In the hospital Santos was guided under Robby.
At home, she was guided by friendship and care for you.
You gave her a nod and she dismissed herself.
You didn't know where to look, didn't know where to touch.
Outside the usual routine of the Pitt carried on.
Robby sighed, hands going into his fleece pocket. “You didn't know we were dating?”
No, you really didn't. “Was I supposed to? You never asked.”
He shook his head, looking down with a chuckle. He started to list things off, counting them off on his fingers. “Flowers, dinners, day trips, was that not enough?”
“But you never said!”
“I thought it was obvious!”
“Obvious to who?”
“To us!” His hands fell to your forearms.
“No to you maybe!”
“So the dinners... the flowers, you thought it was all just, just sex?” he asked.
You'd hoped it was more. You'd dreamt about it when his weight kept you down on his bed after you kissed and made love for hours. Love...
“I... yeah.”
How long had you thought him the bad guy? Were you the one that had been distant, pulling away?
You carried yourself away from him, sitting on the edge of the bed. You never realised how uncomfortable those things were.
Robby laughed to himself, standing for a moment longer. He checked that nobody was around through the curtain before he settled next to you. He shuffled, his bodies attention focused on you. He laid a hand on your knee, tilting his head to try to look at you. “I should have asked, properly.”
“It would've saved confusion,” you admitted.
Robby's hand came up, cradling your face and drawing your attention to him. He rubbed the pad of his thumb over your cheek.
You looked at him, finding nothing but warmth in his gaze. The only thing that had been there for three months. “But today, you... you could hardly look at me.”
He took in a deep breath. “I was...” his jaw ticked.
You smirked. “Jealous?”
His eyes flickered back to yours. “Nobody on that board thought I could be dating you.”
“Till about two seconds ago I didn't even know we were dating,” you joked.
Robby shook his head, wetting his lips. “We are.”
“You're not even going to ask me?”
“I don't need to,” he said. “We're dating, that okay with you?” His face inched closer.
“I don't know, I might have to ask Frank that one,” you teased.
Robby leant back, a dark look to him. The hand caressing you fell to your neck, keeping you looking at him. “You think that's funny?”
“Everyone else thinks so-”
He pulled you in by your neck and kissed you, hard, the imprint of his teeth felt through your lips.
You held onto him, kissing him with a new need. Kissing your boyfriend. Your hands wound around his head and you brought him down on top of you.
Robby climbed atop the bed that was not made for heavy make out sessions. He held the edge with one hand and the other fell down your body till it could crawl up your scrub top, un-tucking it and holding onto your hips.
He bit down on your lip and used the opening of your mouth to slide in his tongue.
“This is un-professional,” you said against his lips.
“I've been wanting to be un-professional for months.”
You were so lost in the feel of each other you didn't notice the curtain being yanked back until you heard.
“We got him stable,” said Jack, casually. “Oh and you've got an audience.”
You looked over Robby's shoulder as he looked back to see nosey nurses and night shifters along with half the day staff all looking at you.
You tapped his shoulder and though resigned to, Robby slowly climbed off you.
“Who put down Robby?” Ahmed called. “Did anyone bet Robby?”
The crowd that had watched you both suddenly rushed to the board, scanning the name.
Eventually you and Robby joined, waiting.
“Oh my god.”
“There he is, Robby, one vote!”
Robby's head perked in confusion.
“Who is it? Who?”
Ahmed collected the money and made his way through the people. To the one who had made a bet on Robby. “Doctor Robby, three months, and serious.”
He delivered the money- to everyone's shock- to Frank.
Your jaw hung open as Frank collected the money.
Everyone looked at him, silent.
You couldn't tell if next to you Robby was okay with it or angered.
Frank looked around at everyone. “C'mon, nobody else saw it? He's been happier for three months and can't take his eyes off her.”
Clealry, nobody had.
“I thought you didn't bet?” you asked him.
Frank shrugged, bashful. “Yeah well, couldn't help myself. Here-” Langdon held out the wad of cash to Robby's hand, practically forcing it in. “Take her somewhere nice.”
You wished you had a camera to capture Robby's shock.
“Okay folks! Show's over!” called out Dana. “Day shift let's pass on to night so we can get out of here to have some fun!” she winked your way.
Slowly the crowd dissipated, shaking their heads in disappointment.
Ahmed was already pulling off the notes and rubbing away at the board.
Robby waved the cash in front of you. “What do you say, you gonna let your boyfriend treat you tonight?”
"If you love someone, you tell them. Even if you're scared that it's not the right thing. Even if you're scared that it'll cause problems. Even if you're scared that it will burn your life to the ground, you say it, and you say it loud and you go from there." — Mark Sloan
pairing: baran al-hashimi x plastic surgeon!reader
summary: you're a plastic surgeon. she's the new ED attending. you're a notorious flirt, and she's just trying to run her department. the two of you are seemingly complete opposites, but maybe you have more in common than you think.
and although it’s over, i’ll always be there: one/?
pairing: baran al hashimi x ex wife!reader
series masterlist
you hum as you mix the food that was in the pan. wine glass in hand, music softly playing throughout the kitchen and after a long battle of trying to put the kids to sleep, the kids were finally asleep in their rooms.
you enjoyed the peace after they went to sleep, the house was calm and quiet unlike throughout the day where you would hear whining and “mommy where’s ___?” all day. although sometimes you do get lonely and miss baran, you don’t take the quietness for granted.
you continue to mix your food until it was ready, pouring it into a bowl. the kids had already ate with their grandparents so you didn’t need to worry about them eating when you guys came home. you make your way into the living room and turn on the tv to watch a tv show your sister told you about but you haven’t gotten around to see it.
you set down the wine glass on the coffee table and sit down on the sofa with a sigh. just as you were about to take a bite out of your food, you hear a knock.
fuck. not right now.
you stand there frozen, maybe if you don’t make any noise they’ll leave. bum bum! you get up and walk towards the door, opening it to reveal none of other than your ex wife. she stands there, scrubs on, hair messy from a chaotic shift and with a hung smile. “what the hell do you want baran?” your voice flat. her smile doesn’t change, she was used to this, to your attitude.
“i came to see the kids. i stopped by my parents house but you guys had already left.” she says, she lets herself in, walking past you—the smell of the hospital hitting your nose. “baran, the kids are asleep.” you say as you close the door. “we had a rough night.”
“rough night?” baran repeats.
“yes. zahra was crying cause she didn’t wanna leave your parents house and arman couldn’t find his school uniform.” you tell her. you run your hand through your hair, “look. just come back tomorrow, please?” baran gives you a soft look. you turn away knowing that if you look at those beautiful eyes, you might kiss her. “azizam..” her soft voice echoing throughout the quiet house.
“you know if you ever need help you can call me.” she says, she steps close to you. her hand lifting up to touch your face—you move away. “now you wanna help with the kids?” you tell her. her face drops. the memories of those nights where you guys would argue all night til the morning, hit it her face.
baran sighs, she shakes her head almost like she was trying to erase those memories. “i’m gonna go check on the kids, okay?” she tells you before walking away. you could tell that her confidence had left by the she walked, no hung smile, no chin up high.
she just walked away.
a/n: what do we think? ik it’s a lil short sorry lmk if yall hate it i’ll delete it fr lol.
Mama……. Maybe we can get a little jack fluff after that…….. I feel uneasy
FREE SCRUB FRIDAY (j.a x reader)
ER's admin announces that staff will be allowed to wear whatever scrub color or design they want on Fridays, much to your immense, all-too-bubbly pleasure. Jack takes this as a moment to tease you, but it's too obvious he feels a certain way about your glittery, colorful new fits.
cuteness aggression strikes Jack's heart again! // solely fluff for the most part // JACK MASTERLIST // ROBBY MASTERLIST // it's nice to see Jack not be so obsessive over you...right? // WC: 2k // hope u enjoy! // sleazy!robby gets caught jerking off to you and ur scrubs
Free Scrub Friday starts as a rumor.
Someone mentions it at the nurses’ station, like it’s supposed to be a joke, and the idea, real or not, has you buzzing—one day out of the week to keep yourself out of grey, boring scrubs you spend way too much time accessorizing with clips and personalized, bedazzled badge reels.
A girl could dream. And you most certainly do.
But you find an announcement goes up on the board like it’s nothing.
FREE SCRUB FRIDAYS - morale initiative. ANY COLOR OR DESIGN PERMITTED.
Keep it appropriate. Can’t wait to see you all in style!
You read it twice over. Then a third time.
Your hand flies to your mouth.
“Oh my god!”
You’re not surprised that Jack hears you across the nurses’ station, and you’re not surprised that his totally exaggerated irritation is already queued either.
...You’re just not sure where he came from.
“What.”
“Jack, look!” You turn, eyes bright in a way you fail to keep under control. “They’re letting us wear whatever scrubs we want on Fridays.”
Jack squints at the sign. You imagine that his feelings about this wonderful, overdue idea aren’t as impassioned as yours are.
He crosses his arms after pulling on your scrub sleeve, fixing it, you think—you only think, if you allow the slight touch to seep into your already heightened emotions, you’ll find yourself with heated cheeks and a stutter you won’t be able to come back from.
The teases he could find then, God. Not now.
“That’s…ill-advised.”
Yep. You know him so well. That’s only your heart’s fault, really…amongst other factions of your anatomy, all pulsing, all needy—
What’s wrong with you?
“It’s fun. Do you know how long I’ve waited for this?”
Jack only mms in the depths of his throat. It’s where he takes the moment to eye your badge. And your shoes. And the numerous tiny pins you’ve forced upon your scrubs.
You pout, and unfortunately for your dignity, it’s purposeful, as if these ridiculous, cutesy bits could do anything to Jack.
...Well. Sometimes they do, although you think you exaggerate his stiff flusteredness. But those moments, riddled with the pulsing veins in his forehead or cheeks going just slightly red, are addicting.
You’re chasing it now.
“You already look like a craft store exploded on you.”
You gasp. How dare he? You know very well he’s not as annoyed with the way you wear your personality on your sleeve…for the most part.
“Excuse you. These are curated accessories.”
Jack does another once over, slow—badge, pins, shoes. He turns his eyes away in a quicker glance off to the hall, and his smirk is awfully slight.
“Mmhmm,” he mutters. “Very curated.”
You bounce on your heels despite Jack’s inability to see why this is the most amazing thing to ever happen to the Pitt.
“I have options. Real options. I can finally color-coordinate with my shoes, or I can wear my themed tops! Or—”
“No themes, Sleepy. It’ll take less than half the shift for someone’s bodily fluids to get on Winnie the Pooh.”
…How could he possibly know you have Winnie the Pooh theme scrubs?
“You don’t get a vote, Dr. Abbot.”
Dr. Abbot merely rolls his eyes, and you wonder if the clearing of his throat comes out harder than he wanted it to.
“Just—don’t go overboard. It’s a hospital, not a fashion show.”
“You say that like I own anything boring enough to not turn free scrub Friday into one.”
“That’s exactly what worries me, Sleepy.”
Jack steps closer, burning the distance away with a deep sigh, leaving his awful, stomach-flipping smile.
There it is, the burning in the fat of your face. Screw you, Dr. Abbot—Jack, Jackie. As stoic as you are, you know what you’re doing.
“This attending, for one, can’t wait to see Tigger and friends bloodied up for your laundry pile on Friday.”
Jack turns back to the sign, neck rolling stiff.
“Yeah, definitely would boost my morale. I don’t know about yours.”
Your heart skips a beat at his nearly muttered quip, or two—enough for it to make it down the hall in a half-second.
Jack watches you go and immediately wants to slit bits of him off for how invested he already is—in a way he can’t deny. It’s not just curiosity or a mild, rightful interest in seeing what the hell you plan on wearing. He’s sure everyone is.
…It’s the thought of you presenting yourself in a way that’s not dictated by hospital policy that sets something restless humming under his skin.
“You planning on wearing somethin’, Abbot?”
“The scrubs we’ve been mandated to wear for the past ten years.”
This burning, over fucking scrubs. Who knew that this would be the joke that makes up his life? He imagines it without meaning to, and that’s what he needs to tell himself.
Color. Movement. Something stupidly cheery that clashes with the Pitt’s fluorescent misery. Something that makes Kiddo look ever more like herself.
Like she needs to turn more heads than she already does. His little attention seeker.
The word’s anticipation. Jack can admit that, because…God…wanting to see what you’ll wear for free scrub Friday?
It’s at the bottom of the list of things he’s wanted to see when it comes to you, Sleepy. Still, it comes as warm as it comes unwelcome.
Whatever God that isn't there help him, he needs to see what glitter and color Kiddo is going to riddle herself with, and like with everything else in reference to her, her, her, he hates himself for how much.
Friday morning is a trap that Jack walks into willingly. He walks in earlier than he needs to, and it doesn’t take long for the Pitt to hum itself to life.
“Oh…Jesus.”
It’s Dana, because of course she wouldn’t leave before she sees whatever you’ve got planned. Jack assumes it’s you who is the victim of her exclamation.
He turns.
…He's correct. There you are.
You—normally grey scrubs, sparkles smuggled in through pens and clips—wearing a soft pink top with white accents. Which—that’s not the worst. Not at all. Pink to go with your shoes, he expected that.
It’s what’s scattered across the fabric that Jack can’t help but eye. Jesus Christ.
There it is, the familiar urge to turn you into something squeezable, scoopable.
Crushable.
“I wasn’t…” He swallows. “You look…”
God fucking damn it.
He steps back and stops, because the only words he can find are fucking adorable and pathetically precious, and those are words that will get him sent to HR. Or worse, he’ll be emotionally exposed.
“Oh my god, sunshine. You look like a Saniro sticker collage.”
Saniro? Is that the name of the rabbit girl?
Dana laughs.
“That’s shockingly appropriate. Man, you’re making me wish I had the initiative to wear my Bugs Bunny scrubs.”
You do a tiny spin, just enough to make the fabric flutter. “Free Scrub Friday! I waited my whole life for this moment.”
Jack’s past the point in denying that he has to fold his arms hard across the hammering of his heart. This is not the first time he’s had to suffocate the impulse to smother you, but Saniro—it’s making it pretty fucking hard to.
“This is a seismic level of distraction. Peds is calling.”
Something in his chest clenches. Hard. Just when you grin at him.
“That’s your way of saying you like it.”
Who the fuck cares if it is? Why are you smart enough to know that?
“I want you to go start an IV on four before I—”
Jack stops himself. Resets.
Before I say or do something filthily unprofessional, because I need to choke you for how adorable you are, see if you can squeak when I crush your bones, because grounding myself in holding you is the only way to stop the feeling from seeping out of my skin.
I don’t know why I know that. I think I’ve dreamt of this, kiddo.
“Next Friday, wear something boring.”
Why wouldn’t your smile turning dopey worsen his affection turn feral? Why? It’s not like he deserves otherwise.
“And miss out on that beautiful smile you’re giving me, Dr. Abbot? No promises.”
“I am not smiling.”
“You are. It’s just doing that thing that makes it look like you’re in pain.”
You pull on the hem of your scrub top, flattening out the material to present it like a poster.
The material at the top tightens around your bra.
He can only swallow at the sharp, visceral spike hitting him square in the sternum. Yep, why wouldn’t it, Abbot? With all the things you’ve dreamt about.
“Next Friday, wear something fun.”
Dana pffts. “Jack in anything that isn’t black or camo? I’d pay to say that.”
It ends there, thank God. He wouldn’t be able to get past the night if you asked him if he thought you were cute—his brain would’ve supplied twenty inappropriate, filthy, bone-crushing reactions and zero usable sentences.
But later, because of fucking course, you catch his eye from across the floor and grin.
Like you could know, like you could possibly know that there’s this stupid, animal impulse to squeeze your perfect, resentful body until you pop in his arms because of your stupid fucking rabbit scrub and bows.
Like you could know that even though this is very much your fault, Sleepy, it’s what gets Jack to hate himself even more.
This aggression at the altar of your ridiculousness.
…Like you could know he’s deeply invested in what you might choose to wear next Friday.
summary: baran comes home tipsy with a withheld complaint about the fundraising event hosted by PTMC.
you’ve fallen into a routine: waiting for her to get home as arash is tucked into slumber, giving her a summary of her son’s day, and then grounding her into her sacred space with a massage.
it’s different tonight, dealing with this for the first time—drunk, uninhibited baran—barely holding on to the self-restraint she’s been consistently upholding for weeks. falling for her sultry gaze with little to no resistance, while her attention zeroes in on concealing how you’re clenching your thighs every time she speaks, blurring the lines with complete abandon.
warning/s: dom, vers baran al-hashimi, slow burn, subtle dom/sub dynamics, praise, alcohol consumption, fingering, breast play, clit play, cunnilingus, dirty talk, spitting, multiple orgasms, face riding, baran speaking in farsi. baran seducing you to the max. robinabitch mention.
word count: 5, 339
author’s note: thank you lots for the patience. last part of the series is up!! 1/3 is the slow burn and the rest, well, you’ll know. ;) happy reading!
part one | series masterlist | navigation
men and minors DNI.
the keys turning overlaps the typing on your laptop.
“hey,” you utter, a barely-there smile from the older woman greeting you. she’s as gorgeous as she left the house, a boatnecked light ivory silk dress with a simple ivory slingback, hair pulled back in a messy bun, loose strands curtaining her face . the only difference is the frown it leaves you, taking in her stance; slightly uncoordinated balance, drooping shoulders, unpleasant in her updo. “hey, oh hey, you okay?” you shut your laptop and shove it in your tote. “you look…”
the thin curve of her lips turn into a big pout, brown doe eyes blinking at you expectantly.
“...exhausted,” you say, and as if on cue, baran lets out a loud sigh, collapsing against the doorframe. she puts her purse against her face and groans loudly.
“...and clearly frustrated.”
she mumbles something in farsi and kicks off her heels, “these stupid heels!”, watching the disorder and immediately placing them in the shoe rack by the door.
“they’re gorgeous, baran,” you insist, observing her next outburst. the older woman tends to let out her frustrations one at a time, mulling over her emotions and how best to express them. you believe her reluctance is in consideration of your well-being, preventing you from being a vessel of release from her troubles whether it be by work or life or something else.
the doctor gives you a quick look of irritation before charging onto the wine cabinet, barefoot with heavy footfalls. the hem glides along the flooring like a current.
she whips out a cabernet sauvignon and two wine glasses, setting them on top of the furniture, arranging them in a line. she quickly works through the bottle with a corkscrew, expertly twisting and turning. you’re completely immersed in the movement, her muscles flexing as she bites her lip in concentration, leaving a space of frustration in between furrowed brows.
you jump when it pops, the sound soothing the older woman to smile.
baran, ebbing from her flow, tilts her head to you with a slow eye flutter, “how is he? asleep?”
it takes you a second to respond, “yes, completely tucked in in his new sheets,” zeroing in on baran’s tight grip on the bottle, resulting in the flex of her biceps. you clear your throat, “he didn’t finish the pizza so you have six slices waiting for you in the fridge,” a grin blossoming in your face at the memory, snapping you back to sanity.
baran curves ones side of her lips upwards then pokes the inside of her cheeks. biting her lip yet again as she continues to stare, setting the bottle down in defeat. she groans, as if something is actively trying to take control over her.
“i don’t have the appetite after tonight,” she admits, “tomorrow for breakfast,” she promises, dejectedly bringing the cure to her problems towards you.
baran gracefully treads in your proximity, the flow of the fabric levitating her off the earth, gravity controlled like no other. the shade enhances the glow in her clear, olive skin, embracing her figure in the right places. the gears in your head turn a shade greener, noting how it clings to her like a second skin, putting all socialites to shame. jealousy is one of your strongest suits.
baran’s dress is backless, the light playing with the seduction of every depression and elevation of her back, her muscles toned but softened by the smooth skin. your tongue glides in the backs of your upper teeth as the dip on the low end gapes at you.
the hairs in your spine shoot up when her knuckles touch your palm, handing you a glass, resistance getting harder by the minute. her scent engulfs your senses, blurring your judgment, leaving you with less control. you can’t want this and so you want more.
you chuckle, “trouble in paradise?” assimilating in baran’s new emotion, never mind the ones she’s causing you.
she sighs, “far from paradise,” closing her eyes in disbelief. “it’s been literal hell since the other attending i substituted came back. you know, the one i told you about,” she conceded, taking a swig to her situation, forehead wrinkled in prolonged annoyance and misery.
“ah,” you utter, partially distracted.
scanning the movement of her throat as it bobs to the array of baby hairs on her temple where your desire begins and ends—wishing you could place a finger there, feel the pulse. prove it skips a beat when she looks at you.
baran stares, doe-eyed and all, in a way that almost answers your question.
you look away, flummoxed, heat pooling in your cheeks.
the older woman brings her glass forward and you follow, the clink appeasing the former, grinning at the progress of the night. it’s quite monumental to turn baran’s rotten night to almost rotten, but it overpowers the silent prayer you’ve sent out to sustain your bessotted state, distrusting your autonomy with a woman as beautiful as baran.
you feel your teeth grind as baran envelops her lips around the rim, stain leaving a mark, mixing in the maroon liquid. you’re not the classy type, at least, you’ve never tried to be, so this demonstration is a rare learning opportunity. that’s why you don’t blink, not wanting to miss a second of how much liquid the doctor takes in her mouth, when she swallows, and when she should want more. you’re too focused on baran to notice her eyes lingering on your thighs, watching intently as you squeeze them at her every move.
she hums, “you like it?” lowering her voice, waiting for your tics to open up to her.
this is a treacherous indulgence, but the pull is stronger than your agency, finding yourself batting your eyes at her, slowly nodding your head. she takes another sip to hide her smirk. the older woman grimaces, fingers massaging her left calf. as expected, you act on cue, obediently falling into the routine you and the doctor have fostered the past few months.
baran gingerly places a hand on your thigh, gripping it loosely. you stare at her hand and not her eyes.
“not today,” she says, coddling your name like a lullaby. you hesitate, unsure what else you’d be useful for. as if baran can read your mind, she licks her lips, blinking her eyes, “it’s okay, you don’t have to. you can just…just stay up here with me…”
she relaxes when you do, keeping an eye for a sudden shift in action. you tend to end up committing to your own whim, and she preferred to be in on it. despite the uncertainty, baran focuses on reassuring you, rubbing your upper back and giving you a soft smile.
settling into the couch, she sighs, “you don’t know how grateful i am for you to be here…” crossing her legs, the sound of silk giving you butterflies in the stomach. she nudges at your wine glass. you take a sip, afraid, interested, reluctant. nights with the al-hashimis typically end in massages or past midnight conversations about diego and work. you’ve refused a sleepover multiple times even with the insistence on your safety, baran’s concern and doting eyes almost deciding against your boundaries. you hate the idea of giving her more things to worry about; accommodation, extra pay, and a shoulder to cry on.
“likewise. it’s the highlight of my day,” you half-tease, a brow lift tilting your axis like never before. smug, she asks, “not my son?”
“oh he’s brilliant, of course, but he wouldn’t be a happy child without his amazing mother and…”
this should be like one of those days, but baran is staring at you differently, as if she’s stripping you away from the title, as if she’s scanning what else lies beneath there.
baran finishes her portion and takes the entire bottle, drinking from the source, her eyes never leaving yours.
she swipes a speck of red at the side of her mouth then sucks on her thumb.
you gulp a load of saliva down your throat.
“be careful now, we wouldn’t want your other clients hearing the best babysitter in town has a preference,”
baran’s lipstick has stained the glass that’s now on the table, transferring the color there, leaving her lips a little less flashy, a little more domestic. subdued. delectable. irresistible.
she licks her lips and a few of her saliva stays at the flesh, catching the light, illuminating the plumpness.
“they’ve got to deal with it,” you start, swirling the red in the glass, catching the one second bite of her lower lip, “you’re my favorite.”
it comes out the way you didn’t intend to, shifting the atmosphere completely, the momentum causing you to squirm in the feeling of intimacy, the lines tangling without end.
baran chuckles, the sound sending a shot of electricity down the middle of your thighs.
she shakes her head, slurring, “khoda rahmat koneh,” racking her brown doe eyes all over your face, amusement and esteem glowing off of her.
“what did you just say?”
“chi? ah, i can’t believe you’re in my life right now,” baran acknowledges, dribbling over at her words, giggling as she takes another sip. her eyes dilate.
“is that so?”
“no, not really,” she admits, teasing with her gorgeous smile, doctor doe eyes bright and big as ever.
you shake your head.
“you know, if i had you there by my side, i sure wouldn’t be as grumpy as i was the moment the other attending–robinavitch—greeted me at the door–”
“the one you told me about?”
the doctor groans and puts a hand on her forehead. “yes,” she exasperated.
“that bad?” you gasp, seeing her pout for a second. “i’m sorry you didn’t invite me,” you chaff, receiving another doe-eyed look you can’t pronounce. baran’s eyes are completely dilated, examining your every move, like you were a set of organs for her to operate on.
“i would know what to do next time,” she settles.
baran shifts her attention to your barely-drank red wine. she purses her lips, waiting for your next move. when you don’t—helplessly staring at her—she places the bottle at the coffee table, occupying her hand with yours. she decides then, to help you out, generously drinks half of the liquid, flickering her eyes between your hands and your thighs, lightly quivering.
you poor thing.
the older woman shifts closer to you, swirls the red in its carrier, and places her thumb on your chin. she rotates the glass, presses your lips against the stain of her lipstick, red liquid dripping into it.
fuck.
you can barely breathe.
“wouldn’t want it going to waste,” she croons.
fuck.
“y-yeah, right, of course, i-i’m–”
“you don’t have to apologize,” she counseled, shaking her head.
you feel faint.
you’d be the first to stutter while humming, your body in an extreme fight-or-flight mode response that brainlessly grabs your tote, a chant of a final goodbye about to roll out of your tongue. you could barely register the fact you’ve buried yourself six feet deep the moment you started dreaming about the older woman, forgetting to realize that the only way to make it out alive is whether or not baran wants to provide a helping hand.
baran catches your wrist the moment you stood up, looking up at you like she knew all along an escape route brewed the moment she walked through the door. she tilts her head, “come here,” uncrossing her lap, coaxing you to sit.
you obey instantly, farewell out the door, leaving without you, shaking in its boots.
baran tugs your wrists and you find yourself spreading your legs, bearing your entire weight into her lap. your feel your clitoris pulse at the contact.
you’re staring at the contrast, silk and cotton-polyester in contact, wondering if it’ll ever get to grinding. if it’ll remain a divide between you and your desires.
baran’s amused to say the least, knowing you’d hide in your shell, timidly casting your head down, waiting until you’re brave enough to face her. she knows you won’t, putting a hand on your shoulder and running it through your arm. you shiver, meeting her brown orbs when she tilts your chin upwards.
“you want this?” she asks, eyes glazed over, holding onto her final restraint, squeezing your hand in the process.
you nod your head.
she sighs in relief, nudging her nose with your own, breath ghosting over your lips. you could almost feel her, you’re so close. you feel her grin, bowing her head to catch your lips, pressing a kiss on your bottom cusp.
she’s soft, warm, heady with a mix of red wine.
baran pulls away to see how you are, glee spreading throughout her body as she watches you with eyes closed, going back in for a peck, and then another. and then some more, gliding her tongue inside your mouth with a moan.
you grind into her lap when the noise breaks out, a smile and a sigh between kisses. snaking her hands around your waist as you place yours on her cheeks, clipping the loose strands of hair behind her ear.
baran’s cheeks have blossomed out in a feverish blush, panting as she pulls away, scanning your disheveled state. she gives you a peck before she grabs the wine bottle in her hand, rubbing your thigh. she takes a sip and dives back into your kiss, pulling you closer into her, passing the wine into your mouth, draining it with vigor.
you whine, feeling the liquid in your mouth, tartly sweet and something else that’s just baran.
and then you’re both just hungry.
you pounce onto her, grabbing the nape of her neck and completely pressing yourself against her, kissing her ferociously, lapping at her mouth with no abandon. baran tightens the grip on your hips and guides them, humping her thigh at a steady pace. she latches onto your tongue and begins to suck it, her vice-grip and the squelch getting you wetter and needier.
you whine when she pulls away, sending sloppy kisses down your neck, nipping at the flesh, grazing her tongue ‘til she reaches the side just below your jaw. she hums before she sucks at your pulse point, causing your eyes to roll back, your body tingling at the pleasure.
a long moan draws out of you.
“that’s it,” baran sighs, your lower lip in between her teeth.
your sweatpants come off, lifting your hips to be manhandled, knees wobbly, trembling at the idea of being completely undressed by the older woman. she looks absolutely stunning in the disheveled dress you desperately want to take off.
you find her mouth again, hot and heavy, completely mixed with hers and your saliva. you think there’s nothing hotter than that until baran’s rubbing you through soaked panties, moaning as she pushes them to the side.
“i-i-i can’t w-“
she slips a finger in.
her slender middle finger, finding the warmth inside your pussy, impatiently needy for your reaction.
“ah!” you yelp, gripping on her shoulders. she brings you closer with a hand on your hip.
“that’s it,” she says between gritted teeth.
it’s slow, experimental, precisely stretching you open with one, gauging your tolerance.
“is this okay?” she asks, putting her forehead against yours, her breath deepening as they mingle with yours. you nod your head with a huff.
baran pushes another finger in. you whine, rolling your hips into her digits, her fingers filling you.
“let it out. good girl, good girl,” she whispers with a slight growl, clenching her thighs at the image of her fingers disappearing completely in your pussy, rolling out coated with a white string of your cum.
baran chuckles with a moan, licks a stripe of your neck, then murmurs, “you feel so good…”
“…you feel so good,” you pant in return.
she grabs your jaw, causing your eyes to flutter open, dense and glazed over. her breath shatters at the state she’s put you in, drunk and needy with arousal. she swallows your moans with her mouth, shoving her tongue inside, whimpering as you flick around the muscle.
“i’ve waited so long for this. you’re exactly as i imagined you would be,” she confesses in your mouth, can’t get enough.
“w-what is that?” you cry in between moans, close to the edge. the older woman tightens her grip in your hips, no longer guiding them, allowing them to move at their own accord, feral and wanton to climax.
“a good, obedient girl.”
your back arches at the title.
“a loud, responsive little thing…”
cries when she flicks a thumb against your clit.
“…all because of me.”
baran beholds the sight of you: mouth open with a string of moans, eyes clamped shut as the aftershock leaves your body with your cum. she kisses your cheek and whispers praises you could barely make out due to the intensity of the orgasm, her entire palm open onto your back, supporting you.
you slump against her body, responding with an embrace that makes you warm.
you take baran’s face in both hands and kiss her with gratitude, passion, and a request for more.
you tug at her dress, giving her a look of need.
the older woman’s lips curl into a smirk.
“you think i’m done with you?”
baran leads you to the bedroom.
it’s surreal to be finger-fucked by the doctor, but here you are, being dragged with an impatient hand to her sanctuary for more. the place you refused to bring arash to despite protest, aware you’re not worthy enough to step foot inside. it changes tonight.
baran couldn’t wait to land you on the bed, all over your body once more, sandwiched against the door. breathing you in like she’s in her natural habitat, wet, open-mouthed kisses, ravishing you completely into submission.
she inhales in the crook of your neck, sighing, “you smell so good,” placing her thigh in between your legs and pushing your pelvis down against it. she pulls your tee off, grunting as your lace bra takes her away her inhibition and restraint.
she’s starving, this woman, kissing the valley of your breasts, nipping and licking at the exposed skin. you sigh, scratching her crown, her messy bun undone, the ponytail hanging on for dear life. pulling the pad down your breast, baran licks her way down toward the tissue right next to your bud, cooing as you whimper. “you want more, huh?”
you nod your head.
“what do you want?” she challenges, swiping a finger against your nipple, chuckling in amusement at your obvious shudder. exposed under her gaze, you whine, gripping on her neck.
“what do you want?”
“your mouth sucking on my—mhm!”
there she goes, burying her face in your tits, bent down at an angle to give you what you need, sucking your nipple as she fondles with your other breast, rolling the bud in between fingers, staring up at you with a content smile.
her eyes twinkle at the beautiful sight.
baran detaches her mouth away from your nipple, a string of saliva connecting them.
“i need more of you. get on the bed,” she orders, raking her eyes at you from head to toe. “walk backwards. slowly. don’t look away from me,” giving you an appreciative nod as you follow her exact order.
her gaze latches onto you like a leech, calculating every movement, “stop-!”
your ass lands on the mattress, the backs of your knees sending you there. “i’m sorry–“ you start, about to stand up until baran holds a hand. she shakes her head.
“it’s okay, stay put,” she says, drawing closer to you.
“take off your dress, baran. i want to see you too,” you plead.
the older woman sniggers, giving you a look as if she can’t believe you’re exchanging orders, bossing her around without consequence. you tense as she floats closer, still fully clothed, holding all the power. your head buzzes at the sight, at her command, and the aftershocks from the orgasm of her doing.
“i sag larzan,” she coos, lips pouting in adoration.
she’s in front of you now, tall and gorgeous, scanning your frame like a predator. dragging her tongue across her bottom lip, smirking at you, ready to pounce. she hums, neatly tucking loose hair behind your ears, tilting your chin up.
baran unclasps the hook of her dress, the fabric opening down at her torso. she drags it slowly, keeping her eyes on you and your reaction, letting out a silent hum when your mouth opens in admiration. she kicks the discarded dress to the side, leaving only her undergarment, top completely bare. you begin to drool.
baran’s confidence is inspiring, straightening her posture, slightly pushing out her chest towards you.
“my eyes are up here,” she husks, her deeper tone snapping your attention back to her face, the one that makes you soak her pristine sheets.
“i’m sorry,” you whisper, automatically peaking at her hard-rock nipples, stiff and awaiting your mouth.
“shma npastid? are you?”
the older woman raises a brow, taking your chin in between index and middle, pressing on the crease, causing your mouth to open. you could only nod your head.
baran lowers her neck, mouth only a few centimeters separating you. her doe eyes, oh-so-black in dilation, glinting as she weighs her choices, checking in with you silently. you tremble under the intensity of her gaze. piercing through your soul and your bundle of nerves. she makes up her mind in the end,
pulling spit from her mouth to yours, the action causing you to grind against the mattress, your moan covered by her mouth. pushing her spit deeper, mixing your own saliva with hers. she slowly lays you down the bed, pressing herself on top of you, her biceps propping her up.
the older woman bats her doe eyes at you, staring at you with such care, “are you still with me on this?” making sure you’re both still on the same page. you nod, speechless. her face softens with concern, almost maternal. “i’m okay. are you okay?”
she furrows her brows, caressing your cheek with a thumb, pressing a kiss on your temple.
she hums in acknowledgment.
“yes, yes,” she mumbles in your mouth, kissing you softly, languidly caressing your tongue with her own, getting lost in the warmth of your mouth.
she kisses down your body, gently, as if she’s finally realizing the weight and fragility of it. it makes you weak in the knees because not only is it baran with you, the woman that somehow invaded your dreams every night, but it has been so long since you've kissed someone passionately, with a promise.
baran pays attention to your other breast this time, flicking your nipple with a loose tongue, tweaking the other, humming when you hit a moan, making a mental note of your tics.
she nips and sucks a trail at the plane of your torso, caressing your sides with a featherlight touch, sucking the rim of your navel. she grins as you shift at the action, sticking and flicking a tongue in your navel. she’s the first to give this to you it seemed. she grazes her teeth down to the band of your soaked panties.
the older woman lifts her head up, humming in content. “you’re beautiful,” she sighs and you melt.
baran grazes her nose along the fabric of your underwear, mouthing at your labia. she huffs, rolling her eyes back as she inhales your scent, tongue swiping at your clothed pussy in the process. you whine, hips bucking, pulling away as to not aggravate you as much, although knowing you’d react this way.
she presses a kiss at the wet spot.
“spread your legs,” she exhales, excitedly abiding her wish.
“good girl,” she moans, licking and sucking at your inner thighs, just relishing in the heat you’re radiating. she tugs your waistband and you lift your hips, the last piece of garment fulfilling your nudity.
“pashman,” baran exasperates and moans your name, gritting her teeth, holding back from outright devouring you.
she wants this to last. she wants this imprinted on her mind for months to no end, erasing the ones before you, reshaping her into a better woman. she wants this to be as sacred as yours. she wants this for the both of you.
baran presses a kiss on your folds, separating them with a swipe of her tongue, the tip landing against your clitoris. you arch your back, gripping the sheets. she flicks it a few times, brown eyes looking up at you, intertwining her fingers with yours. your legs tremble at the stimulation, unable to wrap your head around the fact that she’s in between your legs, fully focused on your pleasure. your blinding, hot, pleasure.
she nuzzles her mouth against your clit, dragging her tongue across your hole, probing it, letting out a strangled moan as you grip her head with your thighs, sighing in pleasure. you’re so wet, cum dripping down your thighs, mixing the previous orgasm and the cum she’s slurping out of you.
“you taste so good,” baran mumbles, mouth full of your pussy. you sob, closing in on your climax already, meeting her lips and tongue with the drive of your hips. she moans and it vibrates through your bundle of nerves, setting you off deeper. “baran…” you whimper, grabbing a few locks of hair.
she grunts and rolls her head back, lapping up at your wet folds, grabbing your thighs and spreading them even more. she pulls away for a second to get a better view of your reactions, slamming two fingers inside your stretched hole.
“yes?”
you cuss, holding onto her wrist and then back at the sheets, panting out her name.
“baran, baran, baran..!”
it gets you closer, hips coming off the mattress, just rolling and rocking, the squelch of your juices resounding throughout her bedroom. “you’re close, aren’t you? you need me right now, don’t you?”
you nod your head, an inaudible plea coming out of your mouth, full of saliva and the older woman’s name. baran lets out a strangled moan and dives back into you, “come for me, please, please come in my mouth,” losing herself in your pussy, grinding her core against the mattress. it feels so good, grabbing onto her for dear life, scraping her scalp and hearing her name fall from your lips as you fall apart for her yet again.
panting through your orgasm, the older woman flattens her tongue and cleans you up, sucking in the remaining juices she has yet to devour. she’s a neat freak, so it only makes sense she keeps your pussy clean as well.
baran kisses your inner thighs, breathing you in, making her way up your chest and neck, peppering wet kisses and leaving words of praise. “you did so good for me,” she coos, pecking your lips before covering them with a swipe of her tongue, capturing your whimper in her mouth.
her eyes are twinkling at you. she grins, mouth swollen and wet.
“you made me so wet, did you know that?”
you shake your head, blissed out. “i did?”
“no? you were too drunk with pleasure, weren’t you?”
after nodding your head, she giggles, shifting away, taking off her lace panties.
“can i use your mouth?” she asks, so cute and so breathless.
“yes, of course, please-“ you respond, getting up, but baran just pushes you back down.
“i want to ride your face ‘til i come, koodak,” she purrs, batting her eyes at you.
“fuck,”
she chuckles.
“will you give it to me?”
so demanding, so bossy.
“anything you want,” is your only response.
she moans and kisses you, before rearranging your position, making sure you’re comfortable in the pillow, gracefully placing herself on top of you, hands grabbing the headboard, tilting her neck downwards to situate herself on your face.
“okay down there?”
you hum in acknowledgment, grabbing the backs of her thighs, pulling her down. she hisses as her slit gets in contact with your lips, beginning it with a peck.
the sight of her pussy makes you drool, drenched and ready for the taking. the older woman didn’t lie. she needs this as much as you do. you part her folds with your lips, burying your tongue inside, finding her clit and giving it a good suck.
“oh fuck,” baran moans, long and drawn out, thighs quivering. you hear the creak of the headboard and know it’s about to be obnoxiously loud. your head roils in complete bliss, mouth drenched in baran’s cum, the consistency thick and intoxicating. “like that?”
baran hums, the dirty talk causing her hips to jerk, sudden and then steady, finding herself a rhythm. she pulls back, sets both palms against the mattress, bearing her weight completely at an angle. she grins when you come up for air, overcome with the urge to give her what she needs.
it’s electric, giving her what she needs, the older woman’s face constricted in pleasure, sweat building on her forehead, brown hair frizzled out by her need to please as well. baran has a few moles littered across her body, her chest clear of them, bouncing and jiggling at her thrusts against your mouth.
you slither a hand through her torso, grabbing a tit. she pushed her core harder against your mouth, convulsing at the action, arching her head back as you pinch her nipple and suck on her clit at the same time, examining her every move. she grabs your hand and places it back on her thighs, replacing it with her own, moaning your name as she stares deep into your eyes.
you moan, the vibration causing her hips to stutter, toppling over back against the headboard, unable to prop herself in the position she was in, about to spill. baran mumbles a few words in farsi, inaudible, only for her own pleasure, placing one hand against your crown, sweat dripping down her forehead.
you groan, nudging your nose against her clit before pulling it in your mouth, giving it a hard suck, the movement setting her over the edge.
you keep lapping at her pussy, head constricted in between baran’s trembling thighs, a keen cry releasing from the coiling tension in her abdomen. caressing her skin into the aftermath of her orgasm, your mouth latching onto her until she lets go.
it takes baran a minute to ride it out, her breathing beginning to even out, halting her movements completely, unlatching herself from your mouth. you swipe the cum off your face with your tongue, a loud hitch of inhale coming from the older woman, whose eyes were on you the entire time. you grin, sheepish, “can’t help it,” honest with a hoarse voice.
“i’m sure,” she responds sarcastically, situating herself in between your thighs, nuzzling her face in your neck. “are you tired, are you okay?”
you tilt your head to the side so you can see her face. you give her an incredulous look, teasing.
“my, my. do you want to go again? and here i thought i couldn’t have enough,”
she grins, eyes wide and adoring. she pinches your cheek. “that’s why i’m offering, because i know you want more!”
“look at you! who doesn’t!” you kiss her cheek. baran tilts her head away and flutters her eyes, cheekbones pointed out of skittishness. she buries her face in your neck again, finding solitude there.
“okay, but we need a water break,” she settles, mumbling in your neck.
“i’m sorry, what was that? i couldn’t hear you,” you rib, placing a hand on the back of her head. your laughter fades into a moan as baran licks your earlobe. “you were saying?”
“you’re insufferable,” you settle, watching her face appear in front of you. she’s glowing, mouth swollen by your deeds, baby hairs moist in perspiration. she looks so comfortable, so at home in your arms.
pairing: rival med student!john carter x rival med student!fem reader
contains: making out, medical innacuracies, possible inaccuracy of the US healthcare system (i'm from the UK), ER storyline inaccuracy, praise kink, 18+, MDNI!!!, semi?public sex, plot, interruptions, tension, p in v, soft dom!carter, closet quickie, awkward post-sex
word count: 2.7k
masterlist
divider by @isthiscoinsidenceorasign
the supply closet smelled faintly of antiseptic and cardboard dust, and john carter was standing in the middle of it holding a box of IV tubing like it personally offended him.
"you alphabetised saline," he said flatly, shoving his hands into the pockets of his wrinkled green scrubs.
you looked up from the lower shelf with the same expression you usually reserved for patients who lied about 'accidentally' falling on shampoo bottles. "because unlike some people, i understand that chaos isn't an organisational system."
somewhere down the hall, the ER phones shrieked and someone laughed too loudly, but inside the cramped little room it felt strangely muffled, close, warm from the heat of two exhausted med students running on caffeine and mutual irritation.
carter opened his mouth to argue back just as the heavy door swung shut behind him with a loud metallic click. then, slowly, he turned the handle. nothing. your stomach dropped. "you have got to be kidding me," you muttered.
carter leaned his forehead against the door for a second before looking back at you with the most tired, painfully handsome expression you'd ever seen. "this is," he sighed, "literally my worst nightmare."
"mine too, apparently," you shot back, slamming your palm against the door. still locked, of course.
carter ran a hand through his already tousled hair, making it stand even more on end. "so. we're stuck. in a supply closet. with saline bags and your superior attitude."
the fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting harsh shadows across his sharp jaw.
"attitude saves lives, carter," you retorted, turning your back on the door to lean against the metal shelving. "unlike whatever organisational system you were using - which looked suspiciously like 'throw it wherever there's a gap'."
he groaned and slid down the floor to sit on the linoleum floor, long legs stretched out and nearly knocking into a stack of sterile gloves.
"we could be here for hours," you said, voice flat. "the whole ER's packed and i'm starting to get the impression that doug and carol sent us here deliberately."
he tilted his head back against the door, closing his eyes. "oh, absolutely. i can just picture doug cackling manically as he locks the door. 'let's see how long it takes for them to kill each other'," carter mimicked in a gravelly voice.
"he gave us that look," you pointed out, sliding down the shelves to sit opposite him. "that specific, doug ross look that means 'i am about to cause chaos and vanish'." you sighed, stretching your legs out beside his. "and mark just stood there and let it happen."
"a classic betrayal," carter agreed, cracking one eye open. "mark is definitely an accomplice."
"so we're pawns in their twisted little experiment," you concluded, crossing your arms over your chest. the closet was getting warmer, the air thick with the smell of antiseptic and carter's expensive cologne. "if we kill one another, they win."
carter groaned again, shifting uncomfortably on the floor. "well, that's motivating."
"so what are we gonna do?" you asked. "i'm not staying with you in this closet for hours, john. i'd rather die."
"die with me," carter suggested immediately, pushing himself into a more upright position. "because i'm not exactly thrilled about the alternative either. but if you've got a better idea, now's the time." his dark eyes flickered with a hint of challenge.
the shelf beside him wobbled dangerously as he moved. "easy, carter," you said automatically, reaching out to steady it.
"don't touch anything," carter snapped, his hand shooting out to cover yours on the shelf. his fingers were warm, a little rough from a few days of scrubbing in. the sudden contact made you both freeze. carter's gaze locked with yours, his expression unreadable.
the closet seemed to shrink another few inches. his hand was still covering yours, fingers curled loosely but possessively around your wrist.
"i'm not gonna break the supplies," you muttered, pulling your hand back slowly. "though i'm tempted to knock the whole thing over just to watch you try to explain it to weaver."
a dark, unexpected chuckle escaped him. "bold suggestion for someone who's currently trapped in a supply closet with the man she hates most in the ER." he shifted again, his thigh brushing yours in the confined space. "but you're right. i'd probably get stuck restocking this entire floor on night shift for a month."
the proximity was unbearable.
"move your leg," you hissed, pressing your palms flat against his chest to shove him backwards. he hit the shelves behind him with a dull thud, eliciting a muffled groan. "personal space, carter. look it up."
"trust me, i'm trying," he gritted out, catching your wrists before you could pull away.
"let go," you demanded, twisting your wrists. his fingers tightened reflexively, holding firm. the struggle only brought you closer, your faces inches apart now. you could see every fleck of gold in his dark eyes, the faint stubble along his jaw.
"stop fighting me," carter muttered, his voice low and strained. his grip on your wrists softened slighlty, but he didn't let go. instead, he shifted his weight, pressing you back against the shelves behind you. the cold metal bars dug into your back as he pinned you there with his body.
"move," you snarled, but the words were weaker now, lacking their usual venom. you could feel his heartbeat against your chest, steady and strong. his face was so close that you could count the lashes framing his eyes. "move, carter, or i swear-"
before you could finish your threat, his mouth crashed down on yours in a harsh, sudden kiss. his hands released your wrists to wrap around your waist, pulling you flush against him as he backed you harder into the shelves. the impact knocked something metal to the floor with a clang.
your hands, now free, found their way to his shoulders. you dug your fingers into the fabric of his scrubs, unsure if you were pushing him away or holding on.
he broke the kiss just long enough to breathe, "finally," and then his mouth was on yours again - hungrier this time, bolder.
the door burst open.
the sudden burst of fluorescent light flooded the closet, revealing you both tangled together on the floor against the shelves. mark greene and kerry weaver stood frozen in the doorway, eyes wide with shock.
mark's expression shifted from surprise to amusement in an instant, a slow grin spreading across his face. "well, this is... a development."
weaver didn't even acknowledge the makeout session happening right in front of her, just stepped around you both like it was completely normal to find two rival med students lip-locked on the supply closet floor.
"i need the suture kit, carter," she said, voice perfectly calm as she reached over your head for the supplies, as if you weren't currently pinned beneath carter with your legs wrapped around his waist.
his hand, which had somehow found its way under your scrub top, gave your hip a firm squeeze. "it's all yours, doctor weaver."
"uh, do you need us for anything?" you scrambled.
"yes," she answered, turning back to you both without a hint of embarrassment, "you can untangle yourselves and come help me with this patient. now." she left, expecting you'd follow immediately. mark just shrugged and walked off after her, still smirking.
carter rolled off you abruptly, his expression unreadable. you both stood up quickly, avoiding eye contact as you smoothed down your scrubs. the closet suddenly felt way too small, the air heavy with unasked questions and unfinished kisses. you saw him from a new perspective. "we should..." you trailed off, gesturing vaguely towards the door.
"yeah," he muttered, not moving. his eyes dropped to your lips, then back up, jaw tightening. "that shouldn't have happened."
"right. nope. won't happen again," you said quickly, too quickly.
he didn't look convinced. neither were you.
the patient was a 45 year old male with acute abdominal pain. you both fell into step beside weaver, the earlier tension replace by professional focus. almost.
"carter, go get benton from surgery. you, come with me," weaver ordered, splitting you up efficiently.
carter shot you one last unreadable look over his shoulder before disappearing down the hall.
you followed weaver into the exam room. the patient was on a bed, writhing in pain. "probable appendicitis," weaver said swiftly, "but we need to rule out other possibilities." she started examining the patient, her hands moving with precision. you knew what was coming - kerry weaver loved to grill med students.
"tell me," she started, her voice sharp and expectant as she continued her examination. "the differential diagnoses for acute abdominal pain in a patient this age. and be specific." her eyes flicked up to gauge your reaction. she was known for her tough love teaching style. no mercy. no hesitation.
you took a deep breath, stepping closer to the patient. "well, doctor weaver, aside from appendicitis, we could be looking at a variety of issues..." you rattled off a list of possibilities: "perforated ulcer, diverticulitis, hernias..."
weaver listened intently, her expression unchanging. as you neared the end of your list, she suddenly interrupted, "and what about mesenteric ischemia? or a ruptured aortic aneurysm?" her eyes bore into yours, challenging you to think faster, deeper.
"it's his abdomen-"
"exactly," she snapped, but not unkindly. "sometimes the obvious isn't the only possibility. don't limit yourself to the obvious. think about blood supply, think about anatomy beyond just the abdomen." she stepped back, giving you space to consider.
weaver's pager buzzed - trauma coming in, right as carter and benton arrived.
"carter, you better be on it," she said, already turning away. "and benton?" she called out as he entered. "teach doug ross' student as well as your own while i'm gone."
benton gave you a curt nod, no smile, no greeting. "the patient's holding his right lower quadrant. good sign."
carter moved closer to examine the patient, his body language completely professional now - no trace of the heated moments in the closet. "abdominal exam shows guarding and rebound tenderness," he reported to benton calmly. his eyes flicked back to you briefly before focusing on the patient.
"take fifteen minutes," benton said gruffly after a while, already moving to the next patient. you and carter began to walk out of the ER together in silence. the tension from earlier was still there, but it felt different now - charged with something else entirely.
suddenly, your hand wrapped around carter's arm and pulled him into the medicine cupboard. "we need to talk." you hissed. the door clicked shut behind you.
carter's eyes widened in surprise. the sudden closeness sent a jolt through him, recalling the intense kiss they'd just shared. he leaned back against the shelves, crossing his arms over his chest. "what are you doing?"
"you tell me," you said, your voice low and intense. "one minute you're kissing me like that, the next you're acting like nothing happened. what's your problem, carter?" you stepped closer, invading his personal space. the cupboard was so small that your bodies were barely an inch apart.
what was it with you two and confined spaces?
carter didn't know what to say, so he did the only thing that made sense in that moment - he kissed you. his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against him as he claimed your mouth in a deep, hungry kiss, filled with all the unsaid words between you.
you responded eagerly, your arms wrapping around his neck as you pressed yourself closer. the closet was suddenly too hot, too small... perfect.
there was a loud bang on the door, followed by a voice that made both of you freeze. "hey, is anyone in there?" it was carol hathaway, her tone curious.
carter broke the kiss immediately, stepping back as if he'd been burned. "just a second,"
"ignore him, carol, we've been told to organise all the scrips and we're not allowed to leave til it's done! he's trying to get out of it! lock us in!" you called, thinking quick on your feet.
the ruse was perfect and carter knew it - he should've objected, but he couldn't find the will to. carol laughed. "gotcha. have fun!" the lock clicked into place.
the closet was plunged into darkness, the only light a sliver under the door. carter immediately found your lips again, kissing you hungrily, hands sliding under your scrubs.
"smart girl," he murmured against your mouth. his tongue traced your lower lip and you felt yourself melting at his words. "but we can't actually do this, you know that."
"then why do you keep kissing me?" you whispered back, breathless. his hands were already pushing down your scrub pants.
"because i'm an idiot," he admitted, his voice rough with desire. he kissed you deeply as he pushed your pants and underwear down to your ankles. his own hands were shaking slightly as he unbuckled his belt. the cupboard was silent except for your heavy breathing and the occasional rustle of fabric.
carter groaned low in his throat as his fingers found you, checking your readiness. you were wet, making him swear softly under his breath. he lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he pinned you against the cabinet. "quiet," he whispered urgently against your lips, positioning himself.
he entered you with a slow, deliberate thrust, swallowing your gasp with a demanding kiss. you clung to his shoulders, burying your face in his neck to stifle the moan that threatened to escape. he paused for a second, letting you adjust, before setting a rhythm that was deep and controlled, his grip on your thighs tight.
every thrust pushed you back gently, your body sliding against the cabinet, but carter's hold was solid. you bit down on his shoulder to stay quiet, rewarded by the way his breathing hitched and his pace faltered for just a moment. he was being careful and considerate, but the tension in his body spoke of barely restrained need.
"god, you feel good," he whispered against your neck, his hips moving in steady circles now rather than thrusts. each rotation hit that perfect spot inside you and you had to bite your lip hard to stay silent. the cupboard was getting steamy, your bodies slick with sweat.
carter's hands slid under your ass, lifting you slightly to change the angle. you both gasped softly at the new sensation, his cock hitting even deeper. he kissed you fiercly to muffle any sounds, his tongue mimicking the rhythm of his hips. the cabinet rattled quietly with each thrust.
the tension built quickly - there was no time for games, no slow burn. this had to be fast and quiet, a shared secret they'd both regret later. your nails dug into his back as you felt yourself getting close, and carter sensed it too. his mouth found your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "that's it," he murmured, voice thick with need.
he sped up slightly, adding a twist of his hips that sent sparks through your entire body. your orgasm hit suddenly, a silent wave that made you clamp down around him and bury your face in his shoulder to muffle the whimpers. carter followed immediately after, his own release shuddering through him as he kissed your neck desperately, swallowing his own groan.
you stayed like that for a long moment, locked together, trying to catch your breaths. carter's heart pounded against your chest, and you could feel the quick rise and fall of his shoulders. slowly, he lowered you back to the ground, his hands lingering on your hips for a moment before he stepped away entirely.
the sudden emptiness made you both feel oddly uncomfortable. carter busied himself with pulling up his pants and buckling his belt, avoiding eye contact. you smoothed down your scrub pants, feeling awkward and satisfied and confused all at once. the closet was silent except for the sound of fabric moving.
carter ran a hand through his hair, still not looking at you. "we shouldn't have done that," he muttered, but there was no real conviction in his voice.
you both knew it was a lie - you should have done that.
idk if someone has said this before but a pregnant or breastfeeding sleepy and a clogged duct,,,, she's embarrassed af but jack would be so sweet (and so turned on) to help her get it unstuck if you know what i mean😉 (he sucks it out and gets hard like the perv he is smh)
cw: jack sucking reader's tit <3, pregnant!reader
It's odd how he ends up so secretive about drinking your breastmilk when you give birth later, because here, as you're cradling your swollen breast, Jack's more than eager to help you.
Maybe it's because it's there. The excuse to help Mommy.
The changes in your body have left you soft and too tender, to the point where embarrassment burns with the ache. You're a nurse, you know this happens. You'd never think to judge anyone else for this, but you're not anyone else, you're you. So, stupidly, you burn.
You just feel so heavy. The skin of your tit's stretched thin, you think you're sensitive to even the slightest touch.
"Still hurts, baby?"
"...I think I'm clogged."
Jack just steps closer, and you're too much in distress to see the heat stirring in him...or the way he stares at the way your nipple's peaked and leaking.
The sight hits him right in the cock, kiddo. Always finding ways to kill him.
"...Let me take care of that. I can try, least."
He can try, least. His voice drops, his hand smoothes over your back as he guides you to sit on the edge of the bed.
Is he going to do what you think he's going to do? What you need so desperately for him to do?
The answer comes with Jack's lips closing around your nipple with a gentle but firm suction.
"Jack---"
Of course, Jack doesn't just sip. He takes to suckling and drawing harder with his awful, helpful tongue swirling against your stinging tip.
He's working the blockage free, at least...and getting you so wet and whiny while doing it.
"Tastes good, Sleepy. Bou're gonna be m'good in a second."
Once the taste of your warm, sweet milk fills his mouth with a gush, Jack realizes he just might need to die right here if he's gonna die happy. But fuck, how many more clog ducts are you gonna have?
How many more times is he gonna be able to drain you while your hand pumps his cock in a frantic rhythm? While he drips? While you drip?Can't...
dr. robby x f!attending!reader
masterlist
sacraments masterlist
content: 18+ mdni, ANGST, swearing, no real medical stuff in this one besides a single cut and some sutures, family trauma, complicated mother/daughter dynamic, sibling death, grief, childhood trauma, mentions of physical/emotional childhood abuse, age gap (reader is about 34 i had to do the math to get the timeline right as you'll see, robby is probably like 53-54 here)
words: 8.7K
synopsis: loosely inspired by episode 2x06 of the bear (fishes) so if we have any bear stans here hi how are ya! reader is an attending at the pitt, did her residency under adamson, a fellowship in boston, and now has been back at the pitt for roughly two years. her and robby have been dating for the entirety of those two years, but have been working together since she was a resident (with the exception of her fellowship). robby insists on meeting her family when her mother reaches out to him via facebook and a nightmare ensues!!
a/n: hi! thank you for all the love you've given but i stayed anyway, truly means the world to me. i hope you enjoy this one, tho i feel it is a bit niche so no worries if not!! please please note the content warnings and don't read if you think it'll bother you. ok talk soon.
“So,” Robby parked himself next to you at the hub while you looked up at the board, “Christmas Eve, are you picking me up or should I come get you?”
You frowned and turned to him, “What are you talking about?”
“The Feast of the Seven Fishes. At your parents’ place.”
You choked out a laugh and started walking towards a patient room, iPad in hand, “Right. You will not be attending that.”
“Ah, but I will. I already told your mother I’d be there.”
You stopped cold, forcing Robby to walk into you, and then turned to face him, “Since when are you in contact with my mother?”
He shrugged, that mischievous grin on his face, “She friended me on Facebook a few weeks ago.”
Oh, this could not be happening. This was your worst nightmare come to life. “Okay, well. Please block her and I will inform her that you won’t be coming.”
He gently reached out to grab your arm and pulled you to the side before you could walk away again, “Not happening. I want to meet your family. I will be coming. It’s not up for discussion.”
You could feel the panic rising in your chest, “Robby—“
“Baby, we’ve been dating for two years. You’ve met my family, dozens of times now.”
“Yes, well, your family is lovely. And normal.”
He smiled down at you, “And your family raised you. So they can’t be that bad.”
You closed your eyes and shook your head, “You have no idea what you’ve agreed to.”
“I’ve agreed to meet the people who made the woman I’m in love with,” He said tenderly. You were angry and scared out of your mind, but when he said that, you found yourself wanting to give in.
But you knew what would happen the second he met your family. You’d been through it before. Many times. Steeling your face, you walked around him.
“Look,” He said, walking in front of you again, “If you really don’t want me to come, I won’t, but then consider us done.”
Your eyes locked on his. There was no smile, no flush to indicate he was lying or teasing.
“You don’t mean that.”
He nodded, “I do.” He sighed, “I’m sorry, I can’t keep watching you build these walls up around yourself to keep me out and then pretend like everything’s fine.”
You laughed flatly, “Oh, that’s rich coming from you.”
“I did the work,” He said quietly, “For you. It’s your turn now.”
And then he left you like that, alone in the middle of the ER.
***
It was about a year ago when you had gone to Robby to request a day off from work. It was late February, still in the dead of winter. The city couldn’t quite shake off the snow.
“Hey, I wanted to see if I could take next Thursday off?” You asked as casually as you could manage, “I can find another attending to cover if you need—“
“No, it’s fine. I can manage by myself,” Robby looked up from his workstation, perching his glasses on his head, “What’s going on next Thursday?”
You opened and closed your mouth a few times, and then sighed, looking down at your hands, “It’s just, it’s the anniversary of my brother’s death so I just have a hard time being in the ER that day.”
“Oh,” Robby said, clearly caught off guard, “Sweetheart, I’m… so sorry I had no idea.”
“It’s fine,” You said quickly, uncomfortable with the attention and the sympathy, as you always were, “It was a long time ago.” You cleared your throat, “I have to go check on a patient.” You said and were gone before he could follow.
But you had felt his eyes on you for the rest of the shift. Sure enough, as soon as the two of you were out in the cold winter air, he brought it up.
“You never mentioned your brother died.”
You slowly inhale through your nose, “I don’t like to talk about it. It was over a decade ago.” You shrugged, as if the time had made it hurt less. It hadn’t, not exactly. The hurt was just different now. You had learned to live with it, bargain with it, figure out ways to work around it. But it was always there.
He nodded slowly, “And he died in an ER?”
You weren’t sure how much longer you could indulge this line of questioning before you were likely to snap at him. It was absolutely fair of him to be asking, you had talked him through Adamson and Jake’s girlfriend, Leah, more times than you could count.
But it was true what they said about doctors being terrible patients.
“Congenital heart failure, undiagnosed. He went into cardiac arrest during a half marathon. They got him back for a little bit in the ambulance, but he had been down a while, so.” You shrugged, concentrating on your foot prints through the snow so you wouldn’t see the way he collapsed, still a half mile away from you. You wouldn’t remember the way you had hopped the fence and sprinted to him, knees buckling when you got there. “We were nineteen.”
“Your twin?” He asked, voice soft.
You only nodded, “And before you ask, I’ve been tested. I don’t have it.”
“I bet that felt very unfair.”
No one had ever said that to you before and it nearly stopped you in your tracks. But it was true. You had spent many years, not being sad that your brother had died, but being absolutely furious with him for leaving you here, perfectly healthy, to carry on.
And when every test came back proving that you were healthy, everyone told you how lucky you were. Only it didn’t feel that way. It felt as though he had abandoned you.
The tears burned the back of your eyes, but you had grown very adept at keeping them at bay. You breathed through it until you thought it safe to speak again.
“He wasn’t supposed to go anywhere I couldn’t follow.” Despite your best efforts, your voice wavered and Robby heard it.
He reached for you, you felt his hand on your arm. It was likely he was pulling you in for a hug, but you shrugged him off.
You didn’t look at him, so you weren’t positive, but you could guess he had looked hurt by your dismissal. You kept walking, listening to his boots crunch in the snow next to yours. Reassurance that no matter how you pushed him away, he’d still be there.
After a few minutes of walking in silence, you cleared your throat, “There’s this ramen place a few blocks from your house I’ve been meaning to try. Do you want to order for dinner?”
“Sure.” He said after a few moments of silence.
It was a ceasefire agreement, disguised in take out ramen and letting you pick the movie to watch on his couch that night. He wouldn’t ask again about your brother. Not for a while. But it was only a temporary and tenuous peace, never meant to last.
And the clock was ticking.
***
“I suggest we Uber to my parents’ place.” You said the next day as you looked over a chart, “You’ll want to be drinking, I assure you. And I certainly will not be designated driver as I need to be absolutely smashed to get through the Feast.”
Robby bumped his shoulder into yours, “Ah, so we’re going then?”
“You didn’t give me much of a choice.”
He slipped a finger beneath your chin and tilted gently upwards until you were looking at him, “You always have a choice.”
You forced a smile and looked away. He didn’t understand that it was a false choice. No matter what you chose, you would lose him. You would lose him if you didn’t let him come, you would still lose him if he came.
Robby was smart. Every fault, every break in you, you had carefully glued together, disguised as something else so that he could love you. But there would be no hiding all the ways you were jagged and damaged once he saw your family. Once he understood.
You had seen it so many times before. Partners insisting they wanted to meet your family, despite your warnings. And you would watch as the night went on. They’d get quieter. Their fake laughter less convincing. The way their eyes deadened by the end of the night. They’d kiss you goodnight and roughly a week later, you’d get some bullshit excuse about why it wasn’t working. None of them ever admitted it was because of your family, about the future they saw for you written on the walls, but they didn’t have to.
And now, despite all the careful planning you had done, Robby would follow in their footsteps.
***
You looked up at your childhood home with Robby by your side just as the Uber dropped you off.
“Do you mind if I smoke a cigarette before we go in?” You asked.
Robby looked at you, eyebrows raised, “You don’t smoke.”
“I do when I’m here.” You took out a fresh pack and a lighter and started opening them, “Do you want one?”
He scratched his head, “No. I don’t think you should, either.”
You lit up the cigarette between your lips and took a drag, “Look, you wanted to come here. This is who I am when I’m here.”
“There she is! Our big shot emergency doctor!” Your older brother, Luka, threw his arms around your shoulders from behind, “Hey, what the fuck?” He took the cigarette out of your hands and threw it on the ground, “I thought you quit?”
“Jesus, Luka,” You pulled out another cigarette, “Can’t you mind your own fucking business for once?”
He smirked, “It’s good to see you too, Ace.” He kissed your hair and then looked at Robby, “Oh, and this must be the boyfriend, Robby, is it?” He reached a hand out to Robby, which Robby took, “It’s nice to meet you, finally.”
“Same here,” Robby smiled.
“What’s Robby short for, Robert?”
“Uh, no, my last name is Robinavitch. I go by Dr. Robby or Robby in the ER. My first name is Michael.”
Luka nodded and then turned his attention back to you, “Just so you know, she’s in rare form today. She’s been drinking wine since noon.”
You bit your lip and nodded, “Oh, you mean like last year, and the year before that, and the year before that—“
“Come on, don’t be a brat about it, okay? Tommy’s got it under control, he’s handling it.”
This time you really did laugh, “Oh, Tommy’s handling it, is he? You mean he’s enabling her?”
“Look, Tommy’s had a tough year with the… broken engagement as you know. Just go easy on him, okay?”
You stared at your second cigarette as if it would transport you to another dimension if you thought hard enough, “Yo, Ace, did you hear me?”
“Yes, I will be super fucking kind to Tommy.” You said, annoyed at the use of your childhood nickname, “Where’s your wife, by the way?”
“Oh, she wasn’t feeling well, she’s at home with the kids.”
You laughed and shook your head at Luka, “Good for her.”
“What? She really is sick.”
“Mhm,” You put out your cigarette, “I bet she is. No, really, I’m happy for her Luka. From the bottom of my heart.”
Luka looked up at the house, “You coming in or what?”
“Yeah,” You sighed, “In a minute.”
Luka walked off toward the house and you sighed heavily before looking at Robby, “Last chance to turn back.”
He smiled at you, “I’m not afraid of your family, baby.”
You cracked your neck to one side and then the other, “Well, that makes one of us.”
And then you led him inside.
***
Immediately, as you enter the house, everyone is shouting rather than talking at normal volume. You can hear the range hood going in the kitchen and your mother shouting over it. The unmistakable sound of the men in the living room, yelling about sports.
You were already regretting not preemptively taking ibuprofen before coming here.
“Look who has decided to grace us with her presence. It’s nice of you to come home and visit us humble folk, huh Ace?” Your mother shouts as soon as you walk through the entryway and you sigh heavily.
“Ma, this is Michael, Michael, this is my mother.”
“Call me Deb, sweetheart it’s so good to meet you.” She engulfed him in her arms, kissing his cheeks, “Oh, you’re so handsome, too.”
Robby reddened under the attention of your mother, “Please, it’s my pleasure. Your daughter is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
You felt the flush in your cheeks at Robby’s words and looked around the room with feigned interest, avoiding eye contact with either of them.
Your mother dramatically put her hands to her heart and looked at you, “Did you hear that, Ace? He thinks we did a good job with you.”
You frowned, “Interesting. That’s not what I heard.”
Robby put his hand on your waist and squeezed lightly in warning. You badly wanted to push his hand off you, but held back, knowing it would upset him. And though you thought it a lost cause, you were still going to try to keep him tonight.
Your mother ignores your comment, “How old are you, Michael?”
“Mom.” You admonished immediately.
“What?” She asked, feigning casual, “I think it’s a natural question it’s is no secret he’s older than you.”
Robby smiled and laughed, hanging his head self deprecatingly, “Yes, I am… much older than Y/N.”
You looked at him, apology in your eyes, but he only shook his head slightly.
“Well how much older?” Her smile was strained.
“Ma, please.” You hissed, but she ignored you, continuing to stare at Michael.
“Uh,” Robby also gave a tight smile, clearly uncomfortable, “About twenty years.”
Your mother’s eyebrows flew up, “Well,” She looked back to you, “I guess that’s a no on having kids, then.”
“Oh my God,” You sighed and squeezed your eyes shut.
“What? It’s true, I mean he probably already has kids, right?”
Robby shook his head, “No. I have someone I consider to be like a step son, but no children of my own.”
Your mother stared at him silently for a few moments and then shifted her attention back to you, “Well your father loves you very much, so I’m not sure where this choice came from.”
This couldn’t be happening. They had been in the house all of five minutes and already, you were sure Michael was going to break up with you as soon as you left. Maybe sooner, if it kept going like this.
“Did you just invite him here to insult him?” You asked, voice raising.
“Baby, it’s okay.” Robby whispered in your ear.
“No, it’s not okay.” You said, “If you can’t be nice for one night, then we’ll leave.”
Your mother laughed airily, “Oh relax, Ace, you’re so sensitive! I’m only teasing!” She looked to Michael, “I’m only teasing, sweetheart, you gotta have thick skin if you want to be in this family.”
Robby managed a smile and put a hand over his heart, “No offense taken.”
God, he was so kind and perfect. They were going to fucking ruin him. “I really think we should go,” You whispered so only he could hear.
“Oh, come on. You think I wasn’t prepared for your family to take a jab at my age?” He lowered his head slightly so he could look in your eyes, “I want to be here. With you.”
Your mother turned back to Michael, beckoning you both to the kitchen, “What do you drink, honey, help yourself, there’s beer in the fridge, wine— HEY, WHO TURNED THE HEAT UP ON THE GRAVY? Oh for CHRIST’S SAKE it’s bubbling over everywhere— ACE WOULD YOU GET OVER HERE AND HELP YOUR MOTHER?”
You sighed heavily, “Jesus Christ,” You mumbled and then headed for the fridge, taking out two beers, you used the fridge magnet that doubled as a bottle opener to open them both, letting the caps clatter to the floor and leaving them there. You handed one to Robby, “You should stay away from the kitchen, it’s a war zone in there.”
“And what’ll you do?”
“What I always do,” You took a long swig from the beer, “Fix everyone else’s mess.”
“ACE DID YOU HEAR ME?”
“I’m coming Ma, one sec!”
“What’s with the ‘Ace’ thing?”
You sighed, “It’s a stupid nickname. Our family plays a lot of cards, they’re really superstitious. My grandma once got a full hand of aces while I was helping her play when I was, like, five. So they started calling me Ace. It got so out of hand, they wouldn’t let me sit at the table anymore. Claimed it was cheating to have me within a five foot radius of a game”
He laughed, “That’s cute.”
Just then, the sound of shattering glass came from the kitchen along with the hysterical shrieks of your mother. “Okay,” You said slowly, “I’m gonna go handle that. You’ll be okay out here?”
“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry about me, go.” He kissed you then, and even in your hopelessness you felt loved and safe, for just a second, “I love you.” He said, and you nodded, looking down at your beer bottle, “Hey,” He said and you looked up to meet his eyes, “I love you.” He said again slowly.
“Yeah,” You nodded, his words bringing you back down, “Yeah, I love you.”
“ACE, COULD YOU GET YOUR ASS IN THE FUCKING KITCHEN, PLEASE? CHRIST!” That was Tommy’s voice now and you sighed heavily.
“You’re sure you’re not regretting this yet?” You asked softly.
“Not even a little.” Robby said.
You nodded and stepped away from him. The night was still young.
***
Robby made his way to the living room, beer in hand, and was inundated with people he didn’t know and who barely spared him a glance as he entered the room. Not much in the mood yet to begin introducing himself to everyone, he found himself drawn to the mantel and the pictures perched above it.
He smiled a bit to himself as he noted pictures of little you with whom he assumed was Benji. He could tell, even from the pictures, just how close the two of you were. And his heart broke all over again imagining you having to watch him die.
“Are you Ace’s doctor boyfriend?” An older man came to his side, admiring the pictures as well.
Robby smiled, “What gave me away?”
The man shrugged, “You have the same nervous energy as she does. Always looking for a problem to solve. I’m Frank, her father.”
Robby shook the man’s hand, “Michael. It’s great to meet you, sir.”
“So how is she?”
Robby frowned, “She’s just in the kitchen, you could ask her yourself.”
He shook his head, “No, no, she won’t want to talk to me.”
Robby looked back at the photos, “She’s good,” He said, “She’s a fantastic doctor. We’re lucky to have her.”
“I already knew that part,” He smirked, “But outside her work?”
Robby inhaled deeply, “To be honest with you, sir, I’m still trying to figure that out myself.”
Her father nodded, “Yeah, me too. I’ve been trying to figure her out ever since Benji died. Just to know if she’s okay. I’m pretty shit at it, though.” He laughed.
Robby looked back at the photos, “I am very sorry for your loss.” He paused, “Could you… tell me more about Benji? She doesn’t talk about him much, but I can tell it still weighs on her.”
The man, Frank, was silent for a moment as he looked at the photos. “Her and Benji were inseparable. They did everything together. They had the same friends, everything. Applied to all the same schools and went to the same one. You never had to worry about them because even if they never came to us, they always had each other.
We were always very busy with four kids. Never a break. And there’s this home video I think about a lot, even now. It’s Christmas morning, they’re about five or six, opening their presents. Their mother and I are helping one or both of the other boys with something. And there’s a good thirty seconds or so where she's holding a gift that she needs help opening, a doll or something, and she repeatedly calls for her mom. Over and over. She never gets upset, she’s very calm, no crying. And nobody turns. I watch it now and I can’t understand how neither of us heard her. But of course, Benji hears her, and he goes over and grabs a pair of scissors and helps her open the package. That’s how it always was with them. They didn’t need us.”
He sighed, “And then when Benji died it was… Well, it was like she went adrift and we had no idea how to even begin to try to anchor her. Benji would have. I remember her crying that day in the hospital, hysterically sobbing by the time we got there. And then never again. I never saw her cry after that. She was the one who made all the funeral arrangements, picked out his casket, picked out a plot at the cemetery. She fundraised so we didn’t have to worry about the medical bills or funeral costs. She put together slide shows and picked out music. She picked the restaurant we went to after the burial. And I don’t think any of it was because she wanted to do that. We didn’t give her much choice. Her mom and I fell apart. Neither of us could get out of bed. And I think she heard Benji calling for us, like he heard her that Christmas morning.”
He shook his head and sniffled, “Her mother doesn’t like to see it that way, but I think out of all our kids, I think we failed her. And I don’t blame her for not coming home.”
Finally, he looks at Robby, “I’m not sure why I told you all that. I guess maybe I’m hoping that you’ll figure out how to anchor her. That she won’t be lost at sea the rest of her life.”
Robby looks down at his beer bottle and sighs before looking back up at the man, “I’m sure as hell trying.”
***
“So, the new boyfriend is also a doctor?” Tommy was perched on the counter, sipping a beer. Their mother was stirring various things on the stove and shoving things in and out of the oven while shouting at people to get out of the kitchen. You were mopping up some sort of sauce from the floor and throwing out shattered pieces of glass.
“Yes.” You said, “He’s not new though, we’ve been dating for two years now.”
“Well he’s new to us because you never come home.” Your mother interjected.
You looked back down at the floor, “God, grant me the serenity,” You murmured as you threw larger pieces of glass into the trash.
“Mom’s right, you know,” Tommy said, “Ever since Benji died you basically abandoned us.”
Your hands stilled for only a moment and then you were moving again, “I was in college, and then medical school, and then residency, Tommy. What the fuck did you want me to do, drop out and wallow in my misery like the rest of you did? Let it fucking eat me alive?”
There was sweet, blissful silence, for just a moment and then— “Maybe you should have instead of acting like a goddamn robot after he died. Might’ve done you some good. Might have bonded you with the rest of your family.” Your mother said.
Oh, you were so tired of all of this. Of the criticism of every little thing you had done since Benji died, down to the way you had grieved. “Sorry, I didn’t realize I had been competing in the grief olympics.”
“Come on, Ace, she didn’t mean it like that—“ Tommy started.
“Yes she did.” You said, “Didn’t you, mom? You don’t think I grieved correctly, isn’t that right? What was it you said to me just fucking weeks after he died? ‘Do you even miss him?’”
She continued stirring, “I don’t remember it that way.”
You scoffed and returned to picked up glass, “Un-fucking-believable.”
“Ace…” Tommy said in warning.
“It’s fine, Tommy. I’m fine.” You said.
“Yes, your sister is always fine.” Your mother said, “The picture of composure, unlike her nuthouse of a family that she can’t stand to be around.”
You threw the last piece of glass into the trash harder than was necessary, “I need some air.” You murmured and then left before anyone else could say anything.
You ran into aunts and uncles and cousins on your way outside, forcing smiles and quick hugs until you hit the cold December air. You breathed in shakily as you pulled out your pack of cigarettes, lighting another.
As if he had been summoned, Robby appeared next to you, “You doing okay, Ace?”
You made a face at him, “Please don’t call me that.”
He smiled and put an arm around your shoulders, pulling you to him, “I saw some pictures of you and Benji when you were little. You were adorable, as expected.”
You hummed, cracking a small smile, “The only reason those are still up are because Benji’s in them. You’ll notice there’s no pictures up of me by myself. There’s barely any of Tommy or Luka either. It’s hard to compete for the favorite child when one of them is dead.”
Robby was quiet for a few moments and you thought you could actually hear the gears in his head turning. He took the cigarette from your hand and took a drag before handing it back to you, “I was talking to your dad, he’s very proud of you.”
“He said that?”
Robby nodded, "More or less."
You scoffed, “Well, nice of him to say it to you.”
“He’s never told you?”
You shook your head, “We’ve barely spoken since Benji. He looks at me and all he sees is the son he lost.”
“I’m sorry.” He said quietly.
You took a step away from him, “Why are you sorry? This is what you wanted, right? Why you wanted to come? So you could see up close and personal why I’m so fucked up?”
He shook his head, “Come on, don’t do that.”
“What?”
“Lash out at me after you were just vulnerable. You do this all the time. It’s fucking exhausting.”
You scoffed, “What’s exhausting is you bringing us here when I fucking told you it would be a disaster. And now, on top of everything else,” You gestured wildly to the house, “I have to walk on glass around you too in a surely doomed attempt at making you want to stay.”
He shook his head sadly, “Baby, I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
You want to argue, but you feel the burning in your eyes and you can’t cry right now. So you turn away from him, breathing slowly, and finish your cigarette.
The front door opens, and with it, the sound of the stereo playing Christmas music and the competing of a dozen voices to be heard over it. The sound quickly vanishes when the door closes.
“Hey, Ace, mom’s looking for you, said she needs your help with the lasagna.” It’s Luka’s voice.
You sigh, “Why the fuck is she making lasagna for a feast of fishes?”
“You know no one eats the other shit,” He puts a hand on your shoulder and squeezes, “You okay?”
You sigh heavily, frustrated that this check in from your older brother had increased the wetness in your eyes that you were actively fighting. You shrugged off his hand, “I’m fine.”
He nodded, but you knew he wasn’t convinced, “It is really good to have you home, Ace.”
You barked a laugh that sounded almost like a sob, “Don’t know why, all I do is piss off mom more than she already is.”
“She loves you,” He said quietly, “You know that.”
“Oh, fuck off, Luka.”
“What? I love you. We all love you. Hey, fuckin’ look at me, would you?” He grabbed you by the shoulders forcefully turned you, but his eyes darted to your hand and he frowned, “Are you bleeding?”
You looked at your hand that was holding the cigarette and found that you were, in fact, bleeding from a cut in your palm. You must have cut it on the glass in the kitchen when you were cleaning up.
“Ah, shit.” You sighed and put out your cigarette.
“Let me see?” Robby said instantly and reached for your hand.
You allowed it, him taking care of you even though you were capable of evaluating the wound yourself. It calmed you almost immediately, his touch as he focused on your injury.
“Do you guys have a first aid kit inside?” He asked.
Luka sighed, “Probably some bandages and rubbing alcohol, but I don’t know that you’ll find much else.”
“Robby, it’s fine, it can’t be that deep I didn’t even feel it.”
“I can’t tell with all the blood and it’s too dark out here,” He started leading you back to the house, “Come on, we’ll rinse it off and take a look.”
You rolled your eyes in Luka’s direction, who smirked and followed you both back inside.
With all the cooking going on, reentering the house felt akin to walking into a sauna. Combined with the noise level from all the shouting and music, you were instantly overwhelmed again. You allowed yourself to be led, Robby’s hand gently tugging on the wrist of your injured hand.
“I’ll go find those bandages,” Luka called out before disappearing upstairs.
Robby tugged you into the kitchen, which was the last place you wanted to be.
“Oh, finally, we’ve been looking for you—“ Your mother stopped when she saw your hand, “Well how the hell did you manage that?”
“Excuse me, Deb,” Robby said politely, “Could we use your sink?”
“Oh, of course,” She stepped out of the way and let Robby by. He turned the water on and started temperature checking it with his free hand, waiting for it to warm, “Must be nice having an emergency doctor as a boyfriend, especially for Ace, she’s such a clutz.”
You closed your eyes, “I’m an emergency medicine doctor, too, Ma.”
“Oh, but you’re just a student! You’re in your, what do they call that, when you’re practicing after med school, but not really—“
“A resident?” Robby offered.
“Yes!” Your mother snapped her fingers, “That’s it, you’re in your residency, dear.”
It was taking everything you had not to sigh. Robby pulled your hand under the water and you winced at the sting to your cut, “I finished my residency four years ago. I’m an attending now. Just like Robby.”
She was quiet for a moment, “No, that… That can’t be right. You were doing your residency at PTMC—“
“Yes, and then I did a fellowship in Boston and then I came back to PTMC. As an attending.”
She frowned, “You were in Boston? You never told me that.”
Robby pulled your hand out of the water and you felt his fingers near the wound again.
“Yes, I did. You just don’t listen to me unless it’s something that pertains to you.”
The room got quiet. Robby turned off the water.
Your mother laughed, breaking the silence, and poured herself another glass of wine, “Well, anywho, it must be nice to have someone to look after you. You were so clumsy as a kid!”
“Was she?” Robby asked, still laser focused on your wound, he was applying pressure with some paper towels. Luka had returned with supplies.
“Oh, yes! One time, I remember, she was helping set the table. She picked up this beautiful eggplant parmesan I had made, fresh out of the oven with her bare hands! And immediately dropped it, of course. Burned her hands. Whole dish shattered and cut her up. She has the cutest little scar on her leg.”
You almost laughed and you found the silence of your brothers very telling. Robby was wrapping gauze around your palm now, having cleaned out the wound, “You’ll need stitches, but I can do them later tonight. I have a suture kit at home.” He said quietly.
But you barely heard him over the roaring in your ears.
“That’s not how I remember it.” You said, deathly quiet and calm.
“What?” Your mother said, smile still on her face.
“The cut on my leg, that’s not how it happened.”
“Ace…” You heard Luka behind you, the warning clear in his voice.
“Oh, fuck you, Luka. I know you know it too you were there.”
Your mother laughed, “Well, what happened then, hm? Enlighten us.”
Tommy was shaking his head at you from behind your mother. Please, don’t. It said.
But you were so fucking tired of it all. The disappointment, the subtle jabs disguised as teasing, the rewriting of history.
You picked up Robby’s beer from the counter behind him and took a long drink, “What I remember is that you and dad were fighting and I said something that pissed you off, similar to most things I’ve said tonight, and as I was walking away, you flung the eggplant parmesan in my direction. When it shattered, the glass ricocheted off the floor and cut me, which is why the scar is on the back of my leg. Not the front.”
Tommy hung his head behind your mom. Nobody else moved, but you thought you could feel the tension radiating off Luka just behind you.
But after a few moments, your mother laughed, loudly. The sound was grating and you nearly winced. “You always did have such a wild imagination, you and Benji both.”
“I didn’t imagine it, that’s how it happened.”
“What was it that Benji used to say? Oh, that kid was so clever. He used to joke that if you weren’t so good at science you’d be a New York Times Bestseller with all the crazy stories you came up with!”
Your mother laughed more loudly this time, but everyone else in the room was quiet.
“Well, it’s too bad Benji’s not here.” You said coolly.
Your mother’s laugh died out. The only sound was of the range hood and the Christmas carols that were still blasting from the living room.
“And whose fault is that?” She said viciously.
In a way, it felt like a relief to hear her say it. All these years, you knew she blamed you. Probably resented that it was you who was with him when he went. She almost definitely wished it was you who was dead and not him. Well, she could get in line.
But mostly, you felt as though you couldn’t breathe. Your brothers were yelling around you, but you had no idea what they were saying. Robby had carefully placed himself in front of you. You thought maybe he was trying to break up the yelling. In another lifetime, perhaps, you would have found it funny that he was trying to break up a fight in your childhood home the same way he would break one up in the ER.
Quietly, you slipped away, passing your father in the hallway who called after you. Likely to ask you what the fuck was going on in the kitchen.
But you passed without a word and headed up the stairs.
Second door on the left, you could have found it with your eyes closed. The door creaked when you opened it, as it always had.
Closing it behind you, you reveled in the quiet first. The rest of the house was muffled from up here.
You trailed your fingers over the dusty sports trophies on their shelves, the CDs in a pile by the stereo.
You laid down on the navy blue bed that still, impossibly, smelt like him and stared at the popcorn ceiling. Glow in the dark stars stuck there. He had tried to pry many of them off when they became teenagers, but he could never get them all. Remnants of glue still stuck to the ceiling.
“I don’t understand why you have to fight with her so much.” Benji’s voice echoed in your head, “It’s easier to just placate her. We’ll be out of here soon anyway.”
“You don’t understand,” You had said through tears, “I’m the only girl. She has astronomically higher standards for me than she does for you. Or Luka or Tommy.”
“What does it matter?” He said, “Look, you’re way smarter than any of the rest of us. You’re going to get everything you’ve ever wanted, not because of her, but despite her.”
You shook your head, “And what if all I’ve ever wanted is for her to be proud of me? To be enough, just once?”
Benji had sighed and rested his head on yours, “Then I’ll be so stupid proud of you that you won’t even notice she’s not.”
Silent tears rolled down your face into your ears as you recalled the memory. You took his pillow and pressed it over your face.
***
Robby was beginning to understand it, now. Why you had been so afraid of bringing him here, of letting him in. He had thought all of it had been wrapped up in the grief of losing your brother, your twin, but this was clearly heaps and bounds more complicated than that.
He had expected maybe some tension and small tiffs, he had not expected learning that you were likely emotionally neglected as a child at best and physically abused at worst. He hadn’t expected to hear your mother outright blame you for your brother’s death. And he hadn’t expected to have to physically insert himself between you and your family for fear of a fight breaking out.
“Hey, that’s enough!” Robby shouted over the yelling, and they all turned to look at him in shock. But they were quiet, “What the fuck?” He said breathlessly, and looked straight at your mother.
“She’s fucking impossible, sometimes.” Your mother said bitterly, “I’m sure you know.”
He looked behind him and noticed that you were gone. Likely you had slipped outside for some air. He turned back to your mother, “Your son had congenital heart disease, as I understand it. There was nothing anyone could have done to save him. Especially not a nineteen year old girl.”
Deb was shaking her head, “She didn’t call us until he was already gone. We didn’t get the chance to say goodbye to him because of her.”
Robby sighed and shook his head. This was a resentment that was more than a decade old. There was nothing he could say to make this better or make her see that you weren’t culpable for what happened to Benji. And it broke his heart that you had carried this for years, silently and alone. Never talking about Benji, likely because you didn’t feel you deserved to. If your own mother blamed you for the death of your twin, it was unlikely you didn’t blame yourself too.
While he was talking to your mother, Luka had swiftly left the room. He heard the sound of the front door opening and shutting, and then Luka was back.
“She’s not outside.” Luka said to Robby.
“Where else would she go?”
Tommy and Luka shared a look, Robby looked to and from both of them, “What?” He asked, impatiently.
“Benji’s room.” Luka said, quietly, “She’s probably with Benji. Upstairs, second door on the left.”
Robby nodded, “Thank you.” And headed up the stairs.
***
There was a knock at the door and you removed the pillow from your face. You weren’t sure you wanted anyone else to know you were in here, but judging by the quiet knock and the absence of someone yelling at you, you suspected it was Robby. Still, you hesitated.
“It’s me,” He said finally, “Can I come in, please?”
You sat up and put Benji’s pillow in your lap, “It’s open.”
You watched Robby enter the room, looking around first, before looking to you. You looked a bit like a vulnerable child in here, sitting on the tiny twin bed and legs crossed in front of you. Your eyes were bloodshot and your cheeks glistened wet with tears.
And when your eyes locked onto his, your face crumpled.
He pulled you into his arms immediately and was shocked when you didn’t push him away, but pulled him closer. He didn’t say anything, but rocked you gently and kissed your hair until you quieted.
“I would hope this would go without saying, but your mother was way fucking out of line.” He tightened his arms around you slightly, “But I know you and your tendency to blame yourself. I’ve watched you do it since you were just an intern. And so I wonder if all these years you had thought it was your fault and your mother repeating it back to you almost felt affirming.”
You didn’t say anything for a few moments, focusing on getting your breathing under control. You knew you had to have this conversation with Robby, there was no way to get out of it without losing him. He had seen everything you were so afraid of him seeing, and still he had come up here and held you. He hadn’t shied away from any of it.
“I know that rationally, there was nothing I could have done. But it doesn’t really make a difference. What if I had run a little faster? What if I had been CPR certified when he collapsed? What if—?”
“You’ll kill yourself thinking like that. You were nineteen. You were just a kid.”
“So was he. And every fucking birthday I’m reminded of how much he was shorted.”
Robby’s quiet for a moment, running a hand through your hair and gently wiping the tears from your cheeks, “How do you think Benji would feel if he knew you’d been carrying this around for fifteen years? That you never celebrate your shared birthday because you’re too busy playing the what if game?”
You looked around his room and sniffled, “He’d probably tell me I sound like our mom making everything about me and to get a fucking grip.”
Robby chuckled, “I think I would’ve liked your brother.”
You hiccuped and looked up at Robby, a sad smile on your face, “He would’ve liked you, too.”
He cupped your face in his hands and gently kissed you. The taste and smell of him was so familiar and comforting to you, you were sure your heart rate must have slowed back to normal rhythm while he kissed you.
When he pulled away, he pressed a kiss to your forehead, “I think we can get out of here now, what do you say?”
You balked, “Seriously?”
He nodded, “Yeah, is Chili’s open on Christmas Eve? I think you’ve earned a five dollar margarita.”
“Well, I don’t think it’s Happy Hour anymore, but it’s the thought that counts.” You laughed, “You’re sure? You were really adamant about coming here.”
“Yes,” He nodded, “and it resulted in you smoking, slicing your hand open, shotgunning at least four beers, and hysterically crying all in under two hours. Not to mention, I’m not going to force you to be polite to your mother after she blamed you for Benji in front of everyone.” He sighed, “I wanted you to let me in and you have. I’m sorry that I pushed so hard, I didn’t think—“
“No, it’s okay. You were right. I would’ve just kept pushing you away and then I would’ve lost you. So thank you, for pushing.” You took a deep shaky breath, “I’ve never spoken to anyone about Benji dying, what it felt like. Not even my brothers. I was always afraid it would be… too much.”
Robby shook his head and pressed more kisses to the side of your face, “Not too much. Never too much. I’m honored to know you, every piece.”
You inhaled shakily, “Well, you ready to go tell them we’re leaving?”
He allowed you to climb out of his arms and rise to standing, “I have no issue telling them exactly why we’re leaving. I don’t think it’ll come as much of a surprise.”
You huffed a laugh, “Yeah, well, you underestimate my mother’s ability to gaslight and manipulate, then.”
Sure enough, as they went downstairs to gather their coats and things, your mother waxed poetic about all the food she had made that would go to waste and how she never got to see you and how could you leave so early?
You had warned him, but Robby was still shocked at the way your mother pretended to have no idea why you could be leaving. To position herself as the victim in this scenario. She hadn’t even tried to apologize since you had padded back down the stairs.
“Thank you for inviting us, Deb, but it’s pretty clear that there’s a lot of open hostility between the two of you that is not conducive to the holiday spirit.” He grabbed your coat and helped you into it, rubbing down your arms soothingly once it was on, “I’d rather not see a physical fight break out between my girlfriend and her mother on Christmas Eve.”
Your mother looked at him incredulously, “Are you talking about earlier?” She laughed and playfully patted your arm, “Oh, that was nothing. We have little tiffs like that all the time. Or we used to, when she made time for us. Isn’t that right, Ace?”
You were staring silently at a spot on the wall and Robby noted that it seemed like you were dissociating. The more minutes that passed, the worse he felt for forcing you to come here, “If that was ‘nothing’ to you, then that just affirms my decision to remove us from the circus,” Robby said, forcing a smile and reaching behind the two of you to open the front door, “I would say it was lovely meeting you, but I’m not a very good liar.”
Once outside in the frigid night air, you immediately fished out your pack of cigarettes. Robby decided once you were home, he would toss them in the trash. Maybe buy the both of you a pack of nicotine gum for the foreseeable future. Just that one drag earlier coupled with the hectic nature of your childhood home had him craving a smoke.
“Hey, Robby!” It was one of your brothers who ran out of the house after the two of you. The older one, Luka, if his memory served him correctly.
He looked over Robby’s shoulder at you, lighting a cigarette, before focusing his attention back on Robby, “I just, um, wanted to say thank you for having Ace’s back in there.” He said softly, “I wish it was me who had the backbone to stand up for her.” Luka’s eyes shone with unshed tears in the moonlight, “Benji always took care of her and I think all the time how disappointed he would be that I don’t. It’s hard, with how our mother is to… to stand up to her sometimes. It’s stupid, I’m an adult now, but. She’s still my mom.”
He sighed heavily, “Anyway, sorry, I’m rambling, I just… Ace has brought a lot of men home over the years. Never more than once. They tend to disappear after seeing what a mess we all are. None of them ever had her back like that so I hope you stick around.” Luka smiled then and clapped Robby on the back, “Take care of my baby sister, please?”
Robby nodded and gave Luka a small smile, “Of course.”
Luka nodded back and then walked towards you, still smoking a cigarette a healthy distance away, “Hey.” He said softly.
“Hi,” You said as you exhaled cloud of smoke.
“I’m sorry about what mom said. She didn’t mean it, she’s drunk—“
“Don’t defend her.”
“I’m not.” Luka sighed and scratched his head, “Fuck, I don’t know, maybe I am. Whatever. The point is, it’s not fuckin’ true. Any of it. You did your best when Benji died, we all did. You were just a fuckin’ kid who took on way more than you should have. And I’m sorry that I never helped lessen the burden. I should have. As your older brother, I should have protected you.”
At this, you looked up at him and gave him a watery smile, “Thanks, Luka. But just so you know, I never blamed you or Tommy. For any of it.”
“I know.” He said, and pulled you into a one armed hug, kissing the top of your head, “Let him take care of you. Robby. You deserve to be taken care of for once.”
A tear slid onto your cheek, “Okay.”
He released you and started backing away from both you and Robby, “See you next year?”
At that, you laughed, “Only if you’re paying for my therapy bills.”
He laughed and then waved before turning back towards the house, hands in his pockets.
***
Back at Robby’s house, full of too many Southwestern Eggrolls and margaritas, you sat at his kitchen counter with your wounded hand unwrapped and cradled in both of Robby’s hands. You watched as he carefully sutured you, filled with so much tenderness for him after the night you’d had, you thought you might burst with it.
“Luka mentioned that the boyfriends you've brought home tended to leave after meeting your family.” Robby said as he worked, “Was that why you were so afraid to bring me?”
“Yeah, that was a big part of it. I also just didn’t think I was ready for you to see all of me, like that.”
He finished up the last suture and cut the excess. Then began wrapping your hand again. “You know, when you first started your residency, I used to talk with Adamson about how you were the only resident I ever met who never, ever seemed phased by anything that happened in the ER. You never had that adjustment period everyone else has, of figuring out how to adapt to the chaos. You operated like the chaos was all you’d ever known. I wish I could tell him that I finally figured out why.”
You chuckled at that, “I think he knew, actually.”
Robby looked up at you, “Really?”
You nodded slowly, “Well, I had to tell him about Benji when the anniversary came up so that I wouldn’t be scheduled that day. But, early in my residency, there was one day I kept getting repeated calls from my mother. He overheard when I picked it up. I don’t even remember what she was upset about, just that I had to spend a few minutes talking her down from the ledge. The way a parent would to a child. And when I hung up, he said he didn’t know I had kids.” You laughed now, recalling the memory, “Anyway, when I explained, humiliated, that it was actually my mom calling, he didn’t really say anything. But he had that look on his face, you know the one, when he’s finally solved a puzzle he’s been working on for weeks.”
Robby smiled fondly. It was lovely to see him reminisce about Adamson in a joyful way. He had had to work really hard for that, you knew. You hoped you’d get there one day yourself.
He gently patted your hand after a moment, “Well, wound is taken care of. You ready for bed?”
You yawned, “Yes, please.”
You crawled into sheets that smelt like Robby and curled up into his side. You felt a bit silly now that you had ever been afraid of him meeting your family. You had watched him manage an emergency room for years, near flawlessly. To him, your mother was just another irritable patient. And he was really, really good at managing irritable patients.
“Thank you,” You said softly into the dark, “For taking care of me.”
He hummed and lightly scratched at your scalp, “Of course. I’ve got you,” He murmured, “Always.”
ㅤㅤ ㅤ⭑ pairing. widower!jack abbot x charge nurse!reader
ㅤㅤ ㅤ⭑ about.
after almost two weeks off, you came back for the night shift. however with your luck, it started as a terrible night—one you could only hope would get better. (wc: 13.400)
ㅤㅤ ㅤ.ᐟ warnings.
smut. fluff. domestically. age difference (eleven years). car accident (nothing major). medical inaccuracies. canon medical procedures. injuries. bruises. some insecurities. chubby reader.
ㅤㅤ ㅤᯓ first part. duo masterlist. main masterlist.
It wasn't like you to be late, so you forced your legs to move faster even as sharp pain flashed through your hip and thigh. Of all days for this to happen, it had to be today—your first shift back after a week and a half of medical leave. And now you were walking into the emergency department nearly an hour late.
Of course, on the very day you were finally coming back to work, you'd been hit by a car.
It hadn't been a major accident, and it hadn't even been the driver's fault… but the impact had still been hard enough to hurt, and most likely bruise.
You'd already been running late, so you'd rushed across the street without noticing the light turned green. One second you were hurrying toward the crosswalk, the next a car had slammed into you or rather, you had slammed into it. The vehicle hadn't been going very fast, but it had hit you hard enough to knock you onto the pavement.
Your elbow had taken the fall on the concrete while your hip had taken all the car's force straight into it. On the floor, you felt the little pebbles breaking your skin while you could already imagine the giant bruise on your hip.
A crowd had gathered almost instantly, trying to assess your injuries as if you weren't a nurse yourself. Some people had even suggested calling an ambulance—which you fiercely refused, insisting you were fine and explaining you worked at a hospital anyway.
It had taken several minutes of convincing—and you showing off your nurse badge from PTMC—before the crowd and the driver finally let you leave, especially since the poor man looked terrified you were about to sue him. You'd reassured him repeatedly that you wouldn't, because the accident had absolutely been your fault and you definitely didn't have the money to pursue anything of this sort.
Still fifteen minutes away from the hospital, you'd texted Dana to let her know you were running late but were still coming in. Since being late was completely unlike you, you already had five missed calls from different staff members by the time you arrived, so you asked Dana to warn them you were coming as well. She only replied with a simply "Okay".
The moment you stepped inside, you headed straight for the staff room as quickly as you could. You shoved your dinner into the fridge, peeled off your jacket, tossing it onto the coat rack before a sharp sting shot through your elbow—the opposite side from where your hip ached.
Looking down, you realized the skin was scraped raw and streaked with drying blood.
"Argh, I don't have time for this," you muttered with a sigh, heading for the sink.
You rinsed the scrape under cold water, biting back a groan as the sting intensified, then dried it carefully with a paper towel. It had already stopped bleeding—it was only a minor wound—but it still looked rough.
Shaking your head, you grabbed the white long-sleeved shirt you always kept in your bag. As quickly as possible, and without flashing any of your coworkers, you pulled it on beneath your scrubs to cover it—hoping hard it wouldn't taint the shirt.
Finally satisfied that your injuries were hidden well enough, you left the room and headed straight for the nurses' station.
"I'm so sorry," you said as you approached Dana, who looked up at you over the rim of her glasses.
As gentle as ever, she pulled you into a quick hug and assured you it was fine—that these things happened to everyone. Even so, you could see the exhaustion on her face. It must have been a rough day shift, which usually meant an even rougher night ahead. You silently prayed for a quiet evening.
"I'll come in early next shift if you're working," you promised as she gathered her things after explaining what had happened today.
"You don't have to, sweetie. Just make sure you're alright," Dana replied with a soft smile before heading out for the night.
"Better yet, come in at seven-thirty tomorrow morning, okay? So I don't feel so bad," you teased, giving her your best puppy eyes.
"Don't threaten me with a good time, kid," she joked, shaking her head with a laugh.
After she left, you immediately went to Shen and asked how the beginning of the night had been. He assured you everything was running smoothly while sipping his usual coffee. His nonchalance used to annoy the hell out of you, but over time you'd gotten used to it. It was oddly soothing to have someone this chill and relax while everything around here always turned into chaos.
You also knew Jack was working tonight, and you were doing your absolute best to avoid him.
First, because you knew he'd immediately notice something was wrong with you as he noticed everything. And second, more importantly, because of the very last text he'd sent you.
Good girl.
Two fucking words that had haunted you for the past week and a half.
Sometimes you'd be grocery shopping or curled up on the couch reading, and suddenly your mind would drift back to that text. Instantly, warmth would spread through your entire body going straight between your legs.
It was absolutely ridiculous how two simple words could affect you so much, but you couldn't deny the reaction they triggered.
Your cheeks would burn so hot it almost felt suffocating and you'd suddenly have the overwhelming urge to slip your fingers beneath your panties.
Which was exactly why avoiding Jack Abbott seemed like the smartest possible decision.
Four days ago, when you'd returned to have your stitches removed, you'd specifically chosen to show up during the day shift, when you knew he wasn't scheduled. You knew how unpredictable he could be—showing up on his days off and lingering around the hospital for hours wasn't unusual for him—but arriving at one in the afternoon had felt like a safe bet that he'd hopefully be in bed... or just far from the hospital.
And thankfully, you had been right.
Getting the stitches removed had been quick, and you'd been more than happy to chat with Samira while she worked. You'd insisted a student nurse could handle it, but she'd waved the idea off, claiming she needed the break. Naturally, you'd indulged her.
Now, walking through the department with an iPad in hand, checking that every patient was where they should be, receiving the right treatment, eating properly, and generally comfortable, you found your thoughts drifting back to Jack once again.
The number of time you had imagined his deep voice saying those two words were shameful, but you couldn't help it. If anything it had been the bastard's fault and he should be the one feeling guilty. If guilt was even what you were feeling.
Shaking your head, you forced yourself to refocus. At home, obsessing over him was one thing—you weren't responsible for an entire staff and people's lives there. But this was work. Here, you needed to stay professional.
Hearing your name, you turned toward the sound and met Mateo's eyes. You gave him a small nod, waiting for him to speak.
"North 12 is getting discharged, and South 3 is still waiting on results, but upstairs isn't answering," Mateo explained as he pulled off his gloves and tossed them into a nearby trash can.
"Okay, I'll call when I get the time," you replied, already discharging North 12 on your iPad.
Still sensing Mateo lingering beside you, you looked up with a raised eyebrow. "Anything else?"
"Huh…" he started, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Abbott's looking for you."
"Tell him I'm busy," you answered as casually as possible before turning back to your screen.
The second Mateo was out of sight, you bit down hard on your lip, trying to control the immediate reaction that shot through your body at the mention of the older man. You usually weren't like this. But Jack was just… something else.
Maybe it was the way he carried himself so effortlessly, never ashamed of his actions, never trying to hide his interest in you. He was confident about it—openly so—and somehow that only made him more dangerous.
God, that old man was infuriating.
After finishing your rounds, you were almost surprised by how calm the night still was despite the packed waiting room and ED. Returning to your desk, you sat down to update the department board—which beds were free, who was waiting on scans, who was ready for transfer, and who still needed treatment.
"Vivi," you called as she passed by.
She immediately stopped and turned toward you.
"North 7 needs blood test."
"On it," she replied with a bright smile before hurrying off.
Watching her leave, you shook your head fondly. You really did have an incredible team of nurses. Then you sensed someone approaching.
Looking up, you saw Abbott making his way toward your desk, hands clasped behind his back in that rigid military posture of his.
You were absolutely not prepared to talk to him, especially not in the middle of the ER but there was no escaping now. Short of divine intervention, you were trapped.
And somehow, you got exactly that.
Behind you, the red emergency phone rang loudly enough to cut through the chaos of the department. Abbott glanced toward the phone with a raised eyebrow while you immediately rolled your chair back and stood.
"PTMC Emergency, charge nurse," you answered, deliberately looking anywhere except at Jack, who remained standing directly in front of your desk.
As the paramedic spoke, your brain instantly started reorganizing the ER—eyes running everywhere in the room except on Abbot. "We'll be ready."
The second you hung up, you turned back, relieved to see Abbott had been joined by Ellis.
"Bar fight incoming," you summarized quickly, already moving toward the trauma bays. "One guy has part of a beer bottle lodged in his skull, and the other's unconscious with an open radius fracture."
Leaving the doctors behind, you pushed open the door to Trauma 1 and found Shen and Toomarian working on a patient who, thankfully, didn't seem critical.
"We need the room in two minutes," you said.
Your nurses immediately nodded.
"Alright, boss," Shen replied before looking back at his patient. "Let's go on a little trip!"
You rolled your eyes at his complete lack of seriousness while walking back toward the desk, only to hear an enthusiastic "Weeee!" behind you as Shen rolled the patient out of the room.
Taking the phone out of your breast pocket, you quickly composed the neuro number before putting the phone to your ears.
"Dr. Walsh," a voice answered on the other end of the phone a moment later.
"Was supposed to call neuro," you replied, confused as to why she had picked up instead.
"They're tied up. What have you got?" Emery asked immediately, skipping all pleasantries.
"Open head trauma with the bottle still embedded, and another patient with a open fracture," you explained while leaning over your desk and rearranging beds on the board.
"That sucks," the surgeon replied dryly, pulling a quiet laugh from you. "I'll come down in a few and page ortho on the way. Neuro's gonna be difficult tonight, but I'll see what I can do."
"You're the best," you mumbled, eyes fixed on your screen—and meaning every word.
Emery Walsh was one of the reason you missed being a surgery nurse sometimes. People found her dry and hard, but working with her, you'd learnt that she was a really good person.
"Yeah, I know. See you soon." Then the line went dead.
The phone stayed wedged between your shoulder and ear while you typed, barely noticing it anymore. Around you, the department shifted into controlled chaos as trauma rooms were cleaned, supplies restocked, and doctors prepared for the incoming patients.
Bar fights were common enough. The outcomes, however, were never predictable.
Slowly, you felt the phone slipping from your shoulder—until it disappeared completely. It didn't crash onto the desk or floor. Instead, someone gently placed it beside your keyboard.
You looked up and found Abbott standing there, right by your side, watching you with a slight smile and his head tilted faintly to the side. His eyes were soft but teasing staying on, what you were certain, were wide doe eyes.
"Walsh is coming down," you explained immediately quickly getting back on your feet while sticking strictly to work-related conversation. "Hopefully with ortho. Neuro's unavailable right now."
"We'll make it work," he said softly, voice deep and grounding.
That voice. The exact same calm, low tone your brain had replayed for a week and a half alongside those two words.
Good girl.
It was genuinely becoming a problem.
You nodded quickly and started to turn away so you could brief a few nurses, but Jack stopped you again.
"How's the hand?" he asked, genuine concern in his voice.
Wanting to get through the conversation as quickly as possible, you answered immediately. "Never better."
"You did come, right?" he pressed, his eyes dropping toward your hand.
Ever since that text, your mind had been completely corrupted.
Even though his gaze was clearly fixed on your hand resting near your hip, your stupid brain instantly interpreted it differently… going to a very different place than you fucking hand. That absolutely did not help your obsession with that man.
"What?" you blurted out, louder than necessary.
"You didn't remove the stitches yourself, did you?" he clarified, clearly confused by your reaction.
"Oh." Your eyes widened as realization hit you. "No, no. Samira did it."
Frowning slightly, Jack looked at you with a strange twist to his smile, something dangerously close to a smirk. "Samira? From day shift?"
"Yeah, well…" You shrugged awkwardly. "I was off for more than a week. It's crazy how quickly your body adjusts back to a normal schedule."
The joke came out clumsier than intended.
You glanced at his eyes, immediately looked away, then stupidly looked back again before darting your gaze elsewhere for a third time, your anxiety practically written across your face.
"Right," Jack replied slowly, amusement clear in his expression.
"Okay," you sighed with an overly tight smile before quickly turning around and walking away.
Why did you have to be this awkward? Of course he hadn't been making some crude comment in the middle of a shift with half the ER around. Jack was bold, sure, but not that bold.
Your brain seriously needed to calm the hell down before you lost your mind completely.
Unfortunately, too distracted to pay attention to where you were going, you walked straight into Walsh as she strolled into the department.
"Wow," she blurted, eyes widening in surprise. "You good?"
"Huh? Yeah. Just getting ready for the traumas!" you called over your shoulder, not slowing down for even a second.
Forcing yourself back into work mode, you started assigning nurses to incoming cases and gathering supplies that were missing from the trauma rooms. By the time you finished restocking everything, the EMTs were already wheeling the patients in through the ambulance bay.
"Trauma 1 and 2 are clear and ready!" you shouted as the teams split apart and rushed into their assigned rooms.
Finally getting a brief moment to breathe, you called about the lab results Mateo had mentioned earlier, only to discover they'd somehow been lost in the system and were now being resent. Seconds later, the files appeared on your iPad.
Perfect timing, too, since Dr. Porat, R2 of the night shift, wasn't tied up with the trauma teams. After forwarding her the results, the front desk called your extension.
"Charge nurse speaking," you answered while scrolling through charts waiting to be reviewed.
"Jim Burlt's family is here," Chantana said softly over the line.
"Who?" you asked automatically, not recognizing the name.
"The truck driver who got electrocuted. He passed earlier, during day shift, I think." Her voice lowered so the family wouldn't overhear.
"Fuck," you whispered, letting your head fall back for a second. "Okay. I'm coming."
It wasn't that you didn't want to handle it—you just had no idea where the man's body had been taken. Dana hadn't mentioned it during handoff, and since you'd missed rounds, you were completely behind.
Pulling up his chart in the system, all you found were three cold words:
Dead on arrival.
With no better option, you headed into Trauma 1, since it sounded like the quieter room of the two. The moment you pushed open the door, Abbott looked up at you immediately—as though he'd sensed your presence before even seeing you.
"Know a Jim Burlt?" you asked, unable to stop yourself from instinctively checking the patient's vitals first. Stable.
"Yeah. Robby's patient," Jack replied, eyes already shifting back toward the trauma bed.
Patient. The word twisted uncomfortably in your chest. The man had arrived dead. There had been nothing anyone could do besides call the time.
"His family's here. Do you know where he is?"
"Morgue," Jack answered, finally looking back at you with sympathetic eyes. "And it's not a pretty sight. Especially for the family."
"Fucking perfect," you muttered under your breath before turning to leave.
As you headed toward the waiting area, a warm hand settled gently on your shoulder, stopping you mid-step.
You turned around to find Jack standing close behind you.
He'd already stripped off the bloody gown, gloves, and protective glasses from the trauma room. Without all the gear, he looked unfairly good—calm, composed, and for once actually rested.
"I'll do it," he said quietly, nodding toward the waiting room.
"It's okay. I can handle it. You clearly have your hands full." You assured him, painfully aware of the warmth spreading through your neck where his hand still rested close by on your shoulder.
"Robby already explained the case, and they don't need me in there anymore," he replied lightly, the corners of his mouth lifting.
Even though you'd initially thought Jack was highly professional and not nearly this bold, he quickly proved you wrong as he stepped closer, leaning toward you. His lips hovered far too close to your ear—close enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath against your neck—when he finally spoke. "But this place will fall apart without you."
"Huh…" was the only sound your brain managed to produce.
When he finally stepped back, there was a teasing smirk tugging at his lips before he simply walked away, leaving you stranded in the middle of the hallway like your system had completely rebooted.
Your eyes struggled to focus on anything.
His words. His voice. That stupid charisma. It all tangled together until your thoughts turned into static.
The loud laughter of a drunk patient somewhere down the hall finally snapped you back to reality. Within seconds, you were moving again, heading toward your desk while taking a deep shaky breath.
It was genuinely unfair how easily he could throw you completely off balance while you seemingly had nowhere near the same effect on him.
Fucking diabolical.
Hours later, after working nonstop without a break, you finally stole a few precious minutes for yourself in the stairwell. It was quieter than the break room and safer than the ambulance bay. Here, nobody bothered you.
You still kept your phone nearby in your chest pocket, and never disappeared for longer than ten minutes, but at least you could drink your coffee in peace. You'd warn the attending and your nurses before just disappearing.
Only three hours remained in your shift now. Close enough to the end that you could finally see it.
Eyes closed, head resting against the stair railing, you sipped your coffee slowly while focusing on your breathing exercises—your usual way of bleeding off the stress that came with the job.
The hospital staff were used to finding you here during night shifts, so when the stairwell door creaked open and footsteps started approaching, you barely reacted at all.
"Abbott's looking for you." Walsh's voice shattered the brief moment of peace you'd managed to find in the stairwell.
"When is he not?" you sighed, taking another sip of coffee.
You only opened your eyes when you heard Emery groan dramatically as she dropped down beside you on the steps. She looked exhausted—but then again, who in this hospital didn't? Even so, there was still something sharp and alert behind her tired eyes.
"I'd kill for a cigarette," she muttered, rubbing both hands down her face.
"Stay strong," you laughed softly. "If you relapse, you'll drag me down with you."
It wasn't entirely true, but you still remembered the nights you'd both decided to quit smoking together. Back then, she'd sneak out through the ER ambulance bay and wait for you outside. For five peaceful minutes, the two of you would talk about life, relationships—anything except the chaos happening inside.
"Oh, fuck no," she smirked, side eyeing you. "I do not need cowboy doctor on my ass."
You turned toward her immediately. "What the hell does that mean?"
"Play innocent all you want," she dismissed while standing up, brushing the non existing dust of her pants. "And please don't call me for the rest of the night."
"Not my decision," you called after her as she disappeared up the stairs.
Laughing quietly to yourself, you finally pushed yourself to your feet and stretched your stiff limbs.
Huge mistake.
Pain exploded from your hip all the way down to your knee while your elbow throbbed sharply in protest. You should've expected this. Since the second you'd been hit by that car, you hadn't stopped moving long enough for your body to fully register the damage.
Now, after ten minutes of sitting still, it absolutely had.
Walking back to the ER without limping turned out to be significantly harder than expected, but somehow you managed it. You smiled tightly at nurses, greeted techs, gave instructions to interns, the usual—all while pretending nothing hurt.
By the time you reached the sink to wash your coffee mug, you were quietly breathing through the pain. At this point, the shift simply couldn't end fast enough.
All you wanted was for Dana to arrive on time—which she always did, though you had told her she could come in late… You were fucked.
"Why are you limping?" The deep voice behind you made you flinch so hard you nearly dropped the mug.
"Jesus Christ," you let out, your heart racing.
Turning around, you found yourself face-to-face with Jack Abbott, standing there with his hands clasped behind his back like always.
"I'm not limping," you dismissed immediately. "Maybe you need glasses, old man."
Not wanting to deal with his scrutinising stare, you turned back toward the sink and focused intensely on cleaning the mug.
"So that's definitely not blood on your elbow," Jack replied dryly, his tone carrying that specific kind of sarcasm that really meant don't bullshit me.
Twisting your arm enough to see your elbow, your stomach dropped. A smear of blood stained the sleeve of your white shirt. You must've bumped it against a wall without noticing. And of course you'd chosen the one white shirt you owned.
"Fuck," you muttered under your breath, too quietly for him to hear. Then louder: "Old stain. Hard to get out, you know how it is."
With your back still turned to him, you prayed he'd just accept the lie and leave.
But miracles clearly had limits, and you'd apparently already used yours for the night. No one interrupted. No emergencies pulled him away. So he stayed.
He didn't move closer, but you heard the irritated click of his tongue behind you.
You deliberately took far longer than necessary washing the mug, dreading the moment you'd have to turn around and face him properly. The last thing you wanted was for anyone to find out you'd been hit by a fucking car.
That would mean another medical leave. And beyond the fact that you absolutely couldn't afford more time off, you genuinely didn't want it.
"So we're lying now?" Jack asked as you finally turned toward him.
There was something unreadable in his voice, not exactly anger, not exactly amusement either. His arms were crossed over his chest now, head tilted slightly as though challenging you. Instinctively, you mirrored him, crossing your own arms while raising an eyebrow in return.
You were not about to snitch on yourself. And judging by his expression, he clearly wasn't planning on dropping it.
"I guess it's your problem if you don't believe me," you replied with a smile so forced it practically hurt.
Before Jack could answer, Sophie stepped into the room—only to freeze immediately under the weight of both your stares. Her eyes widened slightly with concern.
"I'm just getting water," she explained cautiously, like she'd accidentally interrupted something terrible.
"Of course," you replied instantly, your tone softening. "Take ten if you need."
Then you looked back at Jack. The smile you gave him this time was entirely different—tight, restrained, and far less friendly—before brushing past him and leaving the room.
As you walked away, you heard Jack reassuring Sophie that she'd done nothing wrong and that she should take whatever break she needed.
The rest of the shift passed surprisingly smoothly, even if the pain stubbornly refused to fade. It was honestly impressive how well you managed to hide it from everyone.
Everyone except Jack.
He never brought it up again, but for the remainder of the night, you could feel his eyes on you every single time you winced—even slightly. Every time your limp slipped through before you could correct it, you caught him watching with furrowed brows.
Now, finally sitting down near the end of shift, you chatted quietly with Robby while the rest of the night crew signed off one by one.
The only person still missing was Dana. Because you had stupidly told her to come in late.
At least you'd warned Robby ahead of time so he wouldn't panic about being left without a charge nurse. You kept working through the final charts and updates, determined not to leave Dana with a disaster just because you were exhausted and hurting.
You'd pushed through for hours already. There was no point falling apart now when the end was finally in sight.
The moment you saw Dana walking through the ER doors, relief washed over you so strongly you almost sighed out loud.
The older woman chewed lazily on her gum, glasses already perched low on her nose while her stethoscope hung around her neck. Even the way she walked radiated competence. The second she reached you, you wrapped your arms around her and let out a tired groan into her shoulder.
For the next ten minutes, the two of you made rounds together while you updated her on the night—who'd been admitted, who'd gone upstairs, who'd died, which beds were opening up. The usual end-of-shift rundown.
Once you finished, she gently nudged you toward the corner where you'd dumped your belongings hours ago.
"Off you go, kid," she said simply before turning back toward the department.
And honestly? Sleep had never sounded so good.
Even if getting home meant enduring a painful fifteen minute walk, you figured you could survive it. You'd spent the entire night running around nonstop—what was another few minutes on your feet?
As you headed toward the exit, already dreading having to come back later that night, you pulled out your phone to check your texts and emails.
A sharp whistle suddenly pulled your attention away from the screen. Confused, you looked up. Standing in the ambulance bay—like he'd apparently been waiting there for a while—was Jack Abbott.
Which made absolutely no sense.
He'd left on time for once, along with most of the night staff, so why the hell was he still here? Even stranger, his car was parked right beside the ambulance entrance—something nobody was allowed to do, not even for five minutes.
"Forget something?" you asked innocently, nodding toward the illegally parked car.
"You," he answered immediately.
You scoffed automatically, but the sound died quickly when you realized he wasn't joking.
"What?" you deadpanned when he made no move to smile.
"I'm taking you home," he said calmly. "And you're going to tell me what happened to you."
It wasn't phrased like a question. Not quite an order either, but there was absolutely no room for argument.
"Jack—" you started, fully prepared to fight him on it anyway.
"Nope. In the car."
Then he casually walked around and opened the passenger side door for you.
When you still didn't move, he simply tilted his head slightly, eyes never leaving yours. There really was no escaping this. With a deep sigh, you shook your head and walked toward the open door.
The second you sat down, Jack gave a satisfied little nod, like he was pleased you'd listened, before closing the door for you.
A minute later, after he climbed into the driver's seat, you noticed your address already programmed into his GPS.
"How did you…" You trailed off, pointing weakly at the screen.
"From the Uber last time," he replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"Right…" you murmured, smiling despite yourself.
Being trapped in such a small space with him felt oddly intimate. The car smelt like him, a smell that was oddly comforting, messing with you. And unfortunately, your exhausted brain didn't help much more, immediately fixated on his hands resting on the gear shift as he put the car into drive.
You were far too tired to stop yourself from staring for a second longer than necessary. Then a thought suddenly crossed your mind.
"Can you even drive with your leg?" you asked as the car rolled forward. "Well, I mean, obviously you can…"
That made him laugh, a real laugh. Warm and genuine enough that you immediately turned your head toward him. And honestly, if you could've seen yourself right then, you were pretty sure you would've looked completely smitten.
"Was that rude?" you asked, giggling softly when you noticed how bright his smile had become.
"Not coming from you," Jack replied gently, sending you another small smile before looking back at the road.
That alone was enough to make you grin like a teenager.
Your cheeks and neck warmed instantly, heart beating embarrassingly faster just from the softness in his voice.
Resting your elbow against the door, you propped your head against your hand and stared out the window while gently rubbing your forehead. Your elbow protested immediately, but at this point everything hurt anyway.
Your hip had been throbbing for hours, a migraine lingered behind your eyes, and all you wanted in the world was a shower and your bed.
"God, I'm so tired," you whispered, knowing perfectly well he'd hear you.
"Want to tell me what happened now?" Jack asked, still using that same quiet voice.
Rolling your eyes toward the window, you let out a long breath.
Of course he wasn't going to let it go, you should've expected this. Honestly, it had been predictable from the moment he'd noticed you limping. Still, you'd hoped exhaustion might make him back off for once.
"Seriously?" you groaned, finally turning your head toward him with narrowed eyes.
"Surprise," he shot back with a smirk, knowing deep well none of you were actually.
Closing your eyes briefly, you felt exhaustion and pain mixing together until lying almost felt too difficult to bother with anymore. And really… what was the point?
He wasn't going to stop asking.
Turning back toward the window, you watched the sunrise spill soft orange light across the quiet city streets.
"Got hit by a car," you said suddenly.
Silence filled the car immediately afterwards, which definitely wasn't a good sign. But it was peaceful while it lasted.
"Come again?" Jack asked slowly, sounding like he genuinely thought he'd misheard you.
"I got hit by a car crossing the street. My fault entirely," you clarified casually, like it wasn't a huge deal. Because honestly? It wasn't.
You were alive. Nothing was broken. Nothing life-threatening had happened.
At worst, you'd end up with an ugly bruise on your hip, a scraped elbow, and aches for a few days—it could've been so much worse.
"I landed on my elbow, which explains the blood," you continued before he could interrupt. "And my hip took most of the impact, which is why I'm limping." You shrugged weakly. "I'm alive and mostly intact, Jack. Nothing to worry about."
"You should've said something," he growled, shaking his head.
"So you could've sent me home?" you shot back immediately. "I handled the shift just fine."
"You handled it," he agreed tightly, nodding while his jaw was tightly set. "But now you're limping, and I'm willing to bet your hip's killing you."
He sent you a dark look before focusing back on the road. Before you could argue further, the car pulled up in front of your building.
You weren't about to pretend you weren't grateful not to walk the rest of the way home. Turning toward him, you opened your mouth to thank him and wish him goodnight, ready to forget it all about the previous conversation.
Only to frown when his car door slammed shut. Seconds later, he was already on your side of the car, opening your door for you.
"You don't have to—" you started while pulling your seatbelt off.
"Don't," Jack warned simply as he leaned inside to grab your bags.
It was ridiculously sweet. And it also made you feel slightly guilty because you knew his own leg had to be hurting after such a long shift too, but he didn't show even a hint of discomfort.
He just straightened back up with your bags in one hand while holding the car door open with the other, waiting patiently for you to get out.
Getting out, you knew there was no point arguing with Jack, so you simply started walking toward the building's main door. Turning back toward him, you walked straight over and reached into your bag without even asking for it back, you already knew he wouldn't give it to you.
Once your keys were in hand, you unlocked the door and headed straight for the elevator. When Jack stepped into the small space beside you, you realised he was actually walking you all the way to your front door.
It felt strange being trapped in such a narrow space with him, but he seemed completely determined to make sure you got safely inside your flat, as if something terrible might happen between his car and your front door. You supposed you never really knew, but it still felt highly unlikely.
The ride up to your floor was quiet and slightly awkward, despite how quick it was.
Standing in front of your door, you unlocked it and suddenly felt far too awkward to simply say goodbye there. So you stepped inside, leaving the door open behind you as a silent invitation.
"Want some water?" you asked, breaking the silence as you made your way toward the kitchen. "You can leave that by the door," you added, pointing to the bags still hanging from his hands.
"I'll take some water, yeah. Thanks," he replied softly.
When you returned to the living room with two glasses of water, Jack was standing in the middle of the room, relaxed as though he belonged there. He was looking around at every little detail—every book, every picture, every vinyl record—studying it all with quiet attention.
Watching him in your space made the butterflies in your stomach go wild. Your mind instantly started imagining him there all the time, as if his belongings naturally belonged beside yours, some jazz vinyl mixed in with your indie pop collection, his medical books stacked beside your fantasy novels. It would fit so perfectly.
Shaking the thought away and forcing a soft smile, you stepped closer and handed him his glass.
"Thanks," he murmured, his gaze drifting slowly from your head to your toes without the slightest hint of shame.
The two of you remained standing in the middle of the living room, slowly sipping your drinks. Locked in each other's eyes, the tension quickly became unbearable, yet neither of you looked away. Jack held your gaze openly, his expression soft and calm. Gone was the tired, sarcastic man you usually worked with. This version of him felt entirely different, but oddly comforting.
After a few seconds, he stepped closer—with a slight limp of his own—and set his glass down on the nearby table. Gently, he took your own empty glass and placed it beside his.
"I know the best treatment for your hip," Jack said, his voice low and deep. His eyes gleamed with something you couldn't quite name.
"Yeah?" you asked, your voice embarrassingly shaky. Ridiculous, you were a grown woman.
"Relaxation," he whispered, lust filling his eyes. That had been what you couldn't name before.
As soon as the word left his mouth, his hands rose to your cheeks—warm, soft, safe—before he leaned in. His lips hovered just above yours, not quite kissing you, but making no effort to hide how badly he wanted to.
The second you felt his warmth so close, your eyes fluttered shut in anticipation and, without even realising it, you rose slightly onto your tiptoes to meet him halfway. A few long seconds passed before you finally felt Jack's lips against yours.
They were soft and unhurried, as though he was trying to ease you into it while slowly pulling himself closer. His warmth completely surrounded you now, his chest pressed lightly against yours. You weren't even sure when he'd moved that close, only that it felt incredibly good.
He was everything you had imagined—steady, solid, grounding—while your own hands shook where they rested against his chest. His hands had slipped from your cheeks to your hips as carefully as possible, mindful not to hurt you while gently tugging you closer.
"Let's go sit down, yeah?" He murmured against your lips.
You hadn't even realised you'd started shaking. Your legs felt weak, your thoughts racing so fast you could barely keep up with them. No one had ever made you feel like this before—not once in your life had someone unsettled you so completely.
"Mmh," you hummed against his lips before leaning up to kiss him again.
Both of you laughed softly into the kiss as Jack began stepping backward. When the backs of his knees bumped against the couch, he paused for a second before sitting down. You moved to sit beside him, but his hand stopped you.
Spreading his legs slightly, he guided you to stand between them instead. His face hovered near your stomach, immediately making you self-conscious. But the moment his lips pressed soft kisses there through your shirt, the butterflies in your stomach only grew wilder. Your breathing turned uneven as you stared down at him.
His eyes lifted to yours while his lips continued trailing slow kisses over your stomach.
"Can I?" he asked quietly, his voice rough with restrained need.
It was unfamiliar—feeling this wanted by someone who wasn't rushing straight toward sex. There was something comforting about the patience in him, about the way he seemed to want more than just your body. His fingers rested lightly against the hem of your shirt, playing absently with it, waiting for permission.
When you nodded—a little too quickly, you'd admit—mischief flickered in Jack's eyes as he raised a single brow in silent warning. The effortless dominance he carried so naturally made your head spin.
"Yes," you managed to say, breathless, earning another quick kiss in return.
Agonisingly slowly, Jack pushed your shirt upward, his lips following the rising fabric. Once it was high enough, you tugged it off yourself, suddenly standing half-naked in front of the man you'd been hopelessly crushing on for months.
You still hadn't dared look directly at him, but the second you heard him click his tongue in disapproval, your stomach dropped. Had he imagined your body differently? Was he disgusted by what he saw? Was the soft weight on your body suddenly repulsive once shown without clothes?
"No fucking wonder you're limping," he muttered, sounding almost irritated.
Looking down quickly, you were met with a patch of darkened skin peeking out from beneath your pants. The bruising already looked terrible, staining your skin in a way that made it obvious to anyone that it hurt like hell.
"Oh," you breathed out shakily, finally releasing the breath you'd been holding.
He wasn't disgusted by you at all, he'd simply slipped into doctor mode. You weren't even sure he'd realised it, but one of his thumbs was slowly caressing the bruise while his eyes remained fixed on yours.
"Did you at least get their name?" he sighed, shaking his head.
"It wasn't his fault," you explained quietly.
"He should still pay for the medical treatment. You were a pedestrian, it was his fault anyway," Jack continued scolding gently, resting his chin against your soft stomach while keeping his eyes on you.
Scoffing, you shook your head. "What medical treatment?"
"Still," the older man muttered stubbornly before glancing back down at the bruise.
As carefully as he could, he tugged your pants down a little farther, revealing more of the dark purple mark. It wasn't pretty, but at least it was only a bruise and not a broken hip. That would've been a nightmare.
"Does it hurt?" His voice softened again, slipping back into the soothing tone he always seemed to use around you.
"Not right now," you whispered, far too distracted by the feeling of his lips brushing against your skin again.
He kissed around the bruise as though he could somehow heal it with tenderness alone. Every soft press of his mouth made your heart skip wildly in your chest—a feeling that was becoming dangerously familiar whenever he was near. At first, it had annoyed you but now, standing half-undressed in your living room, it felt exhilarating.
He chuckled softly at your answer before pressing another kiss to your skin.
Then, before doing anything else, he leaned back against the couch. His warmth barely left your body, yet you missed it instantly. Once he'd settled farther away, his hands moved to the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head in one smooth motion.
The sight nearly stole your breath.
This man—older than you by more than a decade—had a better body than most men your own age you'd ever been with. His chest was broad and toned, scattered with freckles that made you ache to trace every single one with your fingertips. His stomach was firm too, though softened slightly by a thin layer of fat that somehow only made him more attractive, more real. It made you want to bite into it.
And his arms, God. They'd already been distracting enough at work, but seeing them like this, bathed in the warm sunlight filtering through your curtains, was almost unfair.
"Wanna sit down now?" he teased, his thumb still stroking over your hip. "Because this must be killing you."
Nodding, you finally dragged your gaze away from his chest and smiled sheepishly when you met his eyes. You felt no embarrassment about being caught staring, and judging by the smugness on his face, he was thoroughly enjoying the attention. Then again, he had no shame either—his own eyes had drifted toward your breasts more than once already.
"How about we take these off first?" he murmured teasingly, lightly snapping the waistband of your pants against your good hip.
"Sure," you replied, feeling strangely at ease around him now. "Just warning you… I'm not wearing my best underwear today."
"Oh no," Jack said dramatically, shaking his head in fake disappointment.
His hands betrayed him completely, though, as he carefully slid your pants down your legs, making sure not to brush too hard against the bruising. Once they passed your thighs, the fabric dropped to the floor on its own.
Leaning back against the couch, Jack rested his hands low on your hips while he looked at you with quiet hunger. His gaze wandered slowly over every inch of you, from your face down to your knees, taking everything in with patient, gentle attention.
And weirdly—for probably the first time in your life—you didn't really feel self-conscious. You'd made peace with your body years ago, but old insecurities from your teens and early twenties still lingered in quiet corners of your mind.
Yet there was no judgment in his eyes. No disgust. His gaze moved over your stretch marks, your soft stomach, your love handles, the natural curve of your breasts, and the faint hair peeking out around your panties without hesitation or discomfort.
If anything, he looked captivated.
Smiling softly, he leaned forward to press another kiss against your stomach before settling back comfortably against the couch again. Once he was fully relaxed, he patted his thighs lightly, eyes never leaving you.
You hesitated awkwardly, standing there half-naked in the middle of your living room. Even if he clearly liked your body, a small part of you still worried you might be too heavy for him. Buying yourself time, you bent down to pull your socks off.
"Come on," he coaxed with an amused smirk. "You're not gonna break me."
Your eyes widened in surprise. You hadn't realised your thoughts were that obvious—you'd always been good at hiding your insecurities and fears. Perhaps, it had been that your partner didn't really pay attention.
"You think too loudly, sweetheart," Jack said, his teasing smile softening. "And you're way too pretty to waste time worrying about stupid things."
As if to reassure you even more, he patted his thighs again before his hands slid back to your hips, guiding you closer inch by inch.
His gentleness and words made you smile despite yourself, your eyes dropping shyly toward the floor. Once you reached the couch, you slowly lowered yourself into his lap, your legs settling on either side of his hips. He was so broad that the stretch tugged slightly at your sore hip, painful but strangely pleasant too.
Your hands rested uncertainly on his shoulders, still hesitant to put your full weight on him even though your hip was throbbing. Jack solved the issue himself by gripping your waist and pulling you down firmly onto him.
The second your full weight settled in his lap, a sound escaped him—a rough mixture between a groan and a moan that instantly sent heat rushing through your body. As a reflex, your thighs pressed together, or tried to. Instead, the movement rocked you lightly against him, your body brushing over the hardening shape still trapped beneath his cargo pants.
The reaction it pulled from both of you was immediate—a long shared breath, shaky and warm.
The moment your eyes met, laughter burst out of you unexpectedly. Jack laughed too, leaning forward to kiss your forehead. Meanwhile, his hands slid slowly up your back. Without thinking, you melted into him, your arms slipping around his neck automatically.
The hug felt dangerously close to home.
He was so warm, so solid, comforting in a way you couldn't even explain. Like curling beneath a blanket on the coldest winter night. Safe. Easy. Real.
And somewhere in the back of your mind, your thoughts betrayed you again, instantly imagining what it would feel like to fall asleep wrapped in this warmth every night. To wake up curled into his burly arms, head lying on his chest.
"You're so warm," you whispered against his neck before pressing a soft kiss there.
Jack laughed quietly under his breath and pulled you even closer in response. He kissed the top of your head again, slow and absentminded, the kind of affectionate gesture that felt almost painfully domestic.
The hug, the forehead kisses, the quiet closeness—it made your heart race uncontrollably. And with your ear pressed against his chest, you could hear his heartbeat thudding faster than normal too.
His hands slid from your back to settle on your ass. They didn't grope or squeeze greedily, they simply rested there, warm and steady. Grounding. And at the same time, impossible to ignore when his now hard cock was pressed right between your thighs.
Lifting your head from his neck, you kissed him again. This time the kisses turned deeper, messier, more desperate. Teeth brushed lips, tongues tangled slowly and warmth spread through your entire body until you felt dizzy with it.
When it became too much, you instinctively rolled your hips, searching for friction.
And friction was exactly what you found.
His dick, hard beneath the fabric of his pants and your panties, rubbed perfectly against your clothed clit. It had been so long since you'd felt someone against you like this that greed started creeping in before you could stop it.
Pressing your hips down harder against his, satisfaction bloomed in your chest when a rough groan escaped him. His hands remained on your ass now, kneading softly while guiding your movements, encouraging every slow grind against him.
The feeling of skin, heat and pressure was intoxicating. Too much and somehow not enough at the same time. The rough fabric of his pants against the backs of your thighs suddenly became unbearable though, you needed it gone.
Without really thinking, your hands slid from his shoulders down toward his waistband. Rising just enough, you started tugging at them.
Rising slightly, the loss of friction made you whine immediately, even though it had been your own doing. But before you could get very far, Jack's hands gently stopped yours.
You froze at once. Your fingers hovered shakily above the waistband of his pants, your stomach dropping.
"I'm sorry," you whispered quickly against his lips. "Sorry."
Your pulse thundered painfully now, not from desire but embarrassment. Maybe you'd pushed too far. Maybe kissing had been fine, touching had been fine, but this—
"Shhh." His voice was soft and immediate, reassuring. "Relax, sweetheart. You didn't do anything wrong."
But you still couldn't look at him. Your gaze darted everywhere except his face until one of his hands gently cupped your jaw, carefully guiding you back toward him. His eyes looked exactly the same as before: warm, patient, hungry in the gentlest way imaginable. No discomfort. No anger.
"You know about my leg, right?" Jack asked quietly. After a hesitant nod from you, he nodded too. "But you've never seen it," he continued softly. "I just don't want you to be surprised, okay?"
For a second, you simply stared at him. Then laughter burst out of you unexpectedly. Real laughter, the kind that shook your entire body.
Was he seriously worried you'd be disgusted by his prosthetic? By an amputated limb?
Jack leaned back slightly against the couch cushions, head tilted while he watched you laugh yourself to tears. A small smile tugged at his lips, like he understood you'd needed the release after panicking.
Once your laughter finally settled, tears prickling lightly at the corners of your eyes, you looked back at him. Relaxed against your couch, shirtless and warm in the dim morning light, he looked strangely comfortable there.
"You know I'm a nurse, right?" you asked in disbelief.
He answered with one slow, firm nod. Eyes blinking softly in a cat like way.
But then doubt crept in anyway, irrational and sharp. It made no sense for him to think you'd care about his injury, which meant maybe he was only saying it because he wanted to stop. And if he wanted to stop, that was okay—but the thought that he might be searching for an excuse instead of simply telling you hurt more than it should have.
Wrapping your arms around yourself, you shifted back slightly until you were sitting more on his thighs than directly against his crotch. His thumb still stroked gently along your jaw while he studied your expression carefully.
"We can stop if you want," you said softly, though the voice barely sounded like yours. "We don't have to…"
The words trailed off awkwardly. Your toes curled restlessly against his skin while you fought the urge to fidget with your fingers.
"What if I don't want to stop?" His voice dropped lower again.
You stayed quiet, only staring at him while he searched your face.
"Do you want to stop?" Jack asked.
His gaze pinned you in place, making it impossible to look away this time.
Blinking quickly, you shook your head. "No."
"Then come back here," he murmured, teasing warmth returning to his tone so suddenly it sent heat rushing between your legs again. His tone wasn't commanding, but it had that natural dominance that didn't really let you do anything but what he said.
At some point his hands had slipped back onto your ass, stroking lightly until you shifted closer once more, settling back properly against his lap. Relief flooded through you when you felt him still hard beneath you, still wanting you just as much as before.
A soft moan escaped you as you rolled against him again.
"Good girl," Jack said deeply, voice raw.
The words hit you like a lightning strike.
Your entire body reacted instantly—thighs tightening around him, your breath catching embarrassingly hard while a pathetic little moan slipped free before you could stop it. Mortified, you buried your face against his shoulder while instinctively rocking your hips again.
"Didn't you want this problem solved?" Jack teased lightly.
Between your legs, you felt his hands playing with the waistband of his cargo pants. Deliberately, the back of his hand brushed against your clothed clit, adding just enough pressure to make you whine again.
A soft laugh rumbled through his chest beneath you.
Then your next roll of your hips dragged another rough groan out of him, lower this time, almost strangled. The sound sent a thrill straight through you.
"Who's laughing now?" you asked breathlessly, unable to stop yourself from grinning.
The light smack he gave your ass was the only answer you got before his palm rubbed soothingly over the spot afterwards.
A moment later, he tapped lightly against your thigh in silent request. When you lifted yourself just enough, Jack awkwardly tugged his pants off the rest of the way beneath you.
While he worked them free, you occupied yourself by kissing along his neck and shoulder slowly, patiently. You didn't want him to feel rushed or self-conscious. Nothing about this had felt hurried from the start, and you weren't about to change that now.
Once the discarded pants landed somewhere across the living room, his hands guided you back down onto him carefully so you wouldn't strain your sore muscles for too long. Your hip was definitely starting to ache again.
Settling comfortably against him once more, you kissed him deeply while your hips resumed a slower, steadier rhythm.
The soft fabric of his boxers felt infinitely better against you than the roughness of his cargo had. Even more intoxicating was the warmth of his bare skin against the backs of your thighs.
Combined with his wandering hands and his mouth against yours, it all became overwhelming in the best possible way. You weren't inexperienced, but somehow this felt entirely new—raw and exciting enough to make you feel like you were discovering sex for the first time all over again.
Between your legs, heat and dampness had already soaked through your panties, probably staining his boxers too. Normally that thought would've embarrassed you. Right now, though, you barely cared.
Maybe Jack sensed it too, because his hand suddenly slipped between your bodies, easing beneath the cotton of your underwear.
His fingers moved slowly through the soft hair there without hesitation, without comment, simply exploring you gently. The lack of judgment alone made something in your chest loosen. No criticism, no awkward remarks.
For several long seconds he only teased you lightly, fingers wandering until a shaky moan of his name finally escaped your lips.
You felt his smirk against your mouth immediately afterwards.
Then his fingers slid lower.
The second they found your clit, your entire body jolted. You'd been half convinced he'd drag it out and tease you endlessly, but instead he touched you with immediate purpose—slow, tight circles that stole the breath straight from your lungs.
Your kisses quickly fell apart after that, little gasps and broken sounds replacing them as you struggled to focus on anything except the feeling of his fingers working between your thighs.
Soon enough, the kisses became one-sided in the best way possible. Jack simply nipped and licked lazily at your lips, a smug smile tugging at his mouth while you struggled to breathe through the pleasure rolling through you.
From watching him at work, you'd hoped his hands would be skilled—steady, strong, careful. You'd been completely right.
A man his age, as experienced as you'd imagined him to be, clearly knew exactly what he was doing. He didn't fumble around searching for your clit or rush too quickly to the point of slight pain. Everything he did felt deliberate and perfectly paced, like he already knew your body despite never touching you before.
It was insane how naturally you fit together.
Sure, you'd known each other for over a year. You'd flirted shamelessly for most of it. But you never could've imagined actually being with him would feel this good. This easy. Like two puzzle pieces assembling.
"Feels really good," you breathed out between shaky moans against his lips.
"Yeah?" he teased softly before kissing you again.
"Mhm." You nodded rapidly, biting your lip as another wave of pleasure rolled through you.
"Good." That simple word, paired with the soft kiss he pressed to your forehead afterwards, made warmth spread through your chest just as much as between your thighs.
His fingers never left your clit, never broke their steady rhythm. Eventually it became impossible to focus on anything except feeling, Jack didn't seem to mind in the slightest. He wasn't asking for anything back from you, wasn't trying to make you perform for him.
Instead, his mouth wandered lower.
You couldn't exactly blame him when you'd been arching into him shamelessly, practically pressing your chest into his face every time pleasure jolted through you. Gently, his lips moved across the swell of your breasts while his teeth tugged teasingly at the fabric of your bra, letting it snap softly back against your skin.
He did it again. And again.
Finally, blinking through the haze, you looked down at him.
His eyes were darker than you'd ever seen them before—heavy with hunger. You'd seen him irritated, exhausted, sarcastic, even angry at work. But this version of him? This was entirely new.
And it was all because of you.
"Wanna take this off for me?" Jack asked, his voice calm and grounding despite the way his fingers kept working between your legs. "How does that sound?"
"Good," you moaned immediately when his touch pressed a little harder against your clit.
With trembling hands, you unclasped your bra and let it slide off. Cool air brushed over your bare skin instantly, your nipples already hard from both the temperature and the overwhelming pleasure building inside you.
The second your chest was fully exposed, Jack let out a slow breath.
"You're absolutely breathtaking," he murmured.
And then he kissed you there.
You barely even processed the compliment because the moment his mouth closed around one nipple, your thoughts scattered completely. His free hand cupped your other breast, rough thumb stroking over the sensitive peak without mercy before rolling it between it and his index finger.
It was too much. Completely overwhelming.
His mouth, his hands, his fingers between your legs—it felt like he was everywhere all at once. Yet the idea of him stopping felt unbearable too. Something tight and hot was building low in your stomach now, pressure winding tighter and tighter with every movement of his hand.
"Jack—" You moaned loudly.
The warning barely left your mouth before his teeth grazed your nipple a little harder. At the same time, his fingers sped up slightly against your clit.
That was all it took.
Pleasure crashed through you so suddenly your back arched hard against him, thighs clamping around his while your nails dug helplessly into his shoulders. The sounds leaving your throat were embarrassingly broken—high, shaky whines mixed with uneven breaths as you struggled to recover from how hard the orgasm hit you.
Recovering only became more difficult when Jack spoke again.
"Good girl," he murmured against the skin above your pounding heartbeat. "You just needed to relax."
The bastard absolutely knew what he was doing.
Especially when he could clearly feel the way your pussy clenched again at his praise while his fingers still rested between your thighs. Dropping your forehead against his shoulder, you let out a breathless laugh before lightly biting at his skin.
"You fucker."
Chuckling softly, Jack slowly slipped his fingers back out from your underwear before settling both hands comfortably on your ass again, as though they naturally belonged there. His other hand drifted soothingly along your back while he rested his head lightly against yours.
"Don't be mean now, sweetheart," he teased before giving your ass a playful slap. "You know you love it."
You opened your mouth to deny it automatically, purely out of spite, but his lips brushed against your ear before you could get the words out.
"I can still feel you clenching to it," he whispered, voice so low it sent a full-body shiver through you. As if your body wanted to prove him right, you felt your pussy involuntary clench afterwards.
"Just like that," he praised softly, along with a little laugh.
Groaning, you bit his shoulder again while trying desperately to steady your breathing.
For several quiet minutes, neither of you moved much. You simply stayed tangled together on the couch, half-dressed and warm, breathing each other in. It was soothing enough to make you sleepy.
And maybe that should've scared you—the intimacy of it, the domestic softness settling so naturally between you—but it didn't. If anything, it made you want to stay there longer.
Jack seemed perfectly content to follow your lead. Even with that effortless dominance wrapped around everything he did, he never pushed or demanded. He simply let you decide where things went next.
Still, despite the warmth and comfort, you wanted more.
Which meant eventually you had to get up.
Carefully pushing yourself to your feet, your shaky legs protested immediately as you stretched your arms over your head. Once again, you found yourself standing between his spread thighs while his gaze wandered openly over your nearly naked body.
Jack let out a low whistle of appreciation that made you roll your eyes instantly.
"Shut up," you muttered, fighting back a smile as you turned toward your bedroom. "I'll be right back."
When you returned a minute later, your heart skipped unexpectedly at the sight waiting for you.
He was still exactly where you'd left him, relaxed against the couch cushions with his legs spread comfortably. Like he belonged there, the thought crossed your mind again.
And he didn't seem remotely uncomfortable about his prosthetic being visible now that his pants were gone. The human body really was incredible in the way it adapted.
As you approached, Jack said nothing at first. He simply patted his thigh again in invitation.
Smiling softly, you settled back into his lap without hesitation this time, all your earlier self-consciousness gone. Once comfortably seated, you held up what you'd brought back with you.
A condom.
His smile widened immediately, surprise and clear approval flashing across his face.
"You're not tired?" he asked quietly.
You doubted he even noticed how instinctively his hands had already settled back onto your hips the second you sat down. It seemed neither of you could stop touching the other for very long.
"I have trouble sleeping," you teased lightly, tilting your head. "What about you, old man? Getting tired already?"
Clicking his tongue, Jack tried and failed to hide his grin. Accepting the challenge, he took the condom from your hand before pulling you firmly back against the hard length between his thighs.
"You'll get tired before I do," he warned, voice low against your lips.
And the way he kissed you afterwards made it sound dangerously close to a promise.
It was a rushed kiss, overflowing with longing and want. His tongue slipped immediately into your mouth, tangling with yours while your teeth brushed together clumsily in your desperation. His hands kept pulling you closer and closer until there was no space left between you at all.
Chest to chest, you could feel everything—his heartbeat hammering beneath your palms, the rise and fall of his breathing, the twitch of dick between your thighs whenever you rolled your hips.
It only took seconds before the grinding started again, though "dry" hardly fit anymore. Not when both of you were already flushed and overheated from everything that had happened. Anf from how soaked you felt between your legs.
One of Jack's hands tapped lightly against your ass before slipping lower, tugging your panties down as far as he could manage.
"Okay, okay," you mumbled between kisses, with a breathless laugh as you lifted yourself enough to help.
You hurriedly kicked the fabric off while Jack tugged his own underwear down as well. The second you noticed how neatly trimmed he was, self-consciousness crept back in unexpectedly.
"You don't… uh…" Your eyes dropped nervously between your legs. "You don't mind, right?"
Jack looked almost offended by the question.
"What do you take me for?" he asked seriously, immediately shutting the doubt down before it could grow. "Come here, sweetheart. Stop being silly."
The warmth in his voice made you smile despite yourself.
Settling back over him, you hovered there for a moment with your hands braced against his shoulders while he rolled the condom on carefully. You couldn't stop staring at his hands, at the way his fingers moved along himself with practiced ease. Anticipation curled low in your stomach instantly.
He wasn't the biggest man you'd ever been with, but somehow you already knew he'd fit you perfectly. No painful stretching. No discomfort. Just right.
"Ready?" he teased, stroking himself once more while his eyes gleamed mischievously up at you.
Nodding quickly, you shifted closer with a shaky breath. Your heart was pounding so hard it almost felt ridiculous. You couldn't remember the last time sleeping with someone had made you nervous like this.
Then again, you'd also never spent months hopelessly crushing on someone before finally ending up in their lap.
Slowly, you lowered yourself onto him.
The first stretch pulled a soft gasp from both of you. Just like you'd expected, he fit perfectly, full enough to make you shiver, but immediately comfortable—warm and right. Jack's fingers tightened instinctively against your hips, hard enough to make a small sound of pain slip from your mouth before he immediately let go.
"Fuck, sorry, sweetheart," he breathed, his hands dropping quickly to his own thighs.
"It's okay," you reassured him softly.
Missing his touch almost instantly, you grabbed his wrists and guided his hands upward onto your chest instead. Somewhere safer. Somewhere he wouldn't be afraid to hold you tightly.
On instinct, his palms squeezed gently while his thumbs brushed over your nipples, drawing another shaky breath from you.
Once fully seated in his lap, neither of you moved right away. You simply sat there breathing together, staring at each other as the reality of the moment settled over both of you.
Then, almost at the same time, you both laughed quietly. The nervous tension melted immediately after that, and something about knowing he was just as affected as you were made your chest ache warmly.
Unable to resist, you leaned down to kiss him again.
The kiss deepened quickly, soft turning hungry within seconds, and your hips began moving instinctively against his. At first you only rocked slowly, getting used to the feeling of him inside you.
But soon you pushed yourself up carefully on your knees, lowering yourself back down in a slow rhythm. Every movement dragged him along your walls in a way that made little moans spill helplessly from your mouth into his.
Jack wasn't much quieter.
Soft groans vibrated against your lips while his grip flexed against your body, and every now and then he hit a spot inside you that made your thighs tighten around him uncontrollably.
Still, after a few minutes, exhaustion was already catching up to you. Between your long shift, your bruised hip, and the emotional rollercoaster of the night, your body was starting to give out.
You tried to hide it by kissing him deeper, slowing your movements into lazy rolls of your hips instead of proper thrusts. But of course Jack noticed immediately.
"I told you you'd get tired first," he teased softly against your mouth.
Before you could protest, his hands slowed your hips until you were sitting still against him again. When you tried moving once more, his grip tightened gently around your waist, holding you in place.
"Jack," you whined quietly, attempting to squirm free.
"Tsk." He clicked his tongue before deliberately shifting his hips upward just enough to make you gasp. "You're exhausted and your hip hurts," he scolded calmly. "We're not pushing it."
With a defeated sigh, you finally stopped fighting him.
Searching his expression nervously, you expected to find disappointment somewhere in his face. Frustration maybe. Annoyance. Instead, all you found was softness, warmth and concern. Desire still lingering there too, but patient now instead of consuming.
The sudden tenderness made your eyes sting unexpectedly.
"I'm sorry," you whispered, looking away before he could see you tearing up.
"You don't have to be." Immediately, he pulled you gently against his chest again. "You didn't do anything wrong, sweetheart."
The second he wrapped his arms around you, your body seemed to finally give up entirely. Tension melted straight out of your muscles as though all you'd needed was his warmth to feel safe enough to let go.
One of his hands rubbed soothingly up and down your back while the other reached for the blanket tossed over the couch earlier, draping it carefully around your shoulders.
Only then did you realise you'd been trembling for the past minute.
Shock, stress, adrenaline—your body had probably been running on fumes since the accident earlier that night. Then there'd been Jack coming to your apartment, all the emotional chaos of finally crossing this line with him… It had been a lot.
"We can keep going," you whispered weakly against his skin anyway.
You felt him shake his head against your hair. "Nope."
The simple firmness in his voice somehow made you relax even more. Your eyes still sting with unshed tears, but you were finally getting your breathing back to normal. A minute later, your stomach growled loudly enough to break the silence entirely, both of you burst into laughter instantly.
"I feel sore everywhere," you complained dramatically as you finally pushed yourself upright a little.
The mood had shifted already, softer now, calmer—but you still didn't want him to leave. Some irrational part of you worried that if he walked out this morning, this whole thing would disappear with him.
"Go take a shower," Jack said gently, kissing the top of your head. "I'll make us something to eat."
"You're staying?" The question came out far more vulnerable than you intended.
Jack scoffed softly, his eyes immediately locking onto yours. His hands settled back onto your ass automatically.
"You think that little of me?" he asked quietly. There was a smile on his lips, but this time it looked faintly hurt around the edges. "I care about you for a hell of a lot more than sex, okay?"
His thumbs stroked lightly against your skin.
"If you want me gone, I'll get dressed right now," he continued gently. "But I don't think that's what you want."
It took your brain a few seconds to fully process the sincerity in his voice.
"I want you to stay," you admitted softly, suddenly embarrassed you'd doubted him at all.
Jack answered by kissing you again. Not hungry this time. Not desperate. Just soft and reassuring enough to quiet every lingering fear in your chest.
"Go take your shower then," he murmured against your lips.
Once you were finally standing again, wrapped in the blanket and still trembling slightly, you watched Jack sit forward, elbows resting on his knees.
"Do you need help?" you asked meekly, nodding subtly toward the space between his legs.
Laughing softly, he leaned closer until his forehead rested against your stomach. The edge of the blanket brushed against his skin while your fingers slipped gently into his hair. The gesture soothed both of you instantly. Soft. Familiar already.
"No, I'm fine," he replied before pressing a quick kiss to your stomach and nudging you toward the bathroom.
You disappeared down the hallway with one last glance back at him.
Once alone in the bathroom, waiting for the water to warm, you finally looked properly at the bruise blooming across your hip. It looked awful—dark spreading across your skin in uneven patches. Even brushing against it hurt. Walking had become nearly impossible without limping, and you already knew the next few days were going to suck.
After a quick shower, you returned to the living room wearing soft pyjama shorts and an oversized shirt. Your body felt heavy and relaxed now, though your hip still throbbed painfully.
The second you stepped into the kitchen, you stopped.
Jack stood by the stove, shirtless, cooking scrambled eggs like he belonged there.
You hadn't been prepared for the sheer domesticity of it. Somehow, seeing him casually cooking in your kitchen felt more intimate than everything that had happened on the couch. The fact that he was doing it shirtless only made it worse.
Now that you were dressed again and no longer overwhelmed by desire, it felt easier to slip back into yourself. Easier to joke. To breathe.
"I'm pretty sure cooking without a shirt isn't medically recommended, Doctor," you teased, leaning against the doorway.
"Don't worry," he replied without missing a beat, glancing back at you briefly before returning to the pan. "I've got the best nurse around to take care of me."
Then he winked.
You rolled your eyes instantly, fighting a smile while he turned the stove off. Dinner—breakfast or whatever this meal counted as, was ready.
As you reached into the cabinet for plates, a huge yawn escaped you. It was ridiculous how completely your body had relaxed after an orgasm, a hot shower and finally letting yourself feel safe. Earlier, you hadn't lied when you said you had a hard time falling asleep, but now it felt like you might pass out standing up.
The meal itself passed in easy conversation.
You talked about work, books stacked around your flat, music from your vinyl collection. Jack teased your taste in indie pop while pretending not to know half the artists already. The eggs were ridiculously good too, which annoyed you a little.
Once you'd finished eating, he immediately forced you back onto your seat while he cleaned up. You'd protested, arguing that if he cooked then you should do the dishes, but he'd refused the second he noticed your limp worsening.
So instead you sat there with your cheek resting against your hand, watching his broad back move beneath the warm sunlight while he washed dishes at your sink.
It was such an ordinary sight. And somehow that made it unforgettable.
"You know," you started quietly, eyes still fixed on him, "I have one of those plastic stools if you want to shower."
"Yeah?" You could hear the smile in his voice immediately.
Relieved he hadn't taken offence, you nodded awkwardly. You knew he wasn't secretive about his disability, but you still didn't want to accidentally say the wrong thing.
"It's not exactly a disability shower thing, but…" you trailed off carefully.
"I'd like that," he replied easily, turning toward you. "A stool's fine. Don't worry."
Once he reached you, he leaned down and tilted your chin upward gently. A small kiss brushed your lips. Then another. Finally, one soft kiss landed on the tip of your nose.
"You're waiting in bed, though," he murmured with a wink. "Doctor's orders."
After showing him where the stool was, locking the front door, and turning off the apartment lights, you finally made your way toward your bedroom.
The room glowed softly from the bedside lamp while the sound of running water drifted from the en-suite bathroom. You'd left him a towel and a spare toothbrush without even thinking about it. Neither of you had outright said he'd stay the night, it had simply happened naturally, like an unspoken agreement.
At some point, exhaustion dragged you under.
The sound of the bathroom door opening startled you awake. Disoriented, you blinked sleepily toward the doorway where Jack stood, shirtless and damp-haired beneath the soft light.
"Sorry," he whispered immediately.
"It's okay," you mumbled, pushing yourself up slightly. "Didn't mean to fall asleep."
Jack smiled softly before walking toward the bed. The limp in his step was more noticeable now, and guilt twisted in your chest immediately. You suddenly hated how little your apartment offered to make things easier for him.
"Are you okay?" you asked quietly, glancing toward the prosthetic.
"Been worse," he replied with a faint smirk before his expression softened. "It won't make you uncomfortable if I take it off?"
The vulnerability in his eyes startled you more than the question itself. You'd never seen Jack uncertain before. At work he was always composed, teasing, confident.
"Of course not," you answered immediately, giving him the gentlest smile you could manage.
Nodding once, he carefully removed the prosthetic and placed it beside the bed. You watched him massage along the scar absentmindedly for a moment before he finally slid beneath the blankets and leaned back against the headboard.
"I left the stool in the shower," he said after a beat, voice quieter than usual. "Hope that's okay."
"It's fine," you replied softly, reaching over to take his hand. "You can actually lie down, you know."
Laughing under his breath, he finally stretched out beside you. Slowly but visibly, his entire body relaxed more and more the longer he settled into the mattress.
"This bed is terrible," he announced after a few moments of silence.
Scoffing dramatically, you smacked his chest lightly. "Do you know how expensive mattresses are?"
Pulling his hand from yours, he wrapped his arm around your back and tugged you closer until your head rested against his chest.
"You'll come to mine next time," he murmured sleepily, eyes already half-closed.
"Next time?" you teased, tilting your head to look up at him.
Like this, relaxed and exhausted, he somehow looked younger. Softer. His freckles stood out beautifully across his face in the low light.
"Oh, definitely," Jack replied, a lazy smirk tugging at his mouth. "A bruise like that takes weeks to heal. Lots of relaxation."
"Oh, sure," you laughed, shaking your head. "The bruise. Right."
Still smiling, you leaned over to switch off the lamp before settling back against his chest. His breathing rocked you gently while your fingers traced lazy patterns up and down his stomach. Trying to comfort him the same way he'd comforted you all evening. And somehow, wrapped up in the warmth of the biggest crush you'd ever had, you fell asleep faster than you had in years.
All because of one stupid, unexpected accident. Honestly, you couldn't bring yourself to complain about it.
i know this one came up terribly late, but im still dealing with some depressive aftermath. hope you enjoy it though, cause i kinda rewarded your waiting with a 13k second part hihi (yes it's a pattern that they never get to cum... if you noticed, no you haven't.)
"Forget something?" you asked innocently, nodding toward the illegally parked car.
"You," he answered immediately.
✧What DO YOU MEAAANNN??? I nearly threw my phone across the room but then I remembered I'm in a hospital so calm down I guess but like what in the sweet hell macaroni cheesecake factory is this?? I have never in my life held back a scream inside a 🏥 I WANT MORE
✧That whole interaction after the shift is absolutely bonkers I mean come on this should be illegal but like he's so initiative when it comes to the person he so clearly like what do you mean "I'm taking you home"?????? Get the fawk out
His lips hovered just above yours, not quite kissing you, but making no effort to hide how badly he wanted to.
✧What in the porcupine meatballs is this shite??? Omaga I flinched when I read this part don't care even if somebody had walked in I don't care even if it kills me. I love this version of intimacy.
✧AWWWWEEEEE MAN kisses on the stomach are so sweet oh soft kisses on the stomach (づ￣ ³￣)づ
✧At this point I read the part not rushing sex #!$# and I just paused, malfunctioned I guess because I just stopped taking notes because I had to take that moment to appreciate the fact that passion overpowered lust. But like I need them to be on the equal scale ⚖️ ( ꈍᴗꈍ)
✧"Does it hurt?" I can't let this pass because no it doesn't hurt anymore. Every wound and every cut and every bruise and every scar wouldn't hurt as long as I'm with you
✧Holy shit holy shit holy shit I hope Siri was here so I could scream "Babe play Hungry Eyes by Eric Carmen rn" ✧\(>o<)ﾉ✧
✧"And you're way too pretty to waste time worrying about stupid things." Preach Jack Abbot preach. This is soooooo true I'm weak in the knees
✧"You're so warm," Man I've never been more jealous before Jack Abbot let me feel that warmth
✧"His di-" AWOOP!!!! jumpscare-(٥↼_↼)
✧Babe I have never been one to be disgusted by many things and I sure as hell won't make a face on an amputated leg like??? #Ride
✧"Good girl," THERE IT IS THE NATIONAL ANTHEM OF JACK ABBOT GOOD FAWKING GIRL argh I'm so exhausted leave me alone (●´⌓`●)
✧Hold on I'm sorry I didn't know discovering sex for the first time all over again would be this tiring 'cause I'm biting my tongue, I'm gripping the sheet, I'm sat and laid back and levitating all at once...
✧To everything that happened next there's only one thing for me to say: What the fawk give me more
✧....the doorway where Jack stood, shirtless and damp-haired beneath the soft light. Someone please draw this
✧I need one more fic entitled Good Girl yupppp
✧Me too me too me twoooo(人*´∀｀)｡*ﾟ+
✧I can't complain too because this is absolutely beautifully and immaculately written well done dear you have earned the babygirl duck writer badge of honor!!!
You’ve done reader and uncle!robby getting caught by reader’s dad
You’ve done reader and uncle!robby getting caught by reader’s mom
I think it’s time for reader’s boyfriend to walk on reader and Robby; maybe if they’re in position that reader always refused to do with her boyfriend.
(you can make it more disgusting if it’s step dad!robby)
hear me out hear me out!!!! boyfriend’s dad!robby getting caught with reader by his son!?!?!?!
walk with me…
getting caught with boyfriend's dad!robby (f!reader)
wc: 3.9k (whoops)
warnings/tags: smut. mdni. cheating!! age gap (unspecified but there), oral (m! and f!), unprotected piv, creampie, angst i guess but not really??, getting caught having sex, comfort at the end. f!reader. daddy kink.
you and your boyfriend had been together for a couple of months, you met at work and he’d been begging you to go on a date with him since your first day. you turned him down probably 100 times before saying yes, remembering everyone’s advice about never dating your co-workers. but he was nice and seemed somewhat normal so eventually you agreed.
the date was okay, nothing to write home about but it wasn’t terrible so you agreed to another, and then another until he asked you to be his girlfriend. you weren’t in love with him per say, but you thought maybe you could be, could end up falling in love with him some point down the line…
that was until you met his very handsome father.
it was your boyfriend’s birthday so you ended up travelling to his home town of pittsburgh to meet his parents to spend the weekend with them. given the fact that you weren’t really that invested in your relationship yet you weren’t exactly nervous about meeting his parents, until you stepped into the arrivals terminal at the airport and saw the very handsome older man who you assumed to be his father.
taking in his tall, broad frame and his greying hair and aged features your breathing got caught in your throat and you silently hoped that he wasn’t in fact your boyfriends dad. but as your boyfriend waved at the couple and they waved back that hope was shattered.
“oh! my sweet boy! i missed you sooo much!!” the older woman who you presumed to be your boyfriend’s mom cooed as she wrapped him up in her arms, peppering the top of his head with kisses.
you stood awkwardly behind, gripping the handle of your suitcase until your knuckles turned white as you took a closer look at his hot dad. noting the way the skin by his eyes crinkled as he smiled at his son, and then the way his cheeks flushed an unmistakable shade of pink when his eyes finally landed on you.
you looked away, staring awkwardly at the floor when his eyes met yours. you had felt it then, a jolt of heat that rolled through your body when his eyes lingered just a little bit too long on your own. fuck.
“mom. dad. this is my girlfriend…” he introduces you by name and you could’ve sworn you saw a little bit of light die behind his mother’s eyes when he used the word girlfriend. but she smiled sweetly at you anyway, whether it was genuine or not, you didn’t really care.
“it’s nice to meet you” she smiles, notably not extending her hand out for you to shake or really acknowledging you in anyway but by word.
“you too!” you extend your own fake smile before your eyes land back on his dad, who was offering you a real genuine smile. it was shy, small and his cheeks grew a darker shade of red when you returned the same smile. heat pooled low in your belly at that and subconsciously you pressed your thighs together.
“hey, i’m michael but everyone calls me robby” he extends his hand for you to shake, you take it and you swear you felt a spark as your hands met and the way he immediately looked away from you told you he felt it too.
“hi, robby” he’s so much taller than you that you have to look up at him, your eyes all big and round as you peer at him through your lashes. a small smile creeps up on your face and you feel your own cheeks getting hotter by the second.
you don’t say much during the ride back from the airport, you can barely get a word in anyway as your boyfriends mom asks him all sorts of questions about how he’s been since she last saw him. so you just sit there in the back of the car, fiddling with your hands awkwardly in the back making eye contact with robby in the rear view mirror every so often. he looks away immediately every time but two seconds later he’s looking again, like he can’t stop even if he wanted to.
that first night at his parent’s home is pretty uneventful it was late when you got in after dinner so you headed straight to bed. you couldn’t sleep, your mind full of thoughts of robby as your boyfriend held you close to his chest you felt sick as you wished it was his dad instead.
it took ages for you to fall asleep and when you woke up around 10am the next morning your boyfriend wasn’t in bed beside you anymore. you threw on some pajama shorts and a loose tank top and went downstairs to look for him but you only found robby sat at the kitchen table reading something on his phone.
“morning..” you announce your presence in the room and robby jumps at the sound of your voice, his head snapping to where you stand in the doorway. his eyes scan your body, taking in the way your tits move in your loose top as your chest heaves from the effort of your breathing. then he’s taking in your legs, how they’re pressed together slightly as you shift on the balls of your feet and how your tiny pajama shorts cup the plump mound of your pussy so obviously.
“hi..” he breathes out, not realising he’d been holding said breath since he laid his eyes on you.
“where is everyone?” you ask, finally stepping into the kitchen and pulling out the chair closest to robby. he watches intently as you sit, appreciating the way your thighs fill out as they press against the wood of the chair, making the v shape of your pussy in your shorts more noticeable.
his eyes don’t leave your crotch the whole time, unashamedly staring as he asks, “who..?” you giggle at that, at the way he’s so stuck on you and your body that he forgot all about his wife and son.
“your wife? your son? my boyfriend?”
that snaps him back to life, his eyes finally leaving your legs and meeting your eyes. pink flushes your cheeks again just as it did back in the airport. “oh they went out for breakfast, some silly birthday tradition they’ve had since he was a kid”
you nod, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth as you look robby up and down. he looked so good in his plaid pajama pants and white t-shirt that was a little too tight on him, hugging his soft tummy and big arms in all the right ways.
robby offers you a drink then which you accept, your eyes trained on him as he moves around the kitchen. you spend a little while chatting over glasses of orange juice, giggling at all his jokes and listening intently as he tells you about himself, his job at the ed and just anything that comes to mind. all the while he’s devouring you with his eyes, it’s somehow so casual and intense at the same time. your thighs burn from how hard you’re pressing them together under his gaze.
he asks you questions about yourself too, smiling and nodding along when you answer them. it honestly felt like a first date, and you were feeling a lot more than on any date with your actual boyfriend.
who speaking of which came home soon after with his mom, interrupting yours and robby’s little kitchen moment. your boyfriend comes over and kisses the top of your head, you want to pull away but force yourself not to and you wish him happy birthday. his mother looks you up and down in something that resembles disgust, obviously not impressed with your revealing outfit, unlike her husband. her husband who was now looking anywhere but at you.
the rest of the day is spent at home celebrating your boyfriend’s birthday, opening presents and enjoying drinks with a couple more close family members. you mostly stay out of the way, sitting on the patio with robby as everyone fusses over the birthday boy by the backyard pool.
you’d changed into a white string bikini earlier much to your boyfriend’s mom’s dismay and robby’s delight, only covered by an almost sheer cover up tied around your waist and just like this morning robby’s eyes were all over you.
you’d spent the better part of the last hour teasing him, pushing your chest out purposefully when he looked, leaning over him further than necessary to talk over the music playing on the speakers, placing your hand on his bicep to stabilise yourself when you did so. and it was working, there’d been a somewhat noticeable bulge in robby’s shorts for some time now, which he hoped you hadn’t noticed but obviously you had.
you wanted him so bad, so much so that it was getting harder and harder not to just jump on him and take him for all he had right there on the patio. and when he laughed at something you said and placed his hand on the top of your thigh, it only got harder. you looked around to check if anyone was watching but they were all too busy with your boyfriend, who you imagine had forgotten you were even there. so you placed your hand over his and brought it up higher, his long fingers slipping on the inside, grazing your pussy over your bikini bottoms.
robby sucks in a harsh breath, his eyes snapping to yours, his pupils were already blown wide. “not here..” he whispers, removing his hand from your leg.
“where then?” you ask, biting your lip and giving him your best doe-eyed look.
he looks around and thinks for a second before grabbing his drink and tipping it over you. he shoves the drink into your hand before you can even let out a gasp. everyone turns to look at you then. robby takes the drink from your hand and places it down on the table next to him before standing up and helping you up too.
“come on, let’s get you cleaned up” he’s pushing you forwards now with one hand on your back as he guides you back into the house and up the stairs, pulling you into his bedroom and clicking the door shut behind him.
as soon as you’re in the room he’s spinning you around and pushing you up against the wall. his lips are on yours in seconds, taking your mouth in a hot, wet kiss. it’s messy and possessive, he’s forcing his tongue in your mouth and you can’t help but moan into his as he literally takes your breath away. his hands are all over you, grabbing and squeezing every single inch of your skin.
he pulls away after a minute to let you catch your breath, his eyes are so dark, almost fully black now as he looks down at you with an intensity unlike anything you’ve experienced before.
“fuck, this is bad” robby pants, reaching his hand around your back and pulling the string of your bikini top open. his lips are on your collarbone then, kissing across it and down the soft swell of your breasts until your nipple is in his mouth.
you gasp, your hands fly to the back of his head, gripping his hair tight as he swirls his tongue around your hardened nipple, suckling it softly in his mouth.
“i know..so bad” you whine, your hips involuntarily bucking forward into his, grinding your clothed cunt against the prominent erection in his shorts.
“we shouldn’t be doing this” he says as he pulls off your nipple before giving the other the same attention.
“i know” you moan, reaching one of your hands down between your bodies to grab his cock over his pants, giving it a gentle squeeze that has robby groaning around your breast.
“so tell me to stop” he’s sinking to his knees now, his hands already untying the strings on your hips, your bottoms falling to the floor by your feet.
you shake your head, “don’t you fucking dare.”
you part your legs for him and his tongue finds your clit in seconds, his big dark eyes trained on yours as he eats your cunt like a starved man. he’s pushing his face into you, his nose brushing against your clit as his tongue teases your dripping hole, swallowing every taste of you that hits his tongue.
your hands are in his hair again, holding him tight against you as you grind your hips against his face. robby lets out a deep, guttural groan and his eyes roll back from the pleasure of you using his mouth to get yourself off.
that familiar heat builds up in your stomach fast, your thighs clench against robby’s face signalling to him that you’re close so he takes two fingers and pushes them against your entrance before shoving them in. he doesn’t even need to lube them up, you’re soaked, your own arousal dripping down your legs as you come undone on his face.
“fuck– oh my god, ‘m gonna– shit, robby just like that– please” he curls his fingers against that spot inside of you and suddenly you’re seeing stars behind your closed eyes and your body shakes as your orgasm crashes over you. robby holds you up against the wall with one hand, the other still pumping inside of you working you through your high.
your breathing is ragged as you come down, your knees buckle beneath you as you look down to see robby cleaning you up with his mouth, his beard shiny with your arousal.
“feelin’ better, sweetheart?” robby coos as he straightens back up, cradling the side of your face with his large hand, wiping away a stray tear that had fallen during your orgasm.
you nod, your eyes glassy and a hazy smile lines your lips as you mumble, “mhmm– yes. thank you.”
you lean up on your tippy toes and kiss his cheek, tasting yourself in his beard, he smiles at that. but the smile fades as his lips part when your hand strokes his cock over his pants again and then you’re the one sinking to your knees. you pop open the button of his shorts, your fingers shake slightly as you pull down the zipper and then again when you’re hooking them under the waistband of both his shorts and boxer briefs, pulling them down to free his achingly hard cock.
he’s big, not huge but much bigger than his son you note as you wrap a soft hand around his girth, bringing his flushed tip to your lips and giving it a small lick. robby hisses, stumbling forward he holds himself up with one hand on the wall as the other comes down to grab a fistful of your hair.
“you don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, we can go back downstairs–” robby starts, getting cut off by another lick to the underside of his head. you furrow your brows as you look up at him, tapping his cock against your tongue.
“i just don’t want you to feel like you have to just because i ate you out, you know? i know women don’t like to do this”
you raise an eyebrow at him, “is that what your wife tells you?”
robby nods, swallowing thickly as you press a kiss against his tip.
“you poor thing. your wife not taking care of you? don’t worry, i’m here now.” you smirk before finally wrapping your lips around him, sinking onto him halfway, swirling your tongue around the length of him, tracing every ridge with your tongue.
robby shudders, his knuckles turning white against the wall from the effort of keeping himself up as you suck on his cock like you were made for it. his hand in your hair tightens, trying so hard not to force you the rest of the way down.
“shit– feels so fucking good. almost forgot how- fuck- good this felt” he groans, his head lulling forwards, his eyes fixed on yours as you look up at him through your lashes with your mouth stuffed full of his cock. the sight of that alone would be enough to make robby cum, but he holds on.
“want to be inside you so fucking bad. bet that pretty little pussy of yours is so tight. shit– need that so fucking bad” he’s pulling you off of him now, you release his cock from your mouth with a wet pop and a pout.
“but i wanna-” you go to take him again but he yanks your head back.
“don’t have time, need to feel inside of you before someone comes looking for us. please, sweetheart” he’s begging with his eyes which you just can’t say no to.
“only if you promise i get to finish what i started later”
“of course, you can do that again whenever you want” robby huffs out a laugh as he takes your hand and pulls you over to his bed. you climb on and lay down in the middle. he’s on you in seconds, settling between your open legs not wasting any more time.
he pulls your legs up over his hips and lines himself up at your entrance, swiping his cock through your glistening folds a few times before sinking in with a deep groan. he falls forwards, his hands land either side of your head as the warmth of your tight cunt consumes him.
“oh fuck–that’s it. shit. so fucking tight” he presses his forehead against yours as he looks down to where your bodies meet, watching as he thrusts slowly, savouring the feeling.
you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling your lower half up to meet his thrusts, needing more than the gentle roll of his hips that he’s giving you.
and as if robby senses your neediness he speeds up, his hips meeting yours with a lewd slap, his balls hitting your ass on every hard thrust. he’s groaning wildly now, almost as if he’s forgotten where he is and what’s he’s doing. like he’s not fucking his son’s girlfriend in the bed that he and his wife share while they’re all outside celebrating his son’s birthday.
you’re moaning too, loud. you try and hold it back but with each thrust robby’s cock punches your cervix and pushes another loud moan out of your throat. it’s obscene, the mix of your pleasured moans and the sound of skin slapping fills the room.
“fuck, yes. fuck, you feel incredible– so fucking pretty, baby.” robby strokes the side of your face, looking deep into your eyes. you turn your face to the side and take his thumb into your mouth, wrapping your lips around it and sucking.
his hips stutter at that, “such a dirty girl, sucking on your boyfriend’s dad’s thumb while he ruins your pretty little pussy. you like that? like daddy splitting your tight little cunt open on his big cock?”
you moan around his thumb, “yes. fuck yes. love daddy’s cock stretching my little pussy. feels so fucking good, daddy. thank you”
and that’s when you hear it. the sound of the bedroom door swinging open. robby hears it to but he doesn’t stop his efforts, he’s too lost in the moment to even think about stopping.
you turn your head releasing robby’s thumb from your mouth. it’s your boyfriend, robby’s son stood in the doorway with his eyes wide and jaw practically on the floor.
you turn away immediately, burying your face in robby’s neck, robby who hasn’t even bothered to look up yet.
“i’m sorry, fuck– i’m sorry” you cry out between moans. now this is obscene, getting fucked by your boyfriend’s dad while he watches in pure horror.
“dad, what the fuck!?” he finally says, still not moving from his spot in the door.
“shit– i’m sorry son, i– oh fuck, i’m…s-sorry” robby’s pace falters. he wants to stop, knows he should, he keeps telling himself to stop but his body just won’t listen and to his deepest shame he slams into you with a couple more sloppy thrusts as his orgasm crashes through him.
your hand flies up to cover your mouth as you feel robby spill inside of you, filling you up with his thick release as his son watches on. you want to cry, shame and embarrassment washing over you in between the waves of pleasure from robby’s movements between your legs.
“you’re fucking sick, dad!” and with that he turns and leaves, no doubt running to mommy to tell her what he just saw.
robby collapses on top of you then, breathing laboured as he comes down from his high. he doesn’t say anything for a minute and neither do you. what even is there to say after that? so you just lay there with robby onto top of you, feeling like the worst person in the world.
“god, i’m so fucked” robby sighs after a minute, rolling off of you he drags his hands down his face.
“yeah..i don’t think there’s any coming back from this” you turn to face him, placing what’s supposed to be a comforting hand on his chest but it just feels stupid after everything. there’s no making this better, no fixing this.
“you think? god, he’s never going to talk to me again”
“no..probably not” you frown, nuzzling your face into his neck. he wraps an arm around you, neither of you care that the door is still open, it’s not like this situation could actually get any worse. the damage has already been done.
it’s safe to say that your relationship was pretty much over after that. you didn’t care to stay around for the fallout, you just packed your bag and got yourself a ride to a nearby hotel where you stayed until your flight home the next day.
a couple of days passed and you hadn’t heard a word from your boyfriend, not that you were surprised by that. you’re sat on your couch watching tv late at night when you hear a knock at your front door. you check the time on your phone, 3 am. you go to answer it thinking maybe your boyfriend had come home and wanted to talk about what happened but to your surprise robby is standing there on your porch, his bike helmet in one hand, a bag in his other.
you don’t say anything yet, just open the door wider to let him in. he steps in and drops his belongings on your floor. you offer your open arms for him and he falls into them almost knocking you over with his weight in the process.
“so…i take it you need a place to stay?” you huff a laugh after a long minute, it comes out sad though. you really did feel bad about blowing up robby’s whole life like that.
he takes in a deep breath before sighing, “yeah, if you’ll have me?”
you smile at that, “of course, i’d love nothing more”
he pulls away after another minute, you close the door behind him and take his hand leading him back to the couch where you resume your earlier position, though this time you have robby curled up by your side. you place your hand in his hair, stroking softly as you watch tv together like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
like this is how it was always supposed to be.
and you did it at my birthday dinner!!
this is a looooooong one! hope it’s okay! didn’t really plan how they were going to get caught or what was going to happen so i kind of just winged it, hope it was okay!! <333
also don’t ask how he knows where she lives…this is fanfiction ok it doesn’t have to make sense
want to be added to my robby taglist .ᐣ reply to this post ᝰ.ᐟ (taglist is tagged from another acc)
summary: the new nurse in the pitt has caught jacks attention.
content: fluff, hurt/comfort, yearning, protective jack, age gap, miscommunication, slow burn, he snaps at you, descriptions of reader injury/blood, mentions of abuse (patient)
wc: 10.5k
note: this is my first fic, enjoy :))
masterlists
You desperately wanted to make a good first impression on your first shift at PTMC.
The universe had a different idea, with your plan actively unravelling.
You’re new to Pittsburgh, and unfamiliar with the notorious unreliability of the public transport system, causing you to be 45 minutes late and frantically running from the nearest bus stop into the emergency department.
This is your worst nightmare. You picture everyone looking at you as you walk in, silently judging. Hating the feeling of eyes on you. You’re definitely flushed red in the face, your bag being packed to the brim with items you certainly do not need weighing you down, cursing yourself for packing so heavy.
While running through the entrance of the ER, you’re barely looking where you’re going and end up colliding with a chest, solid and unmoving you almost mistake him for a wall. You stumble a little, losing your footing and almost fall backwards over your own feet.
Warm hands on your shoulder steady you, preventing the horrific embarrassment.
“Oh fuck, I’m so sorry– I didn’t even see you,” your voice is frantic and apologetic, worried you’ve already made an enemy and you hadn’t even started your shift.
A deep, gravelly voice cuts through to you, grounding your panicked state.
“Hey, kid– easy, easy. You’re okay.” His voice is instantly calming. “You our new nurse?” he asks gently, while his hands slip to your arms, fully stabilising you.
You settle down quickly, gathering yourself and finally looking up at him, nodding after a while realising he asked you a question.
He’s incredibly attractive.
The first thing that you notice about him is how big he is. He’s taller than you and so broad, forming a literal wall between you and the ER in this moment, no wonder you crashed into him. He stands so close to you that you have to lift your head to look up at him as he towers over you with a gentle, concerned look. Butterflies twist in your stomach.
You swallow thickly, nerves returning as you realise you probably fucked this impression up by remaining silent and gawking at this man.
Collecting yourself, “Uh– yes! That’s me–” you stumble over your words internally cringing, “I’m so sorry about being late, it won't happen again.”
He chuckles quietly, finding your flustered state incredibly cute, and extends a hand to you.
You notice the size of his arms, his veins, his hands– oh, you’ve got to stop thinking like this. You’re so fucked.
“Dr. Abbot, nice to meet ya, kid.” His voice is low and gravelly, stirring your stomach. “But don’t let it happen again.” His voice is firm, making your insides flip and guilt rises within you.
“No, no of course not. I promise. I’ll be 45 minutes early every day!” Your voice is laced with guilt and you avoid his eyes, whilst shaking his hand, feeling like you’ve already failed before starting.
“Jesus, kid, breathe.” He chuckles, mouth twitching in amusement. “You’re apologising like you hit me with your car.” He soothes, smirking a little at how easily his teasing had gotten to you.
He watches your face fall in relief, and you let out a small, shy laugh. Still holding onto your hand a second longer, it's hard for him not to notice how incredibly soft your hands are in his, how untouched by cruelty, unlike his rough, calloused hands. Something protective stirs in Jack, confusing him, but a drive to keep you safe, keep you soft takes root in him. He needs to ensure this place doesn’t ruin you, doesn’t cause you to burn out like he's seen time-and-time again with nurses and doctors.
“I’m really not usually this much of a disaster– well, most of the time.” You laugh shakily.
You notice his intense stare, like he’s studying you, makes you squirm under his gaze. Your eyes flick down where your hands are still joined, you notice the sheer size difference, how his hand completely engulfs yours. You go to pull away, when he brings a second hand to cup your hand, completely engulfing it, before he pulls away entirely. Your breath hitches, trying to stave off any completely inappropriate thoughts,
Dr. Abbot tilts his head towards central, signalling to meet him there once you’re settled.
“Oh– and, kid?” He drawls, eying your bag as you head towards the lockers.
“We do have supplies here, I promise.” he teases, but his voice is soft and amused, referring to your massively overpacked bag, watching heat flood your face and you nod, completely embarrassed.
Jack watches you scuttle away, shaking his head and chuckling to himself, but his mind is elsewhere, how you were looking at him so shyly, your wide doe eyes ingrained in his mind. Imagining your eyes after kissing you, those eyes looking up at him when– Fuck. This is so unlike him.
Approaching central, he sees Lena and Shen talking in hushed voices. He chooses not to entertain their shenanigans, just crossing his arms and staring up at the patient board, but he catches Lena’s fierce stare in his periphery, alongside Shen’s smirk.
“Stay away from my nurses, Abbot. She’s clearly a good kid.” She scolds, her tone firm and motherly. He can feel her eyes shooting daggers at him.
Jack doesn’t look away from the board, smirking a little.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” His voice is low and equally amused, shaking his head gently. “Just being friendly.”
Shen scoffs, “Yeah? Friendly? You look like you wanted to eat her.”
Jack tenses a little going to defend himself before Lena’s sweet voice interrupts him. She walks past Jack making her way towards you where you had emerged from the lockers and placing a protective hand on your shoulder.
“There ya are, honey. I’m Lena, your charge nurse. C’mon, let us give ya a tour, get a lay of the land, yeah?”
During the tour, you notice Abbot seems to never stray too far from you. Always directly behind you, his hand hovering over the small of your back whenever the halls get crowded, ready to move you if needed.
Surely it's just friendly, you tell yourself.
You hope otherwise.
───────
True to your words, you’re never late again.
Always early to every shift, settled down and working by the time Jack clocks in. But he notices since you’re starting to be early, you get closer and closer with Robby, and it wouldn’t bother him, if you’d at least show the same fondness for him.
Every shift, you avoid interacting with Dr. Abbot at all. You tell yourself it's necessary, you can’t let yourself fall for an attending, despite how flustered, frankly, just warm all over, he makes you feel. You love watching him work, his competency and confidence as he works allures you. Especially in trauma cases, when he barks orders to his residents, you imagine him telling you what to do, when to do it, how to do it, guiding you.
However, during a particular trauma, you were meant to be in the background, watching and learning. But you couldn’t stop watching Abbot’s hands work with such fine precision, the way they flex, the veins popping out. You get lost in your head staring at how big they are, how they’d feel cupping your face, your neck, inside you–
That’s when you decided, for your own well being, but most importantly your work, you couldn’t be around him.
From then on, if you needed anything, you went to anyone and everyone, to avoid speaking to Abbot. Even if he was right there, and asking if you needed anything, you’d go quiet, and your quiet, meek voice dismisses him, “Oh, uh, I’m okay, thank you.” Before you turn and scuttle off in the complete opposite direction, towards Shen.
It bugs him.
How you avoid him, how easily you laugh and joke with Robby, or how you always go to Shen for questions or help.
Jack watches right now, as you laugh freely with Robby, gazing up at him as if you’re hanging on to every word. Gazing at him like he hung the moon. He feels an ugly feeling crawling up his throat, and doesn't want to admit jealousy. He’s not jealous. He’s not. He simply wishes you'd talk to him, with those wide, round doe eyes, smiling shyly and getting you to fall apart with the simplest of words and touches.
He’s so lost in his own head, he doesn’t notice Robby walking by ready to leave for the day.
“You got a good one there, brother, might steal her from the dark side if you’re not careful.” Robby jokes in passing, leaving Jack completely stunned. His eye twitches and his breath stops.
No.
His gaze flickers up to you across the ER, your sweet laugh cutting through the air.
You’re his.
───────
Admittedly, you’re making it very hard to make you his.
You’re almost too polite with him. A small, “good evening,” greeting when he comes in, a simple, “see you tomorrow, boss,” whenever you head out. You’re impossible to get time alone with.
Every time he catches you walking down the hall, jogging to catch up to you, asking you how your night is, you get all quiet. You don’t even look at him beyond a polite glance, your smile is tight and professional. Nodding before dipping into the closest room to get away.
He sighs, thinking you could be so focused on your work you may not want to entertain small talk. But he knows that’s not it, seeing how you laugh every time Shen or Ellis make jokes as you walk with them in the hallway.
So he tries to talk to you when you’re not as busy, just charting.
Jack’s leaning against the counter at central, pretending to be looking at the patient board, but his eyes keep drifting over to you, thinking of ways to get you to talk to him.
He watches the way you pout while charting, your brows pulled tight in concentration, and has the sudden urge to smooth the crease between them with his thumb. He wants to gently scold you for mindlessly chewing at the tip of your pen whilst you work, to take his hand and brush the hair covering your face behind your ear–
His body takes him over to your desk before his mind catches up with him, a seemingly magnetic pull driving him to your side.
He slots himself beside you, a hand over the back of your chair, leaning down to look at your screen.
“Oh– Dr. Abbot!” you startle, being caught off guard.
Your mouth dries and your heart rate ticks like a rabbit, having him so close. His face is so close to yours, you don’t turn your head, you can’t. You can hear his breathing, can smell his cologne at this distance. Your mind reels.
He can smell you too. Caramel and vanilla.
The proximity alone has your stomach flipping, his hand behind you becoming an oddly domestic, claiming gesture. Placing a hand on your back, his voice is gentle, low when he speaks.
“This is good stuff, kid, keep it up.”
His praise sends a jolt down your spine and your face reddens instantly. He can feel you twitch under his hand.
You dip your head, hiding your red face and mumble a quick, breathless, “Uh– thank you, Dr. Abbot.”
He watches you fidget, uncomfortable from the praise. Laughing quietly, before removing his hand.
You’re so shy. Shy with him. Oh.
But then you flee, almost running in the opposite direction, and his mind reels. Maybe he’s read this all wrong.
───────
He concludes after a few more nights of avoidance that maybe you just want nothing to do with him at all.
He keeps his distance, returning your polite greetings, but he hates it. The night shift is supposed to flow, be light and less stressful. Jack's spent so long cultivating an environment where people feel free to laugh, ask questions, not be afraid of getting things wrong.
Now you’re here and he’s all confused. He wants you to enter the stream but it feels like wading against a river trying to figure out what to do differently for you.
He decides to just ask. He approaches you during your break one night.
You’re sat in the break room scrolling mindlessly whilst poking at your food.
His quiet, tired voice cuts through.
“S’alright if I join ya?”
You’d been too tired, too into your phone you hadn’t noticed him come in. Nodding fervently you allow him to sit opposite you, his tone of voice sounding different than it does most nights, almost resigned. You actually look at him properly, concerned.
“Listen, kid. I just wanna apologise if I’ve ever done anything to make ya uncomfortable, yeah?” His eyes meet yours, intense and serious.
You pause.
Uncomfortable?
Fuck.
You were avoiding him so much he thought you didn't like him, made you uncomfortable. Your eyes widen in panic, head shaking rapidly putting your phone and fork down immediately.
“No, god, no. You’ve never– that’s not it–” Stop rambling, you tell yourself. Swallowing, taking a deep breath, you realise you need to get over yourself. “M’sorry for the way I’ve been acting. It's not you.” Your voice is quiet, avoiding his eyes.
He tilts his head down to try and meet yours again, concern on his face. His voice is so soft, when he says,
“You sure, kid? You can tell me–”
You shake your head again, cutting him off.
“You make me nervous.” You blurt out in one panicked breath. You squeeze your eyes shut in embarrassment and literally bring your head to the table, groaning.
Abbot lets out a quiet chuckle, amused.
“Honey, hey, look at me.” He coaxes trying to get you to stop wallowing in embarrassment. “Please?”
You lift your head slightly, hands covering your face, peeking at him through your fingers. He’s smiling, like this is funny to him, like you didn’t completely ruin everything–
“S’okay.” His expression softens, voice gentler now. “You never gotta be nervous around me, you hear me?”
Oh.
He misunderstood, thinking you mean nervous of his authority. You can work with that, you haven’t entirely humiliated yourself.
Your hands drop from your face, blush still evident on your cheeks and a shy smile creeps up. You nod in affirmation to his words letting out a deep breath.
“I want you to come to me as well, for anything. Not just Shen, Lena, or Robby. Me.” His inflection on Robby’s name confuses you and makes you giggle a little.
The sound awakens something within Jack, without thinking, he leans over placing a hand over yours where it rests on the table.
“I mean it. Anything.”
───────
He notices how you don’t run from him anymore, don’t push him away, let him exist within your space.
You’re still nervous most of the time, but you push it away, and he’s proud. He wants you to come out of your shell with him.
One evening, Lena calls you into North 7 for a debridement, knowing how much you love mindless, repetitive tasks. It unwinds your brain, picking out thousands of tiny pieces of gravel and debris from a patient's leg, letting you let go and not have to worry about doing something wrong.
You’re about halfway through, the only thing heard in the room is the slow hum of the patient's monitor, and Lena tidying up a cart nearby, when you hear the door open.
You frown, not enjoying having been disturbed and the loud, chaos sound of the ER filters through the door. You keep your attention laser focused onto the patient, until you hear his familiar, gentle voice, checking in.
“All good in here?”
You hesitate, stopping your motions for the first time since you started, before lifting your head up and looking at Dr. Abbot, leaning against the doorframe. Your breath hitches as you make eye contact, his focus entirely on you, not the patient. His head is tilted, and his eye contact is intense, making you nervous.
Lena scoffs to herself. Checking in, my ass.
“Mhm.” Your sweet voice hums in affirmation, the only thing you can manage to verbalise at the moment.
Lena pauses from tidying up the cart, turning raising an eyebrow at you, oh god not you too.
“Good. Can always count on ya to keep things moving smoothly, can’t I, sweetheart?” His voice is sweet, almost cooing.
You’re starstruck. Sweetheart.
You blink, unable to respond, but he’s already leaving with a smug, self-assured smile like he accomplished his goal. You swallow, unable to stop the smile spreading on your face, ducking your head to hide your flushed, red face from Lena.
Walking down the hall, he recalls how much the praise got to you when he complimented your charting, and watching you now?
The knowledge that praise gets to you so much?
Wrecks him.
He feels a sense of power, knowing how much he can get you to fall apart from a few words.
───────
The closer he gets, the more he observes your interactions with everyone else. You’re just as shy and nervous with everyone too. A quiet little thing.
During shift change over one morning, a few night shift and day shift nurses and doctors are gathered gossiping about a particularly rowdy patient you had that night.
You’re off to the side, included, but just about. He notices that's always the position you take, included just enough, but never in the centre, never leading, and never actively involved. He thinks maybe you just like to listen, observe, feeling more comfortable for you like that knowing how shy you are.
He frowns, because the rowdy patient they’re on about? You were the only nurse working with him. He wasn’t dangerous by any means, he was strapped to the bed. Jack would never let you in a room with a patient that’s a danger to your safety.
But the group were already feeding the rumour mill, exaggerating the patients words and actions. He watches you from the corner of his eye where he’s leaning against the counter with a pen in hand, stopping his writing to watch.
He wants you to speak up, correct them, and join in.
He watches your eyes dart around the group, you lick your lips, breathing becoming shallower. You’re assessing for the right time to jump in. You’re so nervous to speak up, his heart aches.
And when you try? You’re so quiet, no one even noticed. Immediately you were cut off.
He watches you blink, swallowing in embarrassment before collecting yourself as if you hadn’t even spoken, smiling along.
His heart breaks.
You’re used to this, being spoken over always happens, you’re just too quiet sometimes, better at one-on-one interactions, not groups. Though you’re a little stung, you push it away, familiar with the feeling. Sighing, you slip into your coat before silently taking your leave.
Just before you can head through the exit doors, he catches up with you.
“Hold up, kid.” You hear him jogging slowly behind you.
You turn, smiling at him, he can see the tiredness and hurt in your eyes even if you’re trying to hide it.
“You leaving without saying goodbye?” he teases lightly, his expression incredibly soft.
You dip your head shyly,
“Didn’t think anyone would notice.” You mumble, trying to laugh it off.
His brows scrunch, a displeased look on his face, almost offended.
“I notice.”
His words are so final, so real. You just stare at him with a vulnerable expression. His words heal something deep, knowing someone cares about your presence. You’re speechless.
He places a hand on your back guiding you outside, noticing your hesitance.
“C’mon. Let me walk ya to your bus stop, you can tell me about the rowdy patient, yeah?”
You nod shyly, trying not to let your eyes well up from his care. It’s a short distance, the sky brightening as you both walk. He’s silent and attentive, actively listening to every word you tell him, like they’re the most important words ever.
When you reach the stop you turn to thank him, but before you can he speaks first.
“Hey. M’proud of ya, for speaking up in there.”
You give him a little confused look shaking your head.
“It didn’t really feel like I did.” You laugh awkwardly, embarrassed to revisit the moment knowing he was watching.
“You did. I’ll always listen, whatever you wanna talk about, yeah?” Your chest tightens painfully at the sincerity in his voice. You can only nod, suddenly too affected to trust your own voice.
“G’night, sweetheart” He drapes an arm around your shoulder squeezing you before letting you board.
On the way home, your head mulls over his words, settling on one detail.
He’s proud.
───────
Being around Abbot so much recently is fucking with you, to say the least.
His constant praise at your actions, you begin expecting and waiting for it. Every time he’s within your vicinity, you wait for his gentle but ragged voice ushering praise.
“Good catch, sweetheart.”
“Don’t know what I’d do without ya.”
“Jesus, you really make my life easier, y’know that?”
And he always delivers.
Aside from the praise, he’s incredibly attentive and observant, knowing what you need exactly when you need it. Encouraging breaks any time he sees you get overwhelmed during the night, telling you to drink water, take a breather.
But he’s also so patient with you, like no one's ever been. With him, you begin to unlearn your fear of being judged for saying the wrong thing, acting the wrong way, because he never judges.
Tonight is no different.
You’re in central 7 with Dr. Ellis, with a very panicked, frantic mother and her daughter. Her child is only around 6 years old, clearly withdrawn and quiet. Her mother explains to Dr. Ellis how she’d been bathing her daughter that evening, when she found a large bruise on the daughter’s back and legs, suspecting her husband’s abusing her.
You immediately make eye contact with Ellis, silently signalling that you’ll call Kiara, the hospital social worker. But before you can step out to do so, a large, loud and drunk man barges through the door, angry.
He’s unsteady on his feet, eyes directly narrowing onto his wife, before pushing past you and immediately going to yell at her.
“You bitch! You have NO right bringing our daughter here without my permission–” He yells spit flying out of his mouth, alcohol clearly on his breath
“Sir–” Ellis tries to calm him down, placing a hand on his shoulder which he shrugs off.
“No!” He shrugs her off
“Your permission?” The mother yells back, cutting him off in disbelief. “You’re laying your fucking hands on my kid and you think I’m gonna let you be near her?” She’s defensive, shrill, adrenaline thrumming through her.
The yelling gets to you admittedly, you’re never good whenever patients of their families raise their voices. They carry on, Ellis begging for them to keep it civil or he will be removed by security
The door opens swiftly with Dr. Abbot and a night shift security guard filtering through to de-escalate.
Drowning it all out, trying to not let it affect you, you turn your attention to the little girl on the bed, all hunched up scared of her parents yelling. You turn her towards you telling her to focus on you. You just try to distract her in any way possible, asking her questions about school, her friends, her hobbies. It works a little, her tiny voice whispering over her parents yells.
The father is finally removed, and the air to the room returns, silence taking over.
“It’s alright, you’re okay.” You comfort the girl placing a comforting hand on her shoulder, testing it beforehand to see if she pulls away.
Jack turns to you then, really looking at you. The way you’re so gentle with the girl, how your focus was on her comfort during her parents screaming match. God, he admires you. But he also picks up on your tense shoulders, the way your breathing is unsettled, your face is tighter than normal.
You step back once the mother sits by the daughter’s side comforting her, you don't realise you walk back into Jack’s hand, which now rests on the small of your back. He leans closer to you dipping down to speak into your ear,
“Go take a breather, yeah?” His voice is soft, gentle.
You look up at him to convince him you’re fine, you don’t need a break. But the look in his eyes is stern, pleading: do not fight me on this.
───
Jack finds you around 5 minutes later in the stairwell, you seem to just be sitting there lost in your own head.
He approaches slowly, groaning as he sits next to you on the stairs, your shoulders touching. He speaks first,
“You did really well there – with the girl.” He nudges your leg with his as he praises you, trying to cheer you up. You can tell he’s looking at you from the corner of your eye but you keep your eyes on your lap. Pedes cases always got to you.
“She shouldn’t have had to hear that.” Your voice is quiet, unsteady. Swallowing down the lump in your throat, but the tears build in your eyes anyways. You dip your head down further trying to hide.
“Hey, sweetheart.” His voice softens, his hand settling on your knee. “Talk to me?” His voice is begging.
You lift your head to look at him, drying your eyes. “It’s stupid, really.” You shake your head quickly, trying to laugh through it. “I just don’t handle yelling very well.”
“Yeah. I thought so, honey.” His thumb rubs back and forth over your knee, comforting you. “That’s not on you.” His voice is gentler now.
“I feel ridiculous.” You wipe quickly under your eyes. “I should be able to handle it better by now.” Insecurity laces your words at breaking down like this in front of an attending.
“No.” His response is immediate, firm but gentle. “Don’t start thinkin’ the answer is makin’ yourself colder.” He aches at the prospect of you removing the brightest parts of yourself, to dim your light to handle the harshness of the world. Absolutely not. He wants to shield you, be the barrier between people's cruelty and your soft, gentle heart.
Your shiny eyes meet his, vulnerability flashing through them. Without even thinking he brings his thumb to brush a stray tear from your cheek. He watches your eyes flutter close and your breath hitching at the gesture, his heart leaping.
“Take as much time as ya need. Come find me at the end of the day, I’ll take you home, yeah?” His voice grumbles, sending a jolt through you.
Your eyes open ready to protest, you can’t possible accept a ride from him, thats asking too much–
“Ah, ah, I’m not taking no for an answer.” He smirks before standing and heading back out to the ER.
───
Before your shift ended that same day, you had asked Lena to show you how to work the medicine cabinet as you’d had trouble returning a vial earlier in your shift.
The day shift starts to filter through whilst Lena is describing the steps to take, making you distracted.
You see Dr. Abbot in your periphery down the hall, talking to another nurse, one you had never seen before, most likely on the day shift.
She’s gorgeous.
She stands tall, confident and makes him laugh. Nothing like you.
Your heart aches, as you stare unapologetically, completely drowning out Lena’s voice. You watch as he also dips his head to catch her eyes, how he touches her arm, how charming he is.
It feels like your heart gave out and fell into an endless pit. Eyes flickering away slowly, realising your hope that the way he treated you was special, is just his charm. His naturally flirtatious personality.
God you’re so stupid.
Lena sighs, shaking her head before closing the cabinet and turning to you, sensing your distraction and sadness.
“Hun, you don’t wanna go down that route.” Her voice is firm, but motherly. Like she’s truly trying to protect you, not wanting you to get hurt.
Your head snaps over to her wide eyed and panicked having been caught.
“Oh– no it’s not like that.” you laugh awkwardly, embarrassed but your excuse is weak and she sees through it instantly. Placing a hand on your back and directing you away from the hallway before you get in your head any longer.
“Trust me, hun. I’ve been around long enough to know, men like him don’t realise the effect they have on girls like you.”
Your brows furrow at her words, girls like me? You reach the lockers before she hits the final blow.
“You’re young, go on dates. Don’t pine over old men like him, you’ll only get hurt.”
She walks off, leaving you speechless. You gather your things, mulling over her words. Is she right? Have you been misreading everything, pining over a man who’s naturally charming and kind to everyone?
You’d completely forgotten Dr. Abbots offer to take you home by the time you’re walking out of the doors. Your mind is only repeating her words and reevaluating all of Abbot’s actions towards you, trying to search for when you’d started to misinterpret things.
Jack frowns watching your hunched up form walking out of the ER from where he stands and talks to Ruby. He excuses himself from the conversation, trying to catch up with you before you leave, but you’re already down the street by the time he’s at the door.
───────
Just as he thought he was making progress, the rug is pulled from under him, and you’re colder than ever.
You’re distant with everyone, clipped greetings and polite words the only things you mutter during your shifts. He watches how you avoid groups, but more importantly, how much harder you’ve been working.
You’ve doubled your workload, trying to forget your feelings by distracting yourself. Always with a patient, never sitting down and charting, avoiding your colleagues asking you what’s wrong. Or, avoiding where Dr. Abbot could find you and make you fall for him all over again.
He notices how you’re no longer early to your shifts, just right on time, jumping straight into cases. Whenever he tries to coax you into slowing down and taking breaks, you brush him off, refusing to admit you need them. But he notices the bags under your eyes, you’re pushing yourself too much and he hates it, he can’t help and it’s hurting him.
But he also notices how late you stay. As you no longer chart during the day, you spend 3 to 4 hours overtime during the day shift charting. Robby allows it, sensing something going on with you but doesn’t want to overstep. Occasionally, you ask to work doubles, staying to around 1-3pm during the day shifts. It’s completely wrecking your body, but you don’t want to think about anything else except work.
One evening, during shift change before you got to work, Robby pulls Jack aside.
“Hey, brother, I gotta ask.” Robby glances over his shoulder towards the door, checking you hadn’t arrived yet, before lowering his voice. “Somethin’ going on with her lately?”
Jack’s brows furrow instantly, worry clenching at his heart. “Why?”
“She’s running herself into the ground, to put it mildly.” Robby sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “She’s working through till the afternoon, then coming back to do it all again at night. Girl can’t be getting more than a couple hours of sleep.” His expression tightens. “M’worried about her.”
Jack goes still, his stomach dropping.
He noticed, of course he noticed. He just hadn’t realised how bad it’d gotten.
His jaw tightens, hand dragging tiredly across it as he sighs.
“Fuck.” The word leaves him quietly.
“I’ll talk to her.”
───
Later that night, Jack came to find you during a particularly quiet lull around 11pm. He assumes you’d be with a patient, checking with Lena before heading towards south 16. He’s rehearsing his speech to you, over and over.
When he approaches the room, his body stops. He hears you laugh. It’s beautiful, and he doesn’t realise how much it hurt him not hearing you laugh recently.
Rounding the corner he sees you through the glass stitching up a man’s forehead, and you’re blushing. You have that bashed, shy smile as you work, the type that was reserved for Jack. You're standing close to the man from where he sits on the edge of the bed, and he’s looking up at you with desire in his eyes, clearly flirting with you.
He shouldn’t feel jealous, but he does, insecurity clawing at his heart. The man you’re stitching up, he’s definitely closer in age to you than Jack is. He hates the way that fact digs under his skin, the sudden awareness of the years between you two. You’re still soft, bright, and untouched by the world in ways he hasn’t been for too long. He can’t take his eyes off the easy smile you give the man, bitterness twisting low in his chest.
He knows he should leave, but he can’t bring himself to move. Which is why when you turn, putting down the sutures, you see him outside watching you, and your body stills. He watches your face fall, and it hurts him how you’re no longer happy to be around him.
Jack sighs ready to turn and leave, but you excuse yourself from your patient and head outside to catch him.
“Hey–” Your voice is gentle and cautious, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear nervously at Abbot’s expression. “Did you need something?”
Jack’s jaw tightens as he hears your voice, trying to steady himself. This is the first time you’ve chosen to speak to him in ages, and he hates how relieved and conflicted he is right now.
His eyes flicker behind you, to the man in the room sprawled out on the bed scrolling through his phone, and his chest tightens. Possessiveness and insecurity battle within his heart, and he doesn’t even think when he blurts out a cold comment to you.
“Didn’t realise we were entertainin’ patients now.” His voice is clipped, and he regrets it as soon as he says it.
He watches your face fall. Fuck.
Your head shakes rapidly, apologetically.
“I-I’m sorry–” Your voice is meek, he can’t bear that he caused this.
“Just don’t let it happen again.” Jack’s voice is firm, as he walks off. He needs to leave, clearly not in his right mind, he’s hurting you and he’s completely out of line.
───
The way he spoke to you eats him all night, distracting him. He’s completely unfocused during cases, Shen telling him to take a breather during a trauma, get his head right. How is he supposed to make sure you’re okay if he’s also driving you away.
He decides to start small. Around 1am he watches you exit a patient's room, pausing outside leaning against the wall. He can tell you’re exhausted by the way you hold yourself.
He slows as he approaches you, wanting to get you to slow down, take a break. Up close he can see the way your shoulders sag like the weight of the wall is the only thing keeping you together, your undereyes heavy with exhaustion. He can’t remember the last time you sat down.
“Hey– hold up.” His tone is softer, contrasting the way he spoke to you earlier. “You eaten yet?
Your eyes flick towards him briefly, before looking away again.
“M’fine.” You’re short, a little dismissive.
Jack nods awkwardly, he knows he doesn’t deserve your kindness right now.
“It’s quiet, you should take your break–” He tries but you cut him off.
“I said I’m okay.” Though your tone has little real bite behind it, it’s still harsher than he’s ever heard it.
He stills, letting out a deep sigh. The silence between you both hangs in the air thickly. You won’t look at him.
Jack nods, accepting his defeat watching you walk off.
What he doesn’t see is the guilt flooding your face.
───
You need to apologise. He’s your attending and it was extremely unprofessional of you, a nurse, to speak to him that way. Guilt is clawing at your throat and you can’t get rid of it.
You decide that after you finish organising the supply room with Lena, you’ll find him. Explain yourself.
You’re standing on a stepping stool as Lena passes you supplies to restock the shelves with.
“That guy– from earlier? He was a real hottie, hun.” She says while passing you a box of nitrile gloves. Your face scrunches in amusement as you let out a breathy laugh
“That guy who got his head smashed with a beer bottle? Yeah, right. Like I need that kind of trouble in my life right now.” You joke back with Lena about the flirty guy.
“C’mon, you’re young. Live a little! He’s insanely hot, god knows if I was 20 years younger I’d jump his bones–” you cut her off with a real, chesty laugh.
“Lena! You’re married!” You turn towards her with a wide smile.
“I can appreciate beauty when I see it, hun.” She smirks before continuing. “What’s the harm? He’s still here isn’t he? Go get his number, go on dates, have mind blowing sex– just do something to get you outta this slump, y’hear me?”
You sigh whilst organising the top shelf. You don’t want that guy. You want Abbot.
What you didn’t realise was Jack was walking past and heard snippets of the conversation, well, particularly Lena’s grand speech about having mind-blowing sex with the man. He falters in his steps, realising who she’s talking to, who she’s talking about. The ugly, possessive feeling rears within him again. He peeks through the door, watching your face. You’re smiling, like you’re considering it. He can’t handle it. He storms off, childishly slamming the door of the next room he enters, blaming it on the draft.
You jolt at the sudden noise and frown before continuing. “I dunno, Lena.” Your voice is almost sad. “He’s not who I want.”
“You’re still hung up on him, aren’t you, honey?” Her voice is soft, pitying. She watches your sad smile when you nod in affirmation. “M’sorry, hun. It’ll pass, I promise.”
You don’t want it to pass.
───
You can’t seem to find Abbot for the rest of the night, until a trauma comes in around 5:30am forcing you both into the room together.
The EMTs roll the patient in on a gurney as you jog over to Trauma 1, reading off his vitals. Fuck, it’s a kid.
“Pediatric MVC, eight-year-old male, unrestrained passenger. Vehicle rolled twice after being T-boned at a high speed. Drunk driver.” The EMT scoffs.
You begin to glove up as you walk alongside the stretcher, Jack on the other side, his eyes land on you as he actively listens to the EMT, his gaze feels as if he was assessing you.
“Initial GCS was 10 on scene, refrained from intubation. BP 80/52, heart rate 145, satting 92 percent on non-rebreather.”
You watch Abbot nod, cutting through the patient's clothes as Ellis and Shen check current vitals and assess internal injuries. You end up stationed directly behind him, ready to hand him what he needs. But him in action is making you nervous, like he doesn’t want you here.
The EMT cuts in. “Father pronounced dead on scene, mother inbound, no obvious injuries.”
“Decreased breath sounds on the left side, significant bruising across the abdomen and chest. Patient increasingly lethargic.” Abbot begins his assessment. But is being drowned out by an increasingly loud scream from the floor outside the room, his mother arriving.
She rushes to the doors, doctors encourage her to wait outside but she barges in regardless. Her sobs and yells for the doctors to save her son cut through the room, loud and distracting. You take a deep breath at the sound trying to focus, remain unaffected by the scene, present.
Abbot’s jaw tightens as the room erupts around him. The mother’s wailing to his right, monitors beeping rapidly as the boy gets worse, the blood coating his gloves as he presses harder against the kid’s abdomen.
“Pressure’s dropping.”
“BP 78/40.”
“We’re losing him, Abbot.”
Fuck. Each sound and sensation cramming for dominance within his skull, overriding his focus.
And then he glances behind at you, where the station is set up ready for you to hand him things. But you’re spaced out, wide-eyed and pale, clearly overwhelmed by the sounds of the boy crying in pain and grief for his father, the mother’s wailing. Jack’s chest twitches violently. One thing at a time. Save the boy.
“Get her out!” He yells across the room, his voice loud and booming, a couple nurses urge for the mother to wait outside.
But he can’t focus with you standing there looking wrecked, your hands shaking. His focus should be on the boy, not you.
“Gauze.” He commands, a hand outstretched towards you.
Nothing.
The gauze finally hits his hand, a few seconds delayed.
His pulse spikes, the room suddenly feeling too loud. Your presence pressing against the back of his skull.
He snaps.
“I can’t afford hesitation right now.” Jack’s voice cuts sharply across the room, eyes snapping to yours. “If you can’t keep up, leave.”
You feel like you’ve stopped breathing. The room goes painfully quiet, heat rushing to your face instantly at the humiliation.
Your chest feels like it’s caving, shame burning beneath your skin. You swallow hard, blinking rapidly, staving off tears.
You nod once, unable to trust your voice, before stripping off your gloves with trembling fingers backing away from the table.
Another nurse takes over flawlessly, the room continuing like normal around you. You exit the room, tears burning your eyes and threatening to fall.
Lena sees your shaken state from across the room, beginning to make her way over to you. But you duck, scuttling away to lock yourself in the toilet. Needing to break down in private.
You sink against the wall, sliding down until your head rests on your knees.
You know he’s right, you shouldn’t have hesitated. Your throat tightens.
The boy could’ve died because you froze. He still might. For what? Because Abbot didn’t want you near him anymore? Because the sounds of the boys’ mother screaming cracked something open inside of you?
Abbot’s words replay over and over in your head as self-punishment, as you sob into your hands.
───
Jack regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth.
He watches your face crumple in devastation and it almost knocks the breath from his lungs.
Your teary eyes flicker away, avoiding his fiery gaze. He hates that he’s the one who put those tears there, made you cry. He never wants to be the reason for your pain.
He watches you nod, so meekly it hurts his heart, the tremble in your hands when you pull off your gloves. Every instinct in him screams to go after you. He can’t. He turns back to the table, continuing to work on the boy even more distracted than he was before.
───
You manage to gather yourself not long after, exiting the bathroom and ignoring Lena’s concerned looks, just searching for a simple case to get your mind off what happened. You can hear the chaos continuing in Trauma 1, still working on the boy.
Lena assigns you to a wound debridement, a simple task to recalibrate and gather your thoughts.
You set up your tool table beside you, and you’re lucky your patient isn’t a chatty one. His arm rests on the bed, skin burnt red and white.
You’re utterly exhausted, emotionally spent. Too in your own head to notice how cramped your fingers get around the scalpel.
You try to reposition your grip, but the blade unexpectedly slips from your grasp, falling and slicing a clean gash from your hand down your arm. Pain slices hot and immediate.
“Shit–”
The scalpel clatters into the tray as blood begins to well. Your vision blurs for half a second, before you jerk back sharply, hissing from the sudden pain
“Oh shit you okay, lady?” You hear the patient ask, but you’re already halfway out the room, asking Matteo to finish your case before entering an empty room to sort yourself out.
“God fucking damn it, piece of shit–” You curse violently, voice breaking, trying to hold back tears yet again, whilst setting up the equipment you need to clean your cut.
Your heart beats violently, embarrassed at fucking up yet another thing. Abbot cannot know, he cannot have another thing to chew you out over.
You’re not that lucky.
“Hey, listen, I wanted to say that– what the fuck?” Jack’s voice is shocked when he glances down at your bleeding arm from where he stands at the door.
Your head whips around immediately, eyes wide and panicked but you don’t speak or move. Fear wraps around your heart knowing you’re going to get scolded for being distracted, getting yourself hurt, or creating unnecessary paperwork for the hospital.
The sight of your bleeding arm disturbs him. But what hurts more is the way you look at him, wrecked and terrified, like a child that just got caught for doing something wrong, more worried about his reaction than the fact you’re hurt. He shakes his head stepping inside fully making his way to you.
“Sit.” He commands, his voice tight, clipped.
Your breath hitches at his tone, interpreting it as annoyance for having to deal with this, but you do as he says, not wanting to make things worse.
“You don’t have to–” You attempt to say you’re fine, you don’t need help, it’s a small cut. But when you look into his eyes, you pause, there’s something softer behind them, concern.
“Yeah. I do.” His voice is gentle and strained like it pains him you’re trying to hide your hurt.
You watch his face as he washes out your cut and stops the bleeding. You can’t read him. He avoids your eyes, focusing solely on your injury, you watch as he clenches his jaw and swallows.
He can’t look into your eyes again, the broken teary look you’re adorning right now would completely break him. He feels your pulse thrumming from where he holds your wrist, shaky breaths like you’re trying not to cry in front of him.
“This’ll sting–” He warns gently before bringing a cold disinfectant wipe to your cut. He cleans it so gently, so carefully, you realise how much you’ve missed him. His touch, his care, his smell.
You hiss slightly at the alcohol stinging, and he quickly retracts, gaze flicking to meet yours worried.
“I’ve got you.” He coos, rubbing a thumb back and forth against your hand, avoiding your injury. “You’re alright, sweetheart.”
His soft tone breaks the flood gate, tears flowing freely and you sob. Hard.
“M’so sorry.” Your voice breaks, blurting out apologies, as you try to catch your breath. “I’m sorry, please–”
His heart shatters at the sound, immediately setting the wipes down and cupping your face.
“Hey– No. No, honey. Don’t.” His warm hands ground you, wiping the tears as they fall. He can’t stand the sight of you falling apart in front of him.
You shake your head. “I keep fucking up–” you whisper brokenly, your expression apologetic.
“God, c’mere.” He coos bringing your head to his chest rubbing his hand on your back. “You got nothin’ to apologise for, y’hear me?
His chest aches at your cries, knowing he led you to this, knowing he hurt such a sweet girl. His sweet girl.
“I shoulda never yelled at ya, it weren’t right.” His voice vibrates through your body against him, sniffling into his chest. “You get that? You did nothing wrong, baby.”
Baby.
He pulls back cupping your face again, eyes intense and searching. Searching for something in your eyes that tells him you understand him, that you know you didn’t do anything wrong.
“Is he– is the kid–” You choke out, genuinely terrified that your slip-up had cost the kid his life, and had cost the mother losing both loves of her lives on the same night.
Jack shakes his head quickly, dismissing your worry. “He’s good, he’s stable. Dontcha worry about that. I let shit get to me, yeah? Not on you.”
You sniffle, breathing jagged as you settle down. The kid will be okay. Abbot isn’t mad at you. His hand lifts from your cheek to smooth down your hair on your forehead, tucking it backwards. Looking at you like you're precious.
Unexpectedly, he brings his forehead to rest on yours, whispering:
“I never wanna make you feel like that.” His voice wavers slightly, but you notice. “Never again.”
You stop breathing at his proximity. Realisation crashing down at how stupid you’d been to avoid him all this time, to let insecurity overrun your thoughts. His lips are so close to yours.
“Jack–” You practically whimper his name.
His breath hitches, searching your eyes before leaning in slowly.
He presses a small kiss to the corner of your mouth, testing.
Instinctively, you turn your head towards his lips.
You both pause, staring at each other and breathing heavily. He watches as you dart your tongue out, licking your lips nervously, and he breaks.
He crashes his lips to yours.
It’s hungry, full of apology, and devotion. He brings a hand to cup the back of your head, deepening the kiss. Electric sparks fly down your spine, your mind turning to mush. The emotional toll of the day mixing with the high of finally kissing Jack, you melt.
He finally pulls away, after needing to catch his breath, not because he wants to stop kissing you. He’d kiss you for the rest of the night, if he could.
He takes in your flushed state, catching your breath and looking at him with so much trust. Your red cheeks, dazed and glossy eyes, and plump red lips and he lets a sound akin to a growl out. The look wrecks him.
He shakes his head, pressing a short, quick kiss to your hair before physically stepping back before going too far with you.
“I didn’t– I convinced myself you didn’t want me like that.” Your whisper breaks the silence. “I couldn’t be around you, it hurt too much.”
Oh.
He swallows the lump in his throat before nodding. He understands. Why you avoided him all this time, you must have been going crazy. Hell, you’d affected him so much tonight he snapped. He can’t imagine what living like that for so long would do to you.
“You don’t gotta explain, sweetheart.” He brings the chair to sit in front of you on the bed, and he takes your hands in his, bringing a small kiss to your knuckles. “But you scared me, doll. You gotta take care of yourself.”
Your gaze flickers downwards a little embarrassed, nodding
He turns your injured hand over in his, nodding his head towards it before gently asking.
“How’d this happen?” He refocuses on cleaning and assessing if it’s deep enough for a bandage or stitches.
“Wasn’t–” You pause, recalling how he scolded you last time for being distracted, shaking off your fear, you continue. “Wasn’t paying attention, cutting off patients' dead skin. Hand cramped n’ tried to fix it, blade slipped.”
He takes in a deep breath hearing your shaky explanation.
“Why didn’t ya tell someone, hmm?” He speaks softly, his attention focused on placing small little butterfly bandages along the cut.
You shrug. “Wasn’t thinking straight. Was overwhelmed, on the verge of crying again. Just needed to be alone.”
Crying, again. He hates the recollection that he made you cry that night. That after you had left the trauma room, you’d broken down alone.
He places the last bandage on, setting down the equipment and turning to you once more, placing a hand on your thigh.
“You always come to me when you’re hurting, yeah? I hate that I didn’t know, baby. Hate you were hurt and you tried to deal with this alone.” He begs, squeezing your thigh.
He sighs in relief as he sees your small nod. “Good.”
He places a small, gentle kiss over your cut. “There we go, all fixed up, my sweet girl.”
You flush red, a shy smile taking over your face before you can stop it, letting out a small laugh of disbelief.
“There she is.” He coos at your smile.
───────
After a few months of dating, Jack took a sabbatical, and asked you to go with him.
It was his way of an apology, for snapping at his sweet girl, taking you away from the place that you’d been running yourself into the ground for.
He didn’t tell you much, just to pack your cutest dresses. You obeyed mindlessly, trusting him completely. Truthfully, he couldn’t get enough of seeing you in sundresses after one particular picnic date where he couldn’t keep his eyes off you, or hands. Needless to say, the date ended early, with Jack driving you back to his place to tear off the sundress.
You’re leaning against Jack in his truck as he drives through the country. He had specifically chosen to bring this truck due to its bench seats, needing a hand on you at all times.
The warm breeze filters through the truck windows, and you hum gently along to the faint country rock playing through the truck radio, Jack tapping his fingers against the wheel along with the beat.
Everything felt perfect, domestic, calm.
Until you get deeper into country backroads.
You frown the first time you drive by a small animal on the side of the road, clearly roadkill. It disturbs something in your stomach, seeing the bloody mangled animal alone. You try to push it down, focus on Jack, the trip.
Until you seem to keep passing more animals.
Deer.
Squirrels.
Rabbits.
Foxes.
Every animal seems to twist your heart more and more, saddening you so deeply, wishing you could protect the babies that died alone.
Jack, observant as he is, feels you go quiet against his shoulder. No longer humming or drumming your feet with the music, just looking straight ahead into the dashboard, stiff. Something had set his girl off. He brings his hand that rested on the gear stick onto your thigh, giving it a firm squeeze, checking in on you.
His hand is warm where it rests on your thigh, grounding, as he coos, “Talk to me, sweetheart.” He glances over briefly before looking back at the road. “What’s got my pretty girl all quiet, hmm?” he says, softly.
Your stomach flips, of course he notices. He’s so in tune with your tells by now, you couldn’t even hide it if you tried. You whine a little embarrassed, turning to hide your face into his side.
His heart aches at the small, sweet noise you make and his grip tightens protectively on your thigh. Sensing your shyness, his thumb starts rubbing back and forth on your leg.
“Don’t hide from me, my sweet girl,” his voice is gentle and sweet, the tone he uses when he knows something is bothering you. Gentle fingers tip your chin upwards to meet his eyes momentarily, your stomach twisting as he brushes the hair behind your ear, a silent plea: tell me.
Hesitating, feeling shy and not wanting to ruin the trip you tell him, “It’s nothing, really, It’s the animals–”, your breath hitches as Jack drives by another dead deer on the side of the road. Your voice breaks before continuing, “It hurts”, you whisper sadly whilst immediately ducking your head to not look out the window for too long, the scene disturbing you.
Oh. Realisation floods Jack’s face and his heart clenches, oh, his sweet, sensitive baby.
You hear Jack breathe out a small sigh, before dipping his head and placing a small gentle kiss to your forehead.
“Yeah? That’s what’s gotten my girl all upset?” his voice soothing and rubs his hand up and down your thigh in comfort. Your stomach twists at his sigh, unsure if he’s silently judging.
“They might have had family or friends waiting for them!’’ your voice is whiny, desperate for him to understand as deeply as you do why you’re upset. You sniffle a little, trying not to let tears fall.
Jack blinks, trying not to laugh at his sensitive girl, knowing it’ll upset you more. He doesn’t mean to find it amusing, but your true devastation over deer and squirrels having family and friends, he can’t help but let out a low chuckle.
“You’re right baby, m’sure they’re sat around the dinner table, waiting for ‘im to come home.” He teases gently a smirk playing at his lips.
“Jaaaaack! It’s not funny,” you pout petulantly, hurt. You shift away from his side, scooting over to the other side of the truck, feeling dismissed.
Jack shushes you quickly, grabbing you by your shoulders before you move away, hating the way you curl in on yourself so easily. He pulls you back into his side, coaxing an apology.
“M’sorry, baby, c’mere.” He’s still smirking a little, but knowing he may have teased too much in your sensitive state, he needs to calm you down.
You feel him pepper quick kisses to your forehead, whilst rubbing the back of your neck gently. Your body relaxes instantly at the touch.
You sniffle a little calming down, wrapping your arms around his middle.
“Shh, baby, I know, I know.” He says, his voice softer now, before continuing. “I was so mean for teasing my delicate girl, yeah?” His inflection rises at the end of his question, like he was comforting a small kitten.
Sniffling, you nod at his comfort. “You know I love how my sweet baby feels everything deeply.” he croons, and you feel him run his fingers at the nape of your neck into your hair, petting you.
“You just keep your eyes on me, yeah? Focus on me for the rest of the trip.” He commands gently, shielding you away from the hurt of the world.
The low music continues to hum in the car, yours and Jack’s breathing matching as you sit quietly soaking the evening breeze.
Gravel crunches as you pull up to the cabin, you notice he doesn’t make a move to exit the truck yet. You frown, worried, is something wrong? Before you can even ask him, Jack breaks the silence, with such a soft tone it's unexpected.
“S’why you’re my favourite nurse, baby”. You falter, his words stirring something in your stomach, his praise making you shy. You feel him draping his arm around your waist and tugging you into his lap, straddling him.
Unable to avoid his intense eye contact, you duck your head shyly, quietly asking, “What is?”
For the life of you, you can’t figure out what he means. He ducks his head following yours to look into your eyes, cupping your face.
His voice is low, serious, when he speaks. “Your sensitivity, compassion, empathy.”
You swallow the lump in your throat, uneasy by the intensity of his praise. Tucking your head into his neck to hide your shyness, you quip– “It’s not the sex?”
You hear him chuckle, the vibration running through your body.
“You were my favourite before the sex smartass– no, you have a big heart, biggest I’ve ever known, you care deeply.” You feel him guide your head out of his neck, needing to see your face, his thumbs brush against your cheeks as he watches your wide, doe eyes trying to accept the praise.
“Plenty of other nurses and doctors are empathetic.” You begin shyly, trying to brush the compliment off, uneasy by how seen he was making you feel. Always having been told your sensitivity is a curse, especially in this field, and it’ll wear you down.
Jack immediately interjects, not enjoying how quick you are to self deprecate, diminish yourself.
“Not like you, baby.” His voice is stern, as are his hands gripping your face. Desperate for you to see yourself the way he does.
Those three simple words cut deep, your eyes watering from so much care. He wipes the tears before they fall and watches a shy smile tugging at your lips, hitting him like a punch to the chest.
“You hear me, baby? Hmm?” he coos gently while pressing a kiss against your temple. You nod in his hold, cheeks flushed from receiving so much affection, never having been treated so carefully before.
“You’re m’favourite attending.” You mumble shyly fidgeting with your hands in your lap.
Jack laughs deeply, he knows, of course he knows. He just hadn’t expected that to be what you said. He finds your tone so cute, like you're too shy to admit it.
“Oh yeah? S’not Robby?” He teases, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear, laughing again at your scrunched up face, like the idea is ridiculous to you.
“I know, sweetheart.” He calms you, presses a final, soft kiss to your temple and brings you closer to his embrace.
Outside, the sun sets as crickets chirp around you, the air gets cooler but neither of you rushes to leave the car yet, this moment meaning something so deep to the both of you.
─
Jack is setting down the last of the bags in the bedroom when he hears you yelp from the bathroom. Before he can even ask if you’re okay, you call out for him, your voice startled and afraid.
“Jack!”
His heart jumps, and his mind immediately rushes to the worst idea, that you’re hurt somehow.
Jack runs to the bathroom panicked, “Baby, what’s–” he calls out in fear, until he enters the room, and pauses, blinking.
You’re crouching on the toilet seat like the floor is lava, with one shoe off, in your hand, looking around the floor terrified. You meet his eyes, genuine fear behind them,
“I swear, it's taunting me! It looked me right in the eyes!” you whisper urgently pointing at the small bug in the corner of the room.
Jack laughs for real this time, tilting his head affectionately, “baby, what are you doing?”
You screech as you watch the tiny dark bug scuttle along the bathroom floor and chuck your shoe at it, completely missing it.
“Please– kill it, quick!” you beg him
He smirks at you from where he leans against the bathroom door frame, crossing his arms, and taunts you, “What if his family is waiting for him to come home, hmm?”
You groan as Jack points out your hypocrisy, squealing again as you watch it come towards you. “Jack, I swear to god–”
He hangs his head in, a shit-eating grin spreading across his face before he walks over and stomps on it. He picks you up into his arms and mumbles into your hair.
“Yeah, you’re not lasting ten minutes out here, sweetheart.”
Treating me like you’re supposed to do (tears run down my thighs)
Pairing: Michael Robinavitch x Reader
Summary: The three times you failed to get Robby to indulge your little fantasy, and the two times he did (with an Abbot assist)
Warnings: 18+ SMUT - it’s piss! oral sex (m and f receiving) p in v sex, discussion of exploration of kinks, edging (I think), spitting, spanking, choking, Jack Abbot lowkey being their third from the cuck chair and enjoying it, age gap, indulgent use of daddy, did I mention there’s piss in this?
Author’s Note: no but seriously dead dove do not eat. Robby is pissing sexually in this one. Reader doesn’t have a piss kink as such, she just loves Robby a lot - maybe its her first serious relationship - and she wants him to piss in/on her because he’s a repressed old man and she wants him to let goooooo and be vulnerable (and claim her as his in the only way her caveman brain can think of???). She gets a little angsty when he’s resistant because it feels like rejection of her love okay it’s not about the kink it’s about her big feelings… or something. Also this is long. Like really long.
If you asked Michael Robinavitch about how his sex life was going, he’d probably turn beet red and scratch the back of his neck like if he scrapes with his dull nails hard enough, he’d find the answer. Because the truth is, the sex is good, insanely good, absurdly fucking good.
Robby had reached an age where he’d made peace with the fact that the nuclear family was never going to be his lot in life; too old now to find a nice lady to settle down with, get married, pop out a couple kids and a dog and grow old together behind a nice little picket fence. Hell, he’d be lucky to get any action before he finally retired and signed himself into a nursing home - he’d seen enough cases come through the ER to know the retirees were having all the fun, at least he had that to look forward to.
And then you came along, and things long thought forgotten had burst into bloom. Embarrassing as it had sounded, Robby had forgotten what it was like to be fond of someone, to feel endeared by their thoughts and personality and actions. You endeared him, affected him so much it scared him at first - okay, you definitely still scared him. But Jack had said that that was a good thing, that he needed to feel fear to remind himself that he was alive, or something.
Robby didn’t think he needed to feel fear in this particular aspect of his life, considering his chosen career, but he took it in stride, more than happy to let you take the lead. He was already overtly aware of the imbalanced power dynamics that could develop within your relationship due to the age gap, but you never seemed bothered by it. He wasn’t sure if that made him feel better or worse. “Just ‘cause the wrappers wrinkled doesn’t mean the candy isn’t sweet, baby,” you’d say proudly, a satisfied curl of your mouth as you kissed him with a firm grip on his cock until he forgot what he was worried about in the first place. He just didn’t want to be the overbearing old guy who weighed you down, clipped your wings because he couldn’t control you any other way.
Plus, you were blowing his fucking mind.
Robby wasn’t a virgin by any means, he was in his 50’s for Christ’s sake. He’d had his fair share of flings and one night stands over the years, he’d even had relationships here and there. But the sex had never been the mind-blowing, transformative experiences he was having with you. It was all very sweet, the amount of missionary he’d done over the years. The romantic, hand-holding, maintaining eye contact, I love and respect you and would never dare ask you you to do anal kind of missionary. It hadn’t even occurred to him that there was any other kind of sex.
He imagines that that conversation would go probably differently with you (which is why he hasn’t asked).
Upon learning Robby was something of a missionary extraordinaire, you suddenly felt like a pervert. A dirty little freak who was about to turn out the chief attending of a hospital ER with your sexual deviancy.
You let him take the lead the first time you had had sex. He probably would have referred to it as making love. You would be inclined to agree.
It was your fourth or fifth date, and he’d been the perfect gentleman, not even deigning to look at you in any way that could be perceived as inappropriate. You’d begun to worry that maybe he didn’t want to fuck you at all. And that would have been fine, of course, you didn’t need sex, you just wanted confirmation of whether or not that was the case. After coffees and movies and dinner dates and sunset river walks, you finally asked him, during your semi-regular lunchtime phone call, if you could just have dinner and watch a movie at his place.
His brows raised in shock maybe, or disbelief.
“Yeah, yeah, course honey. We can do something at mine, need me to pick you up after work?” You huffed a soft laugh on your end of the line.
“Please don’t, I can drive.” There’s silence at the other end of the line, you frown, suddenly worried that you’d upset him.
“Only if you stay the night.” You smile, not missing the way he had left no room for negotiation in his reply, just firm orders to do as you’re told, to comply for his sake. You made a mental note of it and locked the information away for later.
“Sure, dad.” A quiet grunt from Robby’s end is all the answer you get.
“See you tonight, kid,” Robby chuckles before ending the call.
Kid. That was a new one.
Upon opening his door to greet you, you’d merely raised a curt brow at him. “Kid?”
Robby’s ears had flushed pink, instead of replying, he moved aside to let you in, hoping an answer would find him by the time you crossed the threshold into his home. God, you were in his house.
“It’s a term of endearment,” he tried.
“For the snotty prick who bullies your kid during baseball, maybe,” you huffed.
“That bad?” You shrugged, taking off your shoes and setting your bag down on the floor.
“I could learn to like it, I think.” You said, taking stock of your surroundings as you crossed the space, not sure where you were and weren’t welcome.
Hours had gone by in a blur, he fed you - ordering doordash counts as feeding someone, okay? - and then you had melted into his side on the extremely comfy couch, head on his chest watching some old cowboy movie Robby claimed he loved.
He had tried to insist on you picking the movie, but you refused. His house, his choice.
Robby jostled beneath you. Your body wobbled atop the movement. You looked up at him inquisitively.
“Sorry sweetheart, I gotta go.”
“Now? You only just finished work,” you pouted. Robby laughed softly and messed with a loose strand of hair on your head.
“Sure did, I meant I have to go to the bathroom.”
“Oh! Yeah, sure, obviously.” You hopped up so Robby could stand, grunting like an old man as he did so. Your eyes twinkled at the sound.
“Don’t.”
“Wasn’t doing anything,” you crossed your arms in protest.
Robby kissed the top of your head and moved in the direction of the bathroom, not noticing he had a follower until he went to close the door behind him.
“Jesus christ, sweetheart, you okay?”
“Yeah, just wanted to be with you,” you smiled.
“While I take a piss?” Robby’s brows furrowed in confusion.
“…Yes.”
“Funny, go back to the couch, I’ll just be a minute.” He closed the door in your face, just missing out on the lethal glare you shot in his direction.
You sat back down, fidgeted with your hands, no longer all that interested in cowboys. Robby joined you a moment later, reaching for you to lay on his chest again. You swatted his hand softly, ignored his gasp and climbed into his lap.
“Hi,” you grinned, now face to face with him.
“Hi, sweetheart,” Robby said in earnest, kissing the corner of your mouth gently. You sighed, Robby heard you sigh, and retreated, but that was kind of hard to do with you planted on top of his body.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, just, can we try something?”
“Course, honey, what is it?” Robby rubbed comforting, calloused hands up and down the expanse of your legs, not letting himself drift too high.
“Can we have sex tonight?” You asked, hoping to sound casual but feeling like fireworks were exploding in your chest.
“Yeah?” He asked softly, but his eyes had darkened exponentially.
“Yeah,” you smiled.
He’d carried you to the bed, insisting it had to be done the right way the first time, you’d giggled as you called him an old man and he’d pinched your side. “I think that’s what you like about me, baby.”
Rendered speechless at the accusation, albeit extremely true, Robby had taken advantage of the opportunity and divested you both of your clothes, made you cum on his tongue, then his fingers, and then he fucked you open on his huge dick.
“Holy shit,” he’d said, after he’d taken off the condom and disappeared into the bathroom to get you a washcloth, cleaned you up, and then lay beside you.
You would have grimaced at him tossing the used cum rag onto his nightstand, but you weren’t fully cognitive yet.
“Holy shit,” you exhaled, still out of breath from the four orgasms he’d just drawn from your body, on his first fucking try.
“That was insane,” Robby had responded, mostly to himself.
He pulled you on top of his chest again, and you both fell asleep like that.
——————————————————————————
You didn’t try anything untoward for a while. About nine months or something, if you were pressed for specifics.
Robby was, by all counts, a fucking gentleman.
He held doors, footed all of the bills, paid for everything, made you cum at least once (more often multiple times) before he even took his pants off, and he always saved you the best bite.
You didn’t want to jeopardise this relationship by being a freak, so you bided your time, lulling Robby into a sense of security - not a false sense of security, you just wanted him to feel safe enough to explore with you.
So you became the perfect little girlfriend, he’d told you as such on many occasions, just not with that exact phrasing. More often groans of good fucking girl as you throated his cock, or soft, bashful “too good to me”’s when you remembered how he took his coffee, when he’d come home to a clean house and dinner on the table, or impressed whistles and murmured Jesus Christ’s when you appeared at the bedroom doorway in a new lingerie set you’d bought with his credit card that day.
But really, the crux of the issue, was that you wanted— No, needed, Robby to loosen the reigns, to let go.
So it shouldn’t have come as a surprise when you tried to make a move on him while you were taking a shower together.
He’d gently washed your hair, not the sterile, no-frills technique he’d used the first time you had shared a shower. “Sorry, sweetheart, muscle memory.”
You’d tried not to be offended that he’d associated washing your hair with bathing hospital patients, and closed your eyes, letting yourself enjoy his fingers in your hair.
You told him to spin, once your hair was rinsed, and stretched on tiptoes, your weight distributed entirely in your arms as you leaned on his shoulders so that you could shampoo his hair in kind.
“This is nowhere near as romantic for me as it is for you,” Robby had commented, humour evident in his tone.
“How so?” You asked, faux innocence lacing your words.
Robby chuckled. “Make no mistake, baby, I’m having a good time, it’s just that I can hear your laboured breathing, and your hands are shaky from tip-toeing to reach my head, so…”
You pinched an ass cheek, and cackled when he yelped.
“Trouble, what am I goin’ to do with you?” He tutted.
You rinsed his hair out, and then wrapped your arms around his midriff. Robby hummed as you nuzzled your cheek against his strong back, fingers tracing circles on his soft tummy.
“Feel good?” You asked.
“S’good, baby.” You hummed in acknowledgement, and then slid a finger down the thick thatch of hair trailing down from his belly button to his half hard cock. Not all the way there yet, but piqued in interest.
It never ceased to amaze you how ready he was to go at all times, especially for his age. Every time you mentioned it lightheartedly, mostly just impressed, he’d get this determined look on his face, like he felt he had something to prove - he didn’t - but before you could say anything you’d be on you back, folded in half with your legs over his shoulders. Point taken.
He hissed when you wrapped a hand around his shaft, cooing as you move your hand up, smearing his pre around the tip.
“Kinda hard to see what I’m doing from this angle, handsome, you might have to talk me through it.”
Robby had moaned unabashedly, and then talked you through the handjob.
He finished quickly, as he sometimes did in the morning, fuzzy from sleep, brain not fully operating.
You turned him around and he followed, pliant in your arms as you peppered kisses all over his face. He opened his eyes a moment later, and you found that they were no longer glazed over.
“Hi, baby,” you grinned, feeling overly fond of this big man who’s turned to putty in your arms.
He raised a tentative hand and gripped your hip.
“Too good to me,” he’d murmured, pulling you toward him so he can return your kisses.
However, it doesn’t last. He lets go of you, hands returning to his side.
“Need to piss.”
“Oh.” You said.
“Oh.” Robby echoed.
“Can you… turn around?” You chuckled softly, stopping when you realise he wasn’t joking.
“Are you serious?”
“He’s shy,” Robby had pouted jokingly, but the sentiment seemed serious. The proverbial lightbulb sparked.
“I know how we can fix that,” you mused.
“Oh?”
“Oh,” you affirmed.
You reached for Robby’s hand, and squeezed it firmly. He tilted his head.
“You could… for the sake of curing your pee shyness, piss on me.” You looked up at him through your lashes, big eyes wide and wet as you stared intently, trying to take stock of any micro-expressions he let slip.
Robby’s face doesn’t react so much as something seems to shatter behind his eyes, and then repair itself a moment later. Like he had a glitch and rebooted the system, but something hadn’t yet resumed its function.
“No.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“I was just kidding,” you offered, your own reboot proving futile.
“Okay,” Robby had answered again, but the question mark was implied. To end the conversation in the only way you knew how, you turned around and faced the wall, effectively putting yourself in timeout, and pathetically pretended not to listen as your boyfriend relieved himself down the drain.
——————————————————————————
You sent him off to work with a thoughtfully packed lunch and a smile. He’d brought his lips to yours and you kissed him back, but all of the heat was gone.
Robby tried miserably not to frown as he retreated down the driveway, not understanding where and when this morning had gone so wrong.
“G’morning, brother!” Abbot had greeted him from the nurse’s station as he entered the ER. Robby had grunted in response, and continued his slough to the lockers.
“Jesus, man, your girl not put out this morning?” Abbot chirped, hiding his concern behind a mocked jab.
Robby huffed, dropping his bag into his locker and taking off his jacket.
“Morning, Jack,” he forced, sounded worse than he felt.
“You know what, I think I preferred the silence. This mood of yours sucks.”
“I think I did something wrong, but I don’t know what…” Jack leaned against the doorway, arms crossing like the situation calls for serious Jack, and this is about as serious as he can muster for early morning.
“What’d you do? Is it her birthday?”
“No.”
“Anniversary?” Robby rolled his eyes.
“We’ve only been dating for nine months, maybe ten.”
“Maybe you missed your ten month-iversary. Women keep track of these things,” Jack nodded affirmatively to the bullshit he was spouting, like he believed any of it.
“No, it’s not that. Everything was fine this morning, and then we showered together, and… and then she wasn’t fine. And she didn’t kiss me back when I left the house.” Jack whistled in disbelief.
“You really fucked up, huh.” Robby scratched the back of his neck, feeling more and more fucked by the minute.
“I guess so.”
“What’d you do, piss on her?” Jack joked, the words click in Robby’s brain, and then he frowns.
“What? No! But she joked about wanting me to, and when I refused, that’s when she went weird.” Robby had felt ridiculous as soon as the sentence had left his body, disbelief apparent, not finding that to be a good enough conclusion for your standoffishness. You wouldn’t have iced him out over him not peeing on you in the shower, right? That didn’t make sense.
Jack Abbot had seen a lot in his life, had built a thick skin, was non-reactive in the face of ER emergencies, of blown off limbs and blood and guts, but upon processing this information, his jaw dropped.
“Fuck!” Robby exclaimed, seeming to have recalibrated to whatever wavelength Jack was currently riding.
“I don’t think she was joking, brother. And I think she’s probably feeling pretty dejected that you don’t feel safe enough to piss on her.”
“I’m not having this conversation with you right now, man,” Robby sighed, hoping this would end the conversation. This was you they were talking about, and you might be upset at him, but he still felt defensive of you, protective of your relationship. Even if it’s just Jack. Even if it’s just him speculating as to what Robby’s done to upset you. God, he was so screwed.
“Whatever you say, Robinavitch. But that shit is hot, I’d be pissing on your girl all the time if she wanted it as badly as she seems to.”
Robby wouldn’t ever hit Jack, fellow attending, best friend, light of his life and emergency contact, but he sure wanted to smack the curve of his smug mouth off of his face as he watched Jack clearly think about you, in compromising situations.
Robby didn’t see Jack before he went home that morning, but he checked his phone upon receiving a message around 7:30am.
Have a good shift, brother.
A word of advice, create a situation where the opportunity for her to watch you piss will arise, and see how she reacts when you turn her down. You’ll get your answer.
PS: stop being a fucking pussy and have fun
Robby rolled his eyes and pocketed his phone. And yet, Jack’s advice had stuck with him the next 13 hours.
He can’t find you when he gets home. His bladders fucking full and he’s on the verge of bursting, but he’s holding it for you. Love requires sacrifice and all that.
He sits on the couch and waits for your return. The waiting game starts to take too long, and he’s got piss about to leak out of his tip, so he foregoes his little surprise and beelines for the bathroom.
He finds you there, washing your hands.
“Hi, honey.”
“Hi.”
He manoeuvres around you in the direction of the toilet, hurriedly unbuckles his belt.
“D’you want me to leave?” You ask, hesitant.
Robby doesn’t answer until his dick’s out and aimed in the bowl.
“Don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Robby smiles, and then pulls trig. He groans obnoxiously as the first stream pours from him, relief building in his tummy as his bladder empties.
You watch him, really watch him, and he has the decency to pretend he doesn’t notice the way your chest moves visibly with the effort it’s taking you to breathe, or the way your hands fidgeting at its side.
“Can I—“
“What was that, sweetheart?” Robby goads you, all but begging for you to ask, or not to ask, so he can prove Jack wrong.
“Can I hold it?” You finally ask, feeling like such a fucking loser for having voiced the question out loud.
“Oh, I’m just about done here, maybe next time?”
Your posture deflates. Just a little bit. Not much. But enough. Robby noticed. You exit the bathroom, closing the door behind you.
Robby puts his dick back in his pants and flushes the toilet, willing his guilt to follow alongside his piss down the pipes. He washes his hands thoroughly, mostly to buy him enough time to think up his next move.
His phone dings. Jack.
How’s it going over there? Pissed and made up?
He rolled his eyes.
He types back.
No, actually, I made it worse :-(
You suck at this, brother. I forgive you for ignoring my brilliant wordplay.
I wish there was a way we could swap bodies for a night so you could fix this mess for me
Are you talking about freaky friday? I love you, man, but I would rather beat myself over the head with my prosthetic than live a day in your life.
What’s Freaky Friday?
Go fuck your girlfriend, before daddy Jack has to step in.
Fuck you.
Robby loosed a sigh.
He opened the bathroom door, and then followed the sounds of you working on something in the kitchen.
He leaned in the doorway, clearing his throat.
“Dinners going to be ready in a minute,” you answered, not that he’d asked a question.
“Have I done something?” Robby asked, and you halted, almost dropping a hot tray in the process.
“Course not,” you reply, blowing your hair off of your face.
“Okay.” Robby pushes off the doorway and moves to the cupboard, busies himself by getting out plates and cutlery to help you plate up.
You chastely kiss him on the lips. “Thank you.”
He hums and starts cleaning the kitchen around you.
The rest of the night passes in a blur, words going unsaid and in their place, creating distance that neither of you knew how to bridge, having casted yourselves on two separate islands with no row boat, no way back to each other.
You apologised in the morning, blaming PMS on your mood, and he pretended to believe you, pretended he didn’t have your period tracker app linked to his phone, pretended he didn’t know that you were ovulating.
He told you there was nothing to apologise for, and then went to work. Everything was fine when he came home, the tension dissipated, the situation long forgotten.
Peace had been restored to the Robinavitch household.
Jack had hit Robby in the arm so hard he winced, when he found out how poorly the night before had gone. He’d even found himself wishing that Freaky Friday was real because he could have patched this relationship up himself, if his stupid best friend was going to squander this beautiful girl who he never should have been able to pull in the first place, over a little piss.
The conversation went ignored for months. Your shared routine settled. Your lives transitioned from separate to one, his space became our space, you’d all but moved in, drawers held both his clothes and yours, one side of the closet now solely belonged to you, he never had enough clothes to fill two sides anyway.
Things were going great, by all measures.
You just couldn’t shake this one thing. While you had backed down on the piss thing, you had gotten Robby to open up more, and he was at a point where he felt comfortable enough to be able to ask for things, which was astronomical basically, and you had been reduced to tears the first time he’d done it.
He was a little freaked out by the display of emotion, assuming he’d scared you off and trying to backpedal, but full-bodied, gut-wrenching arousal won out in the end after you’d assured him it was just happy tears.
The first time he’d asked for something was spitting.
He was very into it - the degradation, the very act of collecting all the saliva in your mouth, like you’re about to hack it onto the sidewalk, and then drooling it into your partner’s mouth instead like it was something sacred, something to be cherished. You hadn’t told him, but you definitely enjoyed it even more than he had.
You’d been working your way up to asking him to try it yourself after working in tongue sucking into your foreplay routine months earlier.
Then spanking.
It had hurt to sit for days after, but you’d missed the searing welts after they’d gone, the mark of his handprints no longer claiming your skin.
He had felt awful afterwards, cried silently at the sight of your rapidly bruising ass, even though you liked it, even though you told him you liked it, cum smearing your inner thighs as evidence of how much you’d enjoyed yourself. But it had not become a regular part of your sex life.
He’d done it a couple times since, and it had been a better experience, when he saw just how soaked it made your cunt get, how whiny and pathetic you’d gotten while bent over his knee and held down by him.
It had kind of clicked for him then.
It was about you, not him.
You’d pulled him out of his head without even realising, and in return he made you fall apart without even touching your pussy.
Then choking.
Calling him daddy had kind of just been the last puzzle piece to slot itself into place, really, his hand had been rubbing your spit slick all around your mouth, having traded his fingers for his cock, fist in your hair as he choked out a fuck ‘m coming fuck as if the taste of his load wasn’t already on your tongue and invading your senses.
He’d lifted you off the ground and placed you in his lap.
“Such a good girl for me, my good girl,” he’d murmured, kissing your forehead diligently in case his words weren’t comfort and praise enough.
You’d looked so beautiful, with mascara streaking your cheeks, eyes pathetically wet as you gazed up at him like he hung the moon just for you.
So it shouldn’t have been a surprise when you confidently said, “please fuck me, daddy.”
Robby swore as his hips jerked, you smiled this smug thing that made Robby want to push you onto your stomach and breed your cunt full.
“Say that again, baby,” Robby said, testing the waters.
You got up onto your knees in his lap, hands fisting his shirt. God, how did he still have that on?
“Want you to fuck me, daddy, please. Been such a good girl,” you said resolutely.
Robby nodded, like that was that really, you had been a good girl and good girls deserved to get fucked by their daddy, and stood with you in his arms. He turned, and dropped you onto the mattress on your back.
“Take those shorts off before I rip ‘em,” was the only thing he said as he removed his shirt, finally, exposing solid hairy chest and soft tummy.
You pried the flimsy material off and threw them, not seeing where they landed. And then he was on you.
——————————————————————————
Jack invites you and Robby out for drinks at some bar in town, on an extremely rare night when they aren’t both working. You got dressed and headed downstairs to show off your outfit, a cute top with a slutty little skirt. Robby had taken one look at you, glasses falling down his nose, and told you to change.
“What? No, my outfit is cute,” you pouted.
“Stop being a brat, we’re going to a bar, not a night club.” He spun a finger and pointed in the direction of the stairs.
You stomped your way up the stairs, moving a little faster when you heard him call from the couch, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
The ride over had been quiet, pleasant. Mostly because the uber driver probably wouldn’t appreciate you putting your hands all over your boyfriend in the backseat as the night opened its doors, beckoning you in to explore countless possibilities under the moon kissed sky.
Jack had bear hugged you when you entered the bar, twirling you around in the air while you squealed.
“This outfit’s trouble, kid, you trying to seduce me?” Jack had said softly into your hair, you giggled and slapped his forearm.
“Why, is it working?” You asked as he placed you back down, waggling your brows at him.
“Always,” he winked at you, and then left your side to greet Robby.
“I didn’t realise you two were so closely acquainted,” Robby had said gruffly as the pair hugged.
Jack cackled. “Heel, boy, I’m just being friendly.”
He sat at the booth directly across from you, making a show of reaching toward you to flick your arm. Robby rolled his eyes and then joined you on one side, wedging you between the wall and his body.
You were pleasantly buzzed, in that way you can only get in some dingy bar where the music’s shitty enough to ignore but the company is good so it doesn’t matter, and Robby’s right at that point of tipsy where his physical affection is free-flowing and you can’t help but beam under the attention.
He kisses beneath your ear, mumbling something about getting a drink, and then slides out of the booth, leaving you with Jack.
“You lookin’ after our old man?” Jack asked, tone unreadable. He notices your expression drop, just a smidgeon, just a tiny crack in your armour, but he notices nonetheless. You suddenly understand what Robby means about Jack being a bloodhound for emotional turmoil.
“Yeah, course,” you reply flippantly, voice just an octave too high to be buyable. Jack’s eyes squint marginally, reading you like a book. He’s probably got you all figured out and there’s nothing you can do about it.
“I’m trying to. He’s… an unwilling patient.” Jack huffs a soft laugh, he believes that.
“I’ve known the guy longer than you’ve been alive, probably, and I’ve never seen him this light, kid. Trust me, you’ve done more than you’ll ever know. Just keep chipping away at that wall.”
“Thanks, Jackie.” You’re more unmoored by Jack’s little speech than you realised, you clear your throat.
“And also for pretending like you don’t know the ins and outs of our sex life.” Jack threw his head back and cackled.
“Just doing my part,” he saluted you teasingly, and you didn’t know what the fuck that meant, but you didn’t push him on it.
The rest of the conversation is pleasant, he says something that makes you laugh, something about you deserving better than being out on a Friday night with two grumpy old fucks.
Robby’s eyes drifted purposely to you after he hears you laugh. Because it’s not a friendly laugh, or some placating laugh. No. It’s your oh this guy’s so funny I need to fuck him laugh. He knows distinctly what that sounds like, because it’s the laugh you reserve for him when he says something perverted, something nasty, only for you to hear. It had transformed over time, having started when you first began dating, and you had laughed that way, like a caress, like a flirty wink, like you were trying to get into his fucking pants.
He’s not jealous. Per se. No. You’re his girl, and Jack is his best friend. Does he feel a pang of possessiveness? Sure. Is he now feeling a little territorial? Definitely.
It sours his mood, makes him order a shot to down at the bar before he can recoup enough to return to the booth.
“Sounds like you two were having fun over here without me.”
“Robby,” you’d whined, at the same time Jack had repeated the sentiment.
“We were just talking about what a downer you were before she entered your life,” Jack teased, and you cupped a hand over your mouth, stifling an ugly cackle.
Robby laughed, but it was this sad, kind of pained sound, that the tipsy high you and Jack were riding couldn’t entirely survive it.
You looked at Robby, gripped his thigh under the table and tried to read his face. He shook his head softly. You tilted your head at him, and failed to hide your frown when he turned away from you.
You looked pleadingly at Jack, who shrugged. You raised a demanding brow at him, and he softened. Tapped his knuckles against the beer sticky table top.
“I’m feeling pretty beat, you guys, going to head off.” Jack nodded, then slid out of the booth.
You nudged Robby out as well so you could say goodbye.
You wrapped your arms around Jack, feeling a little sad that you didn’t know when you’d see him again.
“You’re welcome in advance, by the way,” Jack whispered in your ear, crushing you tighter against his chest.
“Huh?” You whispered back, but Jack merely unwrapped himself from the embrace, holding you at arms length, and then winking.
Oh fuck.
From behind, you felt a firm, claiming hand clasp your hip. You’re welcome. You smiled shakily, crossed your arms while Robby spoke privately to Jack, and then he was gone.
“Ready to head home, kid?” Robby asked, returned to your side at last.
“One more drink?” You jutted out your bottom lip, hoping to sway his vote.
“Not tonight, baby, I’ve got plans for us.” You noticed something. It wasn’t prominent enough for anyone else to have noticed, but you were well versed in Michael Robinavitch, and so you couldn’t help but notice the deep set gaze in his eyes. You’d never really seen it before, this side of Robby, but you knew what that kind of hunger looked like, what it felt like, the feral longing in your gut to destroy something, to claw it apart with your fingers so you could figure out what it was all for. You whimpered softly, and it ignited something deep within Robby.
Realising you were both standing in the middle of a bar, panting and eye-fucking each other, Robby linked your fingers with his and led you outside.
He couldn’t keep his fingers to himself in the uber home. Or his mouth. Your driver attempted polite small talk, but immediately gave up when Robby had pulled you into his lap and slotted his lips between yours.
Robby had tipped him handsomely, and smacked your ass on the trek up the driveway to the house.
Items of clothes were removed and thrown carelessly one piece of material at a time, a bra here, a belt there, Robby’s shirt on the stairs, your panties on the doorknob, leaving a breadcrumb trail all the way to your bedroom. XXX marks the spot indeed.
Nothing about this particular encounter could be considered tender, romantic. It was a brutal clash of tongues and teeth, bodies rutting and undulating together while scratching and biting to claim victory and ownership over the other.
You were on your knees, the tip of Robby’s cock bullying the soft palette of your throat, his thick pubic hair tickling your nostrils and invading your senses with the scent of him. Clean skin and sweat and musk and something earthy and sweet that was uniquely him. It made you salivate and slicked his cock even more as he fucked your throat earnestly.
He pulled you off of him, and you inhaled sharply.
“Need— fuck— I need’a piss,” Robby sighed, moving to stand, when you yanked his wrist.
“Daddy…”
“Yeah? What is it, honey?”
“D’you think… never mind…” you looked away, pursing your lips.
“Baby, look at me.” When you ignored him, two thick fingers rested under your chin, and turned your head so you had nowhere to look but at him.
“You want me to piss on you?” His question was sincere, verging on smug, and yet you couldn’t help but bite your lip.
You nod. He raises a curt brow, and then the English language comes back to you. “Yes please, daddy. Want you to piss. Wanna make you feel good.”
He frowns mockingly, although you’re too far gone to realise you’re being played, “I really gotta piss, honey, we can finish as soon as I’m back. Be a good girl and wait thirty seconds for me, okay?”
“No, daddy, wanna do it now, you don’t have to stop, you can just do it in my mouth and then keep going.” Your eyes were wrecked, teary and glazed over as you stared pleadingly up at him.
Robby nods. Nods again, like he’s answering an unasked question.
“In your mouth?”
“Like your own personal urinal.” You smiled.
“Jesus christ, baby. That’s so fuckin’ dirty, you know that?” You didn’t reply, merely grinned and stuck out your tongue, challenging him to make good on his word.
He slapped his tip on your tongue and you moaned filthily. “Been building up to this, huh, honey? Thought you were so smart, askin’ to watch me piss, askin’ to hold my dick while I piss, to piss on you in the shower, while actin’ like these were isolated incidents, like I’d fuckin’ forget what a dirty little girl I’ve got in my bed. Isn’t that right, baby?”
You shook your head, licked the underside of his shaft. Robby laughed, but it was mean. Robby had been lots of things, but never once mean. Not like now.
He pulled his cock out of your mouth and slapped his shaft against your cheek, and then the other one.
“Love this big dick so much you wanna drain it of everything, don’t you?”
“Ye— yes, daddy. Want all of it. Want you, want everything you’ll give me.”
Robby sighs, resolving to his fate.
“Okay, open up little girl.” You look up at him from your position om your knees, big wet eyes trying to gauge whether or not he’s joking.
He guides his thumb to your bottom lip, tracing the lip until you open your mouth slightly, he hooks two fingers inside, prying your jaw open more.
“Gotta keep it open wide for me honey, dont want you to miss a drop.”
You nod dumbly, jaw a little achey from the pressure at which he’s keeping you open, quickly forgetting all about the ache as he slides his fat cock past your lips again, pushing in inch after inch until you can feel his ruddy tip prod at the back of your throat.
You moan at the intrusion, raising your hand from your side and enclosing it around his much larger one, dragging it from where he’s got it resting on his hip until it’s curled in your hair. He tugs once, you groan, the vibrations from your throat reverberating from his tip all the way to his sac, his hips jerk at the sensation and you gag around his cock, eyes shedding stray tears while he coos and tells you how good you are at taking him, his good girl, the best at throat fucking his biiiiig dick, taking every inch just for him. You nod around his dick, hollowing out your cheeks and sucking at the same time, trying to get him to cum.
He seems to remember what you asked of him, and closes his eyes to concentrate.
“You sure you want this, baby?”
“Mhm.”
“Wow, can’t speak with a dick in your mouth and yet here you are, responding so clearly. A+ for you sweetheart.”
You moan at the mocked praise, dragging your clothed cunt against the rug beneath you, trying to get any sort of friction going.
“Shit, ok, fuck, honey, im gonna—- it’s coming— last chance to back out.”
You pull off his dick for a second, “piss in my mouth, daddy, please, want it so bad.”
“Fucking christ.”
Robby pulls you forward by the scruff of your neck just in time to catch the first dribbles of piss from his cock. You stick your tongue out to catch it, your eyes not budging from his gaze as you watch him watch you swallow his piss.
It borders on religion, if he really allows himself to think about it. You, this young, beautiful thing, on your knees, him towering over you, his cock in your mouth. You’re reverent in your undivided attention, supplicant and devoted as you eagerly swallow every drop of piss he allows to pass your lips, moaning wantonly at this act of desecration - a willing follower to a selfish God.
He grows more confident, as dribbles give way to a full stream.
“Fuck, can’t— can’t stop it now, bunny, swallow my fucking piss like a— like a good little slut, yeaaah you like that, don’t you? You like being my good slut, guzzling my piss like a fucking champ, aren’t you?”
There’s so much of it that it spills from your mouth and begins streaming down your chin in thick rivulets, down your chest and glazing your nipples in the piss, pooling below your glistening cunt. It’s filthy, the way you’re playing with your pussy, lubing your hole with his piss, cupping the fluid that’s caught on the towel you put down earlier and dripping it all over your clit, spreading your sticky pussy lips so it all gets soaked in it.
Robby watches you intently, a choked groan accompanies the end of his stream, and you wipe your mouth sloppily, swallowing the last of his spend.
He opens your mouth, inspecting the damage, you suppose. You stick your tongue out, “all gone.”
He smirks, shoves three fingers in at once. You gag at the intrusion, your cunt clenching in kind. He slaps his fingers on your tongue like he would his cock and then removes them from your mouth, wiping the stray saliva on your cheek. You don’t have it in you to feel degraded.
“D’you enjoy that, kid?” You nod dumbly.
“Did you cum?” You shook your head.
“Well thats just too bad, isnt it?” You whine, butting your head into the meaty part of his thigh.
“Make me cum, daddy, please make me cum.” He pulls you off your knees and pushes you in the direction of the shower. Yes, he just pissed inside of you, but he doesn’t want to fuck you like that. His sweet girl, skin tacky from his piss sticking to your skin. He has to maintain some modicum of integrity, right?
——————————————————————————
The second time Robby indulges your… thing, he’s got his cock buried inside you, hips snapping as his tip bullies your cervix. He doesn’t know if you’ve fucking pavlov’d him or something, but he’s starting to notice a pattern where when the two of you fuck, he gets the strongest urge to piss.
“Be right back sweet girl, i just have to pee.”
You frown up at him as he pulls out, and he chuckles softly at the way you can look at him like that with your legs folded over your head like a goddamn trapeze artist.
“Not this again.”
“Yes this again,” your tone is petulant at best. Downright pissed off at worst.
“Sweetheart…” Robby sighs, already aware this is a losing battle and he has zero leverage to placate you.
“Want you to piss in my pussy this time, Robby.” The way you’re grinning at him would be more appropriate if you’d just told him you’d booked an all expenses Caribbean getaway, or you won the lottery and he never had to work again - he definitely would - not that you were asking him to piss in your cunt, like that was an occasion to be celebrated.
“What? No. No! You can get infections from that shit. No way. Pick another kink to grow attached to.”
Some people wore their heart on their sleeves. Robby wore his on his face. You weren’t sure if he knew this about himself, but he was so facially expressive you could read braille off the lines on his forehead if you tried hard enough.
If you were to trace the lines now, you knew you’d get the same answer as you were reading now from the look on his face. Chin quivering slightly, the wrinkles between his brow creased in deep lines, forehead scrunched in a depreciation. He was fucking distraught.
“You’re a doctor, baby, you can just prescribe me an antibiotic, or you can get Jack to if that makes you less uncomfortable. It’ll be fine.” You rubbed his shoulder in what you hoped was a comforting gesture. It probably came off more as condescending.
“Jesus christ, baby, this is insane. Do you hear what you’re asking for?”
“Yes,” you shrugged.
“You— yes? Fuck. Okay. This is the last time, okay?”
“Okay.” Now you’re the one placating him.
“No. Seriously. This is it.” He leans forward so you’re practically forehead to forehead, his eyes staring deeply into yours like he’s communicating the message via prolonged eye contact too. Just in case your ears hadn’t received it.
“Okay, I get it. Get the waterworks going now please,” you huffed.
“I hate you so much.” You roll your eyes at him fondly, so dramatic. He shakes his head but kisses you once for good measure.
He lines himself up, and nudges his cock inside you again. His thrusts are more hesitant this time around, like now that you’ve asked him to piss inside you, he’s reverted to being a virgin again or something. His technique’s sloppy and his hips can’t seem to find their usual rhythm.
He rocks his hips, still hitting all the right angles even if he’s worried about what he’s working himself up to.
“Ok, here it comes, honey,” you exhale deeply as you feel the first remnants of his piss inside your hole, the drizzle before the downpour. He fucks you through it, panting heavily, like this affects him just as much as it affects you.
“I love you so much, dirty fucking girl.” Robby’s gasping and moaning obscenely, the sensation of pissing while fucking you is overwhelming. You’re always so wet and pliant for him, but with his piss actively filling your hole… It’s immense. It feels like he’s fucking one of those tube toys with the holes at both ends while the toy’s being waterboarded. He realises that’s a stupid analogy, and notes to himself to never tell you that.
“hnnng love you daddy,” you cry as he fucks you harder, the piss pouring out of your sloppy cunt onto the floor in puddles.
“Gimme all of it, Robby, please,” you moaned, head thrown back in that way you do right before you cum.
“Fuck, m’almost done. I’m gonna cum sweetheart, think you can cum at the same time?” Robby stares at you so reverently, with so much adoration, you have to close your eyes. You clamp them shut, throw away the key. He shouldn’t look at you like that if he wants you to be a functioning human being anyway.
He taps your face with his palm. Not a slap, just an invitation to rejoin him in the world of the living. With his cock spearing inside your pussy obscenely. You open your eyes, Robby would probably describe you as doe eyed and wobbly. Bambi.
He smiles at you, but it’s this earth shattering thing. It steals all the oxygen from your lungs, burns your throat on the way up.
“Y-yes,” you nod desperately, clammering for Robby’s hand.
“Rub my clit, daddy,” you beg, no longer caring how annoyingly desperate you sound.
He smiles down at you, his good girl, and rubs your clit in tight circles, your hips raise, meeting his thrusts in freakishly wet plaps.
You stick your fingers in Robby’s mouth, catching him off guard, he chokes out a moan, and cums balls deep inside of you, the feeling of his spend at your cervix.
You cum too, it’s a vicious climax, really - your entire body trembling and thrashing while your pussy contracts wildly, pushing waves of Robby’s piss, your cum, and his cum out of you in a clean flush.
Robby collapses beside you, into the puddle.
“Holy shit.”
“Yeah,” you sigh, your brain presently orbiting outer space.
“Love you, baby,” he admits softly, his splayed hand on your tummy flexing.
“Love you too, Robby.” Your hand rests atop his, index finger tracing the veins.
He’ll get up eventuslly, needs to clean you up thoroughly, get you both showered, and then deal with this floor. And then he has to figure out how to get Jack to prescribe you antibiotics without telling him that he pissed inside of you. God. What have you done to him?
——————————————————————————
Ellis and Shen are bickering.
The night shift’s inexplicably quiet, for no apparent reason. Jack knows not to curse their luck so he doesn’t acknowledge it, they all do.
He finally realises he’s had about enough of listening to them antagonise each other over… who knows what, really. It could be the continuation of their Dunkin’ vs Starbucks argument from a couple weeks ago, or some other iteration of pointless time wasting they love to partake in.
His phone dings.
He excuses himself from the station and checks his phone.
He has one message from one Michael Robinavitch.
Hey, man. Need you to do me a favour
He raises a brow. Colour him fucking interested.
Oh? How can I be of assistance to you on this fine evening, Dr Robinavitch?
I need you to get a prescription for metronidazole. No questions
You dirty bastard, you fuckin’ did it
Don’t.
Hey hey hey, don’t get grumpy with me, I’m playing by the rules here. I’ll get your lady her prescription
Thank you, brother
So, how did it feel when you pissed inside her? I’m curious
cw: f!reader, child birth aftermath (not gory at all, just worried!jack)
Twelve hours after your daughter is born, Jack stares at you with quiet contemplation. He’s holding your little bundle of joy in his arms, her eyes closed firmly. She’s been asleep for thirty minutes now, but you are still awake. More so, awake again.
After the seemingly endless hours of labor, you somehow still look radiant. Exhausted and tired, sure, but still beautiful. Maybe even more so.
Jack puts the little one down in her hospital bassinet and then sits at your bedside. His hands find yours, his fingers enveloping yours like you are his anchor.
He looks at you for a while, not a single word falling from his lips. His brows are knit together because the world inside his mind won’t quite quiet down.
With the softest of movements, Jack brings one of your hands up to his lips and presses a kiss to your knuckles.
“I don’t ever wanna put you through that again.”
His words are barely a whisper—not just for the baby’s sake, but for yours, too.
Tears shimmer in his eyes as he watches you.
All the pre-med classes he took in college, the years spent in medical school, and his long, long time working as a doctor hadn’t prepared him for seeing you go through so much pain.
He’d rather go back to the military and lose another leg than watch you suffer through contraction after contraction again.
“What?” you mumble.
Your eyes drag up to meet his.
You’re still a little clouded, just a few hours after the birth. Your brain is working hard to send as many happy hormones as possible through your blood vessels—nature’s smart little trick to convince women that childbirth isn’t half that bad.
But Jack’s mind is clear. He remembers every second of what happened, every tear he wiped, every time you squeezed his hand through the pain.
“It was terrifying,” Jack confesses. “I… you were hurting and I couldn’t- I couldn’t help you. Couldn’t make it better for you.”
A tear runs down his cheek.
“Next time,” he mumbles, “You’re either getting that epidural, or we wait until they find a way to make men carry the baby. Because I’m not making you do that again.”
romaincrisis
snowghoul
yousharknotpass
jacobvanloon
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