Sometimes, fanfiction is carefully plotted out stories, with plot points and call backs and themes that all tie it up in a meaningful and exciting way.
And sometimes fanfiction is, âWatch me do a fucking KICK FLIP off this cool sentence!! Also here's some sex'
Everything I read about recovering from burnout is like âit takes months or even years to fully recoverâ and itâs like okayâŠ. I have a weekend before I gotta clock in on Monday
⥠synopsis: the moment he sets his eyes on you, dr. brendon park is sickened by how soft and weak you seem. as such, he makes it a personal mission to get under your skin every time he crosses your path as revenge for you invading his every thought. intoxicating little thing that you are, however, he can hardly get enough... despite his efforts to the contrary.
⥠content: enemies to lovers, jack & robby both pine after you, reader is a spoiled crybaby brat but also a sweetheart, reader slaps dr. park & almost does so again later, kissing, fingering, p in v sex, dom!brendon, sub-coded!reader, dubcon (brendon decides to go in raw w/o asking reader if she's ok with it (she is)), sub drop, teasing (sexual & otherwise), reader has hair long enough to make a braid, medical inaccuracies, dacryphilia, slut-shaming, misogyny, reader eats meat in 1 scene, brendon gets a little physically rough with her in 1 smutty portion [idk. if i missed anything, just tell me]
"It won't need surgery," Park remarks while shaking his head.
Mr. Quinn breathes a sigh of relief. "Thank God." Turning his head to the right, he looks at Dr. Park. "How do we fix it so I can get the hell out of here?"
Standing half-hidden behind Robby, and close enough that your breasts brush against the back of his arm, you glance curiously toward the clock on the wall, worried that this ortho surgeon can smell fear like a shark does blood in water. As long as you don't make eye contact, he'll never know that you're here.
It's not that you've heard an extraordinary amount of stories about this Dr. Park fellowâhardly any, truth be told, since the ED isn't exactly his domainâbut the ones you have make you want to run and hide beneath the nurses station until he's gone back to his designated floor of practice.
Glancing around the room in search of an aid, Park quickly takes stock of youâone he's never seen before, and, who, instead of focusing on the teaching opportunity presented to her, would rather stare adoringly at the back of Dr. Robby's head, apparently.
Seeing the older man's hand slyly brush against your thigh when he thinks no one is looking is when Brendon decides to make an example out of you.
Sleeping your way to the top? Taking the easy route? He'll get some satisfaction out of seeing you squirm when he holds you to the fire before a live audience.
"You," he barks while zeroing in.
Jerking your head in his direction, you nearly stumble into Robby. Staring with wide eyes, you think to begin backing up before making a run for it. "M-Me?" You say while pointing to your chest uncertainly.
"Did I stutter?" He spits. "Come over here and help me pop this joint back into place. Now."
You swallow thickly and the back of your neck warms.
You half hope that Robby will save you, but that wouldn't be very professional if he stepped between you and his colleague, now, would it?
Not that he's always been when it comes to favoring and babying you, but... No one else needs to know that. Except half the ED, who he's stopped hiding it from, anyway.
Stepping forward, your arm brushes against Robby'sâwhat if you latched onto it and refused to let go until Mr. Ortho picked somebody else to torture?âand you walk on unsteady legs toward him.
Standing at full height with a puffed-out chest, he nods at the man's affected leg. "Get yourself into position."
You blink stupidly, followed by a nervous laugh. "I... What?"
"Jesus Christ," he mumbles under his breath.
Leaning down, he positions his lips next to your ear. "Put your right leg on the edge of the bed."
At least he had the forethought to lower it beforehand, you think.
"Or do you not want to learn?" He growls.
Doing as instructed, you plop your Skecher next to the man's injured leg.
Dr. Park pinches his nose while exhaling sharply.
Looking back to Robby, he gestures to you. "Is this what you're teaching down here now? Incompetence?"
You can't see it, but you just know Robby's temper is being summoned for duty.
"Give her a break, Park, she's just nervous. First time she's ever popped a joint."
Park snorts. "I bet," he mumbles doubtfully.
"Should Iâ"
You promptly shut your mouth when he puts his hands on you. Grabbing the back of your right thigh with one hand and your shin with the other, he repositions your leg between the patient's.
"Don't move," he commands.
You're afraid that if you do, Mr. Quinn won't be the only injured party in the room by the end of things.
Stepping to the side with crossed arms, he stares you down. "Now, grip the back of his thigh and calf in both your hands."
You bend over and do just that and proceed to grab handfuls of squishy flesh smattered with dark hair.
Park circles around behind you to see things from your exact angle. "Rotate the leg outward. You'll feel a click. When you do, shove it back into the socket.
You hesitate. "What if... What if I make it worse, orâ"
Mr. Quinn lifts his head and grants you a worried look. "Maybe you should take over, doc. Don't think I like the sound of that."
He levels him with a stern gaze. "I'm right behind her. This is a teaching hospital. Without trying, those at the bottom can't move up." Park leans in close. "Unless you find a workaround, it seems."
You open your mouth to ask just what he means by that, until he startles you with a yell.
"Now turn it," he bellows.
Slowly, you swivel his leg outward and the gentleman sucks in a sharp inhalation of breath.
"Fuck, I don't thinkâ" He begins.
When you hear a click, you hesitate.
Mr. Quinn's protestations are cut short when Park commands you like he's a drill sergeant and you're one of his subordinates. "Now, put your hand on his foot and push!"
Doing as you're told, you bear down, and like magic, things slide right into place where they belong.
Mr. Quinn looses a ragged breath and sighs with relief. "Ah, that feels better," he says contentedly.
"For now," Park replies. "You'll be sore for a few weeks, but we'll send you home with crutches and meds to help with the swelling and pain. As well as a follow-up with me put on the books."
"Long as it ain't surgery," he replies with a shrug while folding his hands together atop his stomach.
Taking a step back, you're startled by the sound of a single set of hands clapping.
You look at Whitaker, who's smiling happily for your job well done, but it quickly melts off his face when Park burns a hole right through him with a venomous glare.
What is this guy's problem?
Taking a step forward, Park sneers at you. "Go on," he says with a jerk of his head. "Back to your teacher."
He leans in close enough that you can smell his cologne. And then he lowers his lips until only you can hear what leaves them when he whispers in your ear. "Pet."
You gulp, then scurry away and back to your previous position. Only this time, you hide almost entirely behind Robby's towering form. Safe, safe, safe is all you can think once you've reached him.
You'd very much like to never do that again. Popping joints you can maybe handle. The asshole teacher, not so much.
You prefer gentle instruction when available. Patient, even.
"Class dismissed," he announces, much to your relief.
Seeing how the patient was handed off to him, Park is required to do a few pages of paperwork before he can go, which he reluctantly accepts the task of completing, as if he has another choice.
He's a man who's not easily distractedâhe's always precise, straight to the point, and efficient. But he'll be damned if your annoying little self hasn't stepped on his every last nerve without even trying.
Studying you as you chart at the nurse's stationâoblivious to his staring daggers at youâhe watches as Abbot enters through the ambulance bay doors, only to make a beeline straight to where you sit. Leaning over the counter in front of you, he reaches forward and says something Brendon can't discern before giving you a gentle tap under your chin and walking away to begin his shift.
A moment later, Robby exits Trauma 2 and rubs sanitizer over each of his hands before picking up a blue nitrile glove and shooting it between your shoulder blades. Just as quickly, he turns around and pretends to be looking over a stack of paperwork as you ignorantly swivel this way and that, searching for your attacker.
After a moment, he walks by, you look up, he smilesâgiving himself away on purposeâand plants a kiss on the crown of your head before going in search of Abbot.
Makes him fucking sick to watch this goddamn rom-com. This place has gone from pulling out bullets to now being a pathetic romance novel.
He'd like to believe that when he's not down here, the two of them push you to your limits to see what you're capable ofâif much of anything, soft thing that you look to beâinstead of succumbing to your pretty eyes or sweet smile because they're that fucking pussy-whipped. And by a resident of all things.
Shaking his head, he returns his attentions to something more worthwhileâwhich isn't saying muchâpaperwork.
"Not the only fish circlin' that pond, Park," remarks Dana, who's come to stand beside him.
He rolls his eyes without looking up. "Not interested."
She chuckles. "I remember a couple attendings tellin' me the same thing not all that long ago. Now look at 'emâwrapped around her little finger."
"It's a problem that you can say that," he spits. "It's unprofessional. Grossly so." He looks at her. "And you know it."
She shrugs while draping her forearm atop the counter they stand at. "Brought the light to Rob's life that he needed. Can't complain about that. As for Jack... Never thought he'd smile at a woman ever again after losin' his wife. But there she sits: sunshine in human fuckin' form."
He returns to scrawling his signature across printer paper. "You're making me nauseous."
She laughs, then pats him on the back. "Don't gotta be so tough all the time. Let your hair down every once in awhile. Never know what could happen, kid."
He deigns that she's lucky she left when she did because Park was nearly at his boiling point. If she'd kept talking, he would've blown his fucking top like a barrel of dynamite blasting through a hillside.
A sheet of paper is slammed down beside of you, causing you to yelp in surprise.
"Sign it," snaps Park.
With now trembling hands, you drag the document closer.
"Even highlighted it for you," he says while pointing to the designated line. "Sorry it wasn't in pink," he sneers.
"What is it?" You ask innocently while looking at him.
"A fucking marriage license. What do you think it is? It's about the procedure I had you perform today."
Turing away, your eyes begin to sting. Why is he always so mean?
You pick up a pen, click the ballpoint down, and write your dainty signature upon the line provided.
Snatching the document away, he stands at full height again.
"You ready?" Calls Robby from across the way, looking at none other than yourself.
You nod while grabbing your bag and sliding it over your shoulder. "Yes."
Park shakes his head in disapproval, but Robby hardly pays him any mind before wrapping an arm around your shoulders to lead the pair of you to the parking lot.
You're barely out the sliding doors before you feel your braid coming undone. Reaching up, you slide your fingers along the end of your strands, only to come up empty-handed. "Did youâ" Pulling away, you begin turning this way and that, searching the asphalt for your missing hair band.
"You drop something?" He asks.
"My hair band," you mutter while retracing your steps.
He sighs, wanting nothing more than to get home so he can jump in the shower. "You don't have another?"
You frown, then straighten, and return to his side. "I'll get one out once we're in the truck."
When Park reaches the elevators, the indicator overhead dings and the doors slide open, welcoming him inside the steel and aluminum box. Stepping over the threshold, he presses the button for the 7th floorâappreciating the pretty little cream-colored hairband that's wrapped tightly around his wrist when he does so.
Things are busy as ever today. You began your morning by running through half a dozen patients, and every time one walked out the door, two more popped up on the board.
No wonder why Robby seems to deflate every time he looks at it anymore.
It's nearing 5 before you bother to take a second bathroom break, and just as you've exited the restroom, you bump into Mel, who seems to be in an overstimulated tizzy.
You know the feeling quite well.
"Hey," you say quietly while grabbing her by the shoulders. "Are you okay? What's wrong?"
"Oh, sorry," she starts while nervously pushing her glasses back into place.
Good thing they didn't shatter on the floor, you think.
"I have an ultrasound that needs to go up to the NICU. I tried sending it over email, but an office assistant said it was too darkâwhich I don't really see how, unless it's a problem with the monitor, which they should probably get look at by ITâso, I was going to bring a printed copy up, and maybe they'dâ"
"Slow down," you say while laughing quietly. "If you're busyâand you look like you areâI could deliver it for you."
"Really?" She says excitedly while bending at the knees, then springing up. "That would just beâso great! I have so much to get to. And there's thisâ"
You hate to interrupt her, truly, but it's probably best that the requested image is delivered sooner rather than later. Slipping it from Mel's hands, you grant her a reassuring nod. "No problem. I love going up there. Consider it done."
You're practically glowing by the time you make it back to the elevator.
Holding and kissing babies, as well as talking neonatal medicine and pregnancy with the fine doctors upstairs always puts you in a chipper mood. Plus, there'd been chocolate chip cookies in their break room, which you'd helped yourself to a couple of before reluctantly heading back the way you came.
It's not that you don't love the Pittâawful name for it, really, if not also terribly fittingâbut little ones and expectant mothers are where your heart truly lies, you're quickly coming to learn. Everything is just so...pink and squishy up there, and smells like baby powder. Such a pleasant place.
You certainly prefer that over pools of blood and erratic drunkards running half-naked through the common area downstairs.
Bouncing happily on the balls of your feet, you wait for the elevator to reach the floor you're currently on, and just as you make to sweep inside after the doors have shoved open, you pause.
With the heels of his palms planted atop the railing behind him, Dr. Park slowly lifts his head, trailing his eyes along you all the while.
"Going down?" He questions.
You chew your lip for a moment and consider turning back around and claiming you forgot something, but you're sure Robby is already looking for you. He won't be pleased if you're gone any longer than is necessary.
Which you've already been...
With a sigh, you come inside. "Yes," you chirp before pressing the A button.
"Not surprised," he retorts.
Your brows furrow in question, but you ultimately choose not to say anything.
He sure does seem to love his private jokes.
When the doors close, you remain at attention, watching as the floors pass by.
6
5
4
3
Park steps forward and flips the emergency stop switch, bringing the machine to a sudden halt.
Swinging around, you mean to ask him if something is wrong, until he shoves you back against a wall.
Your heart now hammering away between your breastsâterrified that you're about to be assaultedâyou open your mouth to scream, until he speaks.
"What the fuck is it about you, huh?"
Your eyes flit between his. "W-What?"
"First, you get Robby and Abbot wrapped around your goddamn finger, and now I can't get you out of my fucking head. You wanna try explaining that to me? I meet you onceâone fucking timeâand now it's all I can do to not think about bending you over the desk in my office. I'm doing paperwork, in surgeryâhell, driving myself homeâand am I concentrating on what I should be?" He slips the tip of his tongue between pursed lips before shaking his head with raised brows for emphasis. "No," he says while slamming his hand against the metal wall beside your head, causing you to squeak in fear. "All I can focus on is the thought of you."
Half of you thinks to begin blubbering like a babyâwailing for him to let you go so you can return to the EDâwhile the other half is fighting against a hysterical laugh climbing its way up your throat. Nervous response in the face of absolute fear, apparently.
Before you can do eitherâbefore you can so much as get the wiring in your brain to work properly so you can actually formulate a plan, or even string together a coherent sentence like pearls on a stringâhe leans in impossibly close while gripping your jawline firmly in his hand.
"Just one taste," he rasps. "Just one, and I can finally get you out of my system."
He doesn't ask. Instead, he merely takes when he crushes his lips painfully to yours.
Ravenously does he devour you. Forcing your lips apart with his own, his tongue plunges inside and deftly explores the cavernous space within. He runs its tip along your teeth, the fleshy walls of your cheeks, and even the solid roof of your mouth before flicking it against your own, tempting it to stir to life.
You make to slip away from him, but his other hand flies to your hip and slams it back against the wall to hold you firmly in place. "I told you before: don't fucking move," he rumbles, repeating his command from the day you treated... What was the man's name again? Quigey? Quill?
Feeling suddenly dizzy, you can no longer remember.
Working his way lower, he nips at your neck with his canines while submerging his fingers in your hair and tugging painfully against the strands.
You whimper, and it only spurs him on all the more.
Sucking at your pulse point, he wedges a knee between your thighs and plants a hand against your belly. And then he slides it lower. And lower. Andâ
Shoving him away, he stumbles back. Looking down at your pants, you're horrified to see that he untied the neat little bow you had done in the front.
He advances on you again, until you yell for him to stop.
And to his creditâas well as your surpriseâhe obeys.
With violently trembling hands, you attempt at tying a knot, only to fail miserably at the task.
"What...What were you trying toâ" You begin, but fall short when an amused look crosses his sharp features.
He chuckles darkly. "Most of us learned about sex ed well before medical school, sweetheart. Unless you're still waiting on lessons from Robby and Abbot for that, too?"
You glare at him. "I'm not the kind of girl whoâ"
"What?" He spits, interrupting. "Gets felt up in an elevator?"
He steps forward. "No, you just prefer to climb the corporate ladder by climbing on top of something else at night, I imagine. Just to indulge my curiosity: have you given it up for both your attendings yet, or are you holding out on them like your pussy is some prize to be won, so long as they give you what you want in terms of a career?"
Slap.
You reel back in horror and tense up in preparation for the gesture to be returned tenfold when he knocks you on your ass.
Instead, however, Park merely fumes while staring you down with fists clenched tightly at his sides.
You startle when he stomps forward and sends the elevator slightly reverberating from the movement. Grabbing either of your arms, he pins them above your head while lowering his lips dangerously close to your ear. Close enough that the tip of his nose swipes against your cheek. "Do not ever do that again," he growls.
You swallow thickly when you feel his erection pressing against your belly, but keep your mouth shut about it, lest he take things further. One way or another...
Finally, you nod fervently, and he releases you. Planting your hands on your knees, you double over and struggle to catch your breath. Your face is burning hot, as is another part of you, but you choose to ignore it as best you can.
After adjusting himself, he steps forward and flips the switch back into place. With a jolt, the elevator is off again.
Standing straight once moreâby God do your legs feel like jelly beneath youâyou swiftly tie two loops together to remake a bow at the front of your pants before throwing your head forward and gathering your hair into a ponytail. Messy will do just fine.
Just as the doors spread apart, you race to get as far from him as possible.
Difficult feat, since he's clearly sticking around on your floor for a bit.
You can't get past the feeling of mortification which has covered you like a veil.
Not when a shark swims but a handful of feet from where you sit, talking to Robby about God knows what.
You did nothing wrong. He came onto you. You couldn't have fought back if you wanted to! Did you want to? Yes, of course!
He's insufferable and egotistical and pretentious and mean. He's just so mean!
The steady pulse which is still going strong between your thighs clearly has different ideas about him, though. Stupid, useless thing.
Studying Robby from beneath your lashesâbecause you refuse to look at the other oneâyou trail your eyes along his handsome, weathered face and soft belly. Yes, most assuredly more your type. Stern and strict when he needs to be, and sweet on you when you deserve it.
You do so adore him.
When Park folds his arms, however, you bolt out of your chair when you catch sight of what he has.
Coming to stand beside the two of them, you stare up at him until he ackowledges you.
He hardly glances in your direction before returning to conversing with Robby, though.
"Ahem," you sayâfeigning clearing your throat.
They both grow silent.
Looking at you with a raised brow, Park doesn't say a word.
"You have something of mine," you state with an outstretched palm.
Looking at you like you're a bothersome fly who won't leave him be, he shrugs ignorantly. "Mind telling me what that might be?"
Your eyes drop to his wrist before flitting upward again. "My hair tie. You stole it the day we met a couple weeks ago, didn't you?"
He snorts incredulously while unwinding his beefy arms. "Are you accusing me of theft?"
Robby holds up his palms before half placing himself in front of you. "Alright, just calm down." He looks at Park's wrist, then turns back to you. "Sweetheart, what would Dr. Park want with one of your hair ties?"
You shrug, then gesture to him. "I have no idea, why don't you ask him?"
Robby runs a palm down his face in exasperation before turning fully toward you. "We are not making a scene out of something so miniscule," he states lowly.
You open your mouth to retort, but he cuts you off. "Honey, look at me."
You do, but while scowling.
"Let it go." He nods toward the computer station. "And finish up with your charting. We're going to be grabbing a new patient in a few once I'm done here."
You grit your teeth. Child that this bastard has turned you into, you have half a mind to throw a damn tantrumâstomping feet, screaming; the whole works.
Instead, you act the adult and get back to work.
But you've won either way, because now he's on Robby's radar.
"You wanna tell me what that was with Park earlier today?" Robby says between bites of his sub.
The two of you are currently parked in an empty lot, downing your dinner to-go, you're both that hungry after your grueling shifts. When you began whining that your stomach was hurting, Robby promptly swung into a drive-thru to order for you whatever you liked. Now, you feel quite content as you snack on toasted bread and grilled meats.
Stealing one of his fries from the cupholder between you, you munch on it momentarily before speaking. If you tell him about the elevator incident, his head may very well pop like a cherry tomato. Not that you enjoy lying to him by any means, but...it's also not like the two of you are together. You flirt while at work, and he's been driving you back and forth while your car is in the shop.
That's it.
"I told you: he stole my hair tie and I wanted it back. Yes, it seems small and stupid, but it's something I did technically purchase, which doesn't rightfully belong to him. Maybe if he was actually using it for his own hair I wouldn't have cared." You look at him. "But he isn't."
He leans his head back against the seat and takes another bite. "Why would he bother taking it in the first place? That's what I'm asking."
Truth be told, you have as much explanation as he. You don't get it either. So, he hates just the thought of you, but has presumedly been wearing something which belongs to you every day for the last couple of weeks?
Make it make sense.
You take a sip of your drink and shake your head. "Maybe he uses it as a fidget toy."
Things are soon back to smooth sailing for you. You stay attached to Robby's side during the day like usual, and bask in Jack's attention at night before you're due to go home.
There's no hide or hair of Park because he's clearly gone back to his ivory tower to stay.
Fine with you if you never set eyes on him again. But every time you pass the elevators, you can't help the stirring you feel within your loins at the sight of them.
When you try relieving the pent-up sexual frustration one night, you're just in the middle of thingsâhand firmly settled between your slick thighs while lying nakedly atop your bedâbut despite every effort to think of anyone else, such as Robby, Jack, hell even Langdon at one point, your mind keeps drifting off to him instead.
Eventually, you gave up and went to sleep, despite being so close.
You refused to give him the satisfaction, even if he'd never know it.
"Hey, Shark Bait," Santos calls from a handful of feet away.
Your head shoots up and you glare. "What?" You spit.
Sarcastically widening her eyes, she throws her hands up and turns back around. "Geeze, I'll ask somebody else, then. Try getting laid at some pointâmight be good for you."
Now being the evening, Jack mouths to Robby across the room Shark Bait?, to which he's granted a shaking head in return.
So help you God if she makes that your new nickname, you'llâ
"What seems to be the problem?" Jack inquires while straddling the seat next to you.
Boredly typing the same thing repeatedly into the computer because you're exhausted, you shrug. Your forearm rests atop the desk you sit at while your chin is positioned atop it. If your head gets any lower, Robby may very well have to carry you out of here.
Now there's an idea.
"Tired," you mumble.
He settles a palm atop your thigh, which awakens you even slightly.
"Robby says you've been in a mood all day."
"Been tired all day," you pout.
He squeezes your thigh and you whimper, wishing he'd do a great deal more than that.
"That whole Shark Bait comment have anything to do with Park?"
Groaning in irritation, you finally lay your forehead atop your arm. "He's an asshole."
He lets out a low whistle. "Never heard a foul word come from those pretty lips before. He must've really done a number on you."
"He stole my hair tie," you complain.
Jack snorts. "Please tell me that is not what this is all about."
No, you want to say. It's not. What it's about is that he has given me the female equivalent of blue balls. Something which you and Robby could easily take care of if I wasn't such a coward and finally bothered asking for as much.
"No."
Sliding his hand off your thigh, he rests it atop the back of the chair he occupies. "Honey, I can't read your mind."
Gently banging your head off your arm, you remain silent for a moment. "I'm just frustrated."
He raises a brow in interest. "This uh...frustration. Does what Santos said have something to do with it?"
You don't reply.
Wheeling closer, he speaks lowly to you. "Sweetheart, if you need a vibrator, I'd be all too happy to get you one."
Your head sprouts up so quickly that it makes you dizzy.
"Yeah, thought that'd get your attention," he says with satisfaction.
You narrow your eyes at him, which he finds to be all too adorable a look for you. Like a pissed off kitten.
Before you can think up a smart aleck reply, Robby comes over and slides a hand up your back before gently massaging your neck.
He keeps that up, and you'll curl up in his lap in one of the hospital beds before finally drifting off to sleep.
"C'mon, let me take you home."
You make to stand, but stumble slightly before falling into his side.
Jack picks up your bag and hands it to Robby, who slides onto his shoulder before holding you close and leading you outside.
When your car was first carted away on the back of a tow truck, your sense of stability went with it. How would you get around? Run errands? Get to and from work?
Your episode of spiraling was short-lived, however, when Robby caught sight of you exiting an Uber the following morning before starting your shift. He'd promptly questioned where your personal vehicle was, and when you awkwardly mumbled as to its current state and subsequent whereabouts, he told you he'd be your designate chauffer until it was made road-worthy again.
You'd thought to protest, simply because you didn't desire for him to go out of his way, waste extra gas, and be a burden on top of it all, but ultimately decided that you were selfish enough to accept his offer if it meant spending more time with him. Especially one-on-one.
So, imagine the great sense of disappointment which settles over you when you receive a call that your vehicle is ready to be retrieved and taken home.
Telling Robby is a rather interesting exchange.
"I could just rip the alternator out," he'd said with an earnest expression.
You'd giggled, assuming he was joking.
"I'm serious," he'd continued while sliding a hand down your arm. "I'm going to miss my passenger."
After assuring you at length that if you ever needed anythingânot limited strictly to a rideâyou could call him any time and he'd come running.
You were grateful to know that he cared that much.
"I mean it," Robby had reiterated in the parking lot before leaving work. Cupping your cheek in his hand, he stood oppressively close as his warm, chocolate-brown eyes gazed into yours. "Anything."
Maybe he'd hoped for more timeâa proper opportunity to ignite something more between the two of you. You had wanted him to, but if it was all mere flirtation, sided with a bit of adoring affection... You didn't want to make yourself seem like some lovestruck, dewy-eyed schoolgirl obsessed with being the teacher's pet.
So you had simply nodded while pawing gently at his soft middle.
When he leaned down, your eyes nearly fluttered closed in anticipation of a kiss. Your heart had quivered at the exciting prospect. And he did grant you one, but only on the forehead before stepping away to head home.
If one more man saw fit to tease the bundle of nerves between your legsâwhether intended or notâyou might very well end up attacking one of them in an on-call room to finally satiate your sexual needs.
Just as you've popped open the door to your car, you glance to the left and seeâthe phrase 'speak (or in your case, think) of the devil and he shall appear' comes to mindâthe very man who's kept you so riled up in the first place.
With a huff, you sink into the car and shut the door behind you. Ignoring the way your hands tremble just from the sight of Park, you click your seatbelt into place, turn the ignition over and... It makes an awful whirring sound, like it's struggling for life.
No.
Oh no.
You just got it back! Coupled with a bill you can't even bear to look at a second time...
Then again, when Jack saw you staring down at it with elbows propped up and fingers pressed into your temples as the cogs in your mind slowly rolled as you thought of the things you could sell and the ways in which you could start cutting back to cover the due costs, he'd snatched it away before settling his glasses upon the bridge of his nose and whistling quietly. "You know if you'd brought it to me or Robby instead, you wouldn't have had to pay a dime, right?"
He'd lowered his chin while looking at you from over the rim of his glasses.
"You're both already so busy. Thatâthat wasn't an option. Even if I did, I still would've had to pay for parts."
Walking over to the printer, he laid it face down before pressing the big blue button which in turn spat out another copy of it.
"I'll take care of it," he'd said while handing you the original for record-keeping.
You'd blinked before flying into a torrent of insistence that he not.
Jack had then leaned over while gripping the back of your chair. "And no, you wouldn't have paid for parts, either. Between the two of us, we make more than enough to ensure you're taken care of."
You'd chuckled nervously while leaning back. "Think of all the trouble I saved you, though."
Gripping your chin, he grew utterly serious. "Next time, it's our hands under the hood. Got it?"
You'd nodded in agreement, then watched as he tucked the bill away into his back pocket. "I find out you've paid a cent on it," he began while straightening. "And you and I will be having a talk."
You watched silently as he walked away, appreciating his unsteady gait all the while.
Throwing yourself back against the driver's seat with a groan, you squeeze your eyes shut while thinking he may just get his wish. And very soon.
After sliding your keys out of the ignition, a rapping of knuckles against the window beside you causes you to shriek. Peering out, you frown at the sight of Park waiting for you with folded arms.
Tossing your keys into the cupholder, you sigh before exiting. "Yes?" You ask while keeping the door open, lest you need to suddenly lock yourself within the safety of your vehicle's confines.
"What, Robby finally get tired of carting your ass around?"
You glower at him from beneath your lashes. "No. I just got my car back from the shop."
A smirk flits briefly across his lips. "Not a very good one, apparently." Coming around to the front, he looks at you. "Problem with women and thinking they know anything about anything with a motor."
You sneer, and he leans down and tucks his fingers under the car's grill. "Pop the hood."
You hesitate. "And how do I know you're not going to just make it worse?"
He snorts. "It is a tempting thought: the idea of you being stranded here and taking a morning shower in the sink in the women's restroom."
You shrug casually. "I'll just call Robby to come and get me. Maybe ask him to take me home with him." You grin. "Both the ER cowboys have a hard time telling me no."
He wrinkles his nose in disgust. "Course they call themselves that." Instead of telling you a second time, he chooses instead to stare you down.
With a huff, you finally oblige him. As long as it rids you of his annoying presence, you'll be happy.
"C'mere and shine a flashlight on it. Can't see shit with only the streetlight overhead."
Slipping your phone from your pocket, you come to stand next to him while illuminating the engine bay with your device.
Reaching forward, he fiddles with what on one end looks like a very odd screw before pulling it out. Marching over his vehicleâof course it's a muscle carâhe messes around in the trunk for a moment before bringing over a roll of shop rags. "Spark plugs are fuckin' filthy," he remarks before wiping it down.
Returning it to where it goes, he starts on the next one while looking at you. "Don't go back to that shop. This should've been a basic diagnostic step."
"Well, it ran fine this morning. So I'm sure they fixed the main problem," you say with a shrug.
"While leaving another one go," he spits. He shakes his head while turning away. "Sheer laziness."
You roll your eyes. Seems a simple enough fix, so you're not all that perturbed by it.
As he works, Park makes small talk with you. "Where were you coming from that day?"
You can feel your cheeks warm. He just couldn't resist the temptation of reliving it, could he?
"6th floor." You smile. "I love it there."
He huffs. "Figures. So you like kids, then?"
You nod vigorously. "I do."
"Got any of your own?" he asks while half glancing to you.
"Not yet," you reply. "But I will someday. When the right man comes along."
Finishing up, he stands back and wipes his hands with a clean towel. "Figures," he states while surveying you. "You seem the mothering type."
You narrow your eyes while crossing your arms. "I fail to see how that's a bad thing."
His eyes flit to the driver's side of the car. "Turn it over."
You shake your head, but ultimately do as you're told.
You may have a bit of a mouth on you, but he nevertheless appreciates just how obedient you are.
To your relief, the engine roars to life. Leaning back, you breathe a sigh of relief.
No restroom showers for you.
With a thunk, Park shuts the hood of your car and you switch it back off again momentarily so that you can reluctantly thank him for his assistance.
Returning to his own sedan, he tosses the shop rags back into the trunk before fetching a bottle of sanitizer and lathering his hands until they're clean and smelling of alcohol.
"Thank you," you murmur, watching him walk back over to you. "And for your peace of mind: yes, I will go somewhere else in the future for so much as an oil change."
He hums in acknowledgment to what you've said. Intent on crowding, he doesn't plant his feet until you're backed against the side of your car. "WhaâWhat're yâ"
With a neutral expression painted upon his finely carved face, he grips either of your hips in his hands before shoving them against the glass behind them. "I might've only said one taste," he drawls. "But I didn't say of what."
Leaning down, he runs the tip of his nose along your neck. "Since I'm sure there's so many other places for me to go."
Cupping you over your pants, he prods against your heat with his index and middle finger, causing you to jolt in response.
"How many times have you touched yourself thinking about me?" He rumbles.
You fight to keep your eyes open when all they seem to want to do is roll back in your head as he presses the heel of his palm to your clit.
"NâNone."
He scoffs. "Good girls know better than to lie to their betters."
You squirm beneath his hand. "Iâ"
Yanking against the bow at the front of your pants shuts you up entirely. "You want it?" He groans. "Because if you don't," he continues while slowly sinking his hand beneath the hem of your panties. "Then you're going to have to use your words and tell me as much."
Silence suddenly seems like such a preferable option to you.
Traveling lower, when his hand finally cups your bare, weeping cunt with no layers between the two of you to hinder the experience, your eyes fluttered closed while a gasp of satisfaction escapes your lips.
"God, you're fucking soaked," he growls.
Prodding against your clit with the pad of his thumb, you whine.
"Please."
He swiftly runs a single finger between your sopping folds before circling that perfect bundle of nerves with your own lubrication. "Needy little thing," he mocks before sliding the tip of his tongue up the length of your neck. "Bet it doesn't take much for you," he whispers right against your earâhis warm breath puffing against the shell of it. "Does it?" he asks before easing a single digit inside of you.
"OâOh God," you gasp.
"Just as desperate as I thought you'd be," he commentates before slipping another between your fluttering walls.
Curling the digits upwards, you practically jump onto your tiptoes.
With two fingers massaging the fleshy ledge inside of you while his thumb continues working at your swollen clit, it's all you can do not to beg him. For what, you're not sure.
To keep going? He already seems intent on that. To never stop? Tempting enough prospect. To bend you over the hood of either of your vehicles so he can have his way with you? God, what you wouldn't give just to finish around the throbbing length of his cock.
He pauses his ministrations and you begin to quietly cry in panicked frustration. "Please, please don't," you plead through teary eyes.
Having you right where he wants you at long last, he savors the moment. Brushing tears from your heated cheeks, he clicks his tongue mockingly. "Don't what?" he glances down to where half his hand is submerged in your body cavity. "Keep going?"
"No!" You cry. "Don't stop!"
He chuckles. "So pathetic," he mutters before kissing away your tears. "You'd give anything just to come on my hand in a parking lot of all places, wouldn't you?"
You've lost control of your senses. As much is confirmed when you nod so hard that something twinges in your neck.
When movement begins again, you nearly start bawling from a sense of gratitude. "Thank you, thank you, thank you," pours from your lips.
He grunts as his fingers keep beckoning forth your orgasm.
As you near your apex, you reach up and sink your nails into either of his shoulders and hold on for dear life as an overwhelming crash of white light soon explodes behind your eyelids. Your knees nearly buckle beneath you as you squeeze tightly around his slick fingers, trying to suck them inside.
Whatever it is which you say as you come undone is garbled and utterly nonsensical. But you somehow know that he understands whatever it is which you meant by it.
Removing his hand from between your legs is when you finally open your eyes. The world seems a bit hazyâblurry, evenâand your body drained of all energy.
You watch with fascination as he slips his fingers into his mouth and sucks. "Just as good as I thought," he breathes.
You try retying the front of your pants, but with your coordination now shot, you quickly give up.
Gently grabbing you by the neck, he pulls you in toward him and gives you an open-mouthed kiss, just the same as the one in the elevator.
"See you around," he says with a smirk before stalking off.
You're out of sorts for the next few daysâcrying at the drop of a hat, latching onto Robby for attention (proceeded by feeling guilty about it), berating yourself for every little mistake you make, and following Jack around like a lost puppy when he comes in early a couple days in a row for his shift...
Suffice to say that you're not yourself.
Not after what happened between you and Park.
Just like he did between your legs, he's also now burrowed into your head somehow. Like a parasite. Or a nasty insect you'd love to squash with the heel of your tennis shoe.
You don't understand what's the matter with you. Why all you want is to be held; pampered; cherished with reassuring words.
It had something to do with things afterward, you think.
One moment, you were on Cloud Nine while he fingered you to completion, and the next, you were bawling in your kitchen because your spoon fell out of your cereal bowl and onto the floor the following morning.
You decide you hate him. And that you made a mistake. Who does that in public? Anyone could've seen! Talk about a lack of self-respect...
You avoid traveling in the elevators at all costs now, instead opting for the stairs every time something needs ran here or there. Makes for good cardio. That's what you tell yourself when you're out of breath three floors up one day. You deem the sacrifice of getting a little sweaty worth it, though, if it removes almost any and all chances of you running into him.
Your dreams of never setting eyes on his stupid face ever again, which you'd like to punch like one of those inflatable clowns, doesn't last long when you run into himâliterallyâafter exiting the women's restroom one day. Bounding off his chest, you seethe while glaring up at him.
Noticing how your eyes are red-rimmed and glassyânot that he should be surprised, crybaby that you seem to beâhe folds his arms behind him. "Don't tell me the princess of the ER didn't get her afternoon nap today."
You are so past obnoxious banter with him. You go to step around him, until he gently grabs you by your wrist. "Heyâ"
Shoving his chest, he staggers back, then jeers. "Who the hell do you think you aâ"
"You left me!" You cry.
His brows furrow while his eyes flit between yours for understanding. "What?"
Your chin wobbles and you sniffle. "You got what you wanted and then you just left me there! I felt so used andâand disgusting. We didn't talk about it, or, orâ"
He snickers. "You really are a brat when you're not the constant center of attention, aren't you?"
Roaring in anger, you draw an open palm back, which he swiftly catches and pins against a wall. "What did I tell you about that?"
You pout. "I wouldn't have. Not really."
You're not so sure of that.
And then your eyes well with tears. "Why are you so mean to me?!" You wail.
"Jesus Christ," he curses lowly. "Get your fucking act together."
You only begin to cry harder.
Realization finally dawns on him then of what's come over you. And his stomach sinks.
Moron, he mentally chastises.
Drawing you into his chest, you attempt to battle against him with ineffectual fists before soon succumbing to the warmth you've been needing.
"You really are a sub, aren't you?"
You sinks your nails into his pectoral. "Why did you just call me a sandwich?" You cry.
He rolls his eyes. It's a fucking miracle you ever made it through medical school.
He sighs while settling his cheek atop your head and keeping both arms wrapped firmly around you. So help him God if so much as a janitor rounds the corner and finds him in such a compromising, and not to mention pitiful, position...
"It's called a drop. We were intimate, and instead of me sticking around like I apparently should've and giving you the attention you're clearly reeling from the loss of, this is the result: you being an emotional mess, which is becoming everybody else's problem to deal with."
"You're a mess," you mumble against his chest while snuggling against it.
"When it comes to you, apparently," he grumbles discontentedly.
You hum in satisfaction from the affection he's finally giving you. Not that you need it, of course. You still hate him and never want to see him again, but... It's rather nice to be embraced.
"I can't believe I'm saying this," he starts while running a large palm up your back.
You nuzzle against his neck. "Mm, what?"
"You are the very opposite of what I usually go after," he mumbles.
You interrupt before he can continue. "Well that's not very nice."
"Never said I had any intention of being that," Park snipes. He kisses the crown of your head. "Come to dinner with me."
You shrug in an attempt to play hard to get. "Maybe I already have plans."
He grits his teeth. He's liable to tighten his arms until he snaps you in two so you'll never be his problem again if you keep testing his patience. "I won't ask twice. Turn me down, and we're done. For good."
You frown at the ultimatum. Being given direction is nice so you're not left figuring things out on your own all the timeâit's why you're so fond of Robbyâbut taking orders? Boy, does it make your blood boil.
"Fine," you spit while clutching at his shirt.
"Fine."
Things have changed. At times, you think for the better, while others, the worst. Robby and Jack have both backed off since the entirety of the ED caught wind that Park has suddenly claimed you as his.
They're both still friendlyâkind and helpful, evenâbut no longer sweet on you like they once were. You understand why, even if you miss that aspect of your relationship with each of them.
Jack seems fond of Mohan now, and because she's so very kind, you hope something works out between them, even if you're sort of jealous... On both ends.
You might've daydreamed about kissing her once or twice...
Robby on the other hand seems a tad withdrawn. You think he's hurt, but don't know what to say or do to make it right. Loss of the affection there once was between you has been hard to take on both your ends. You're unaware of it, but he can't stop replaying the day of the joint reset. If he'd only left you with Mel tending to an abscess, this never would've happened.
He blames himself for his loss of you.
Robby had been concerned initiallyâwhether it was genuine, or because he was desperate to find a reason why you shouldn't be with Shark, is up for debateâbut because of how stoic Park is at all times, as well as the temper he's known to have, the worry was there that he would mistreat you. Not handle you like fine China as he and Jack both have.
Not that the orthopedic surgeon's disposition ever changes, but he's different with you. Softer, gentler, and more attentive. And you beam from the love he showers you with.
So Robby relinquishes what was clearly never his while throwing himself into work on his new bike, and planning an eventual trip that's been weighing on him.
Stepping over an unfamiliar threshold, Brendon's living space somehow is both exactly as you imagined it and not. You'd envisioned something industrial lookingâall high ceilings and black and grey and white coloring, made to look sterile like an OR.
Instead, there's ambient lighting, a soft couch (not made of leather, also to your shock), a collection of DVDs, which unsurprisingly includes Jaws, a kitchen with a tea kettle on the stove, and an assortment of healthy green plants littered around the space.
"Not what you had in mind?" he asks while tossing his keys into a bowl by the door.
A man with a decorative grab and go bowl? Now you are most certainly taken aback.
"No," you quip.
"What did you expect, then?" he asks while stalking toward you. "Dungeons and coffins and moats?"
You blink. "DidâDid you just quote Twilight?"
He grins before cupping your face between his hands and kissing you. "I'll give you a tour," he whispers against your lips.
He's very organized, which is to be expected, given how meticulous and detail-oriented he is. But the one thingâabove any otherâwhich you couldn't stop staring at, was a ratty old teddy bear sitting high on a shelf in his bedroom.
"My mom made it for me when I was a kid," he'd said while retrieving a t-shirt and checkered pajama pants from his dresser. "Found it in her house after she passed. I couldn't bear to part with it."
He'd shook his head without mirth. "No, I didn't intend for that to be a pun."
Padding over to him, you'd wound your arms around his waist while gazing up at the adorable children's toy. Would he like for you to sew an eye back onto it? No. That would've been for her and her alone to do. He's perfect just as he is, you deem.
"I think it's sweet. There's nothing wrong with holding onto mementos. Postcards, clothes, books, photos, toys." You shrugged. "They're important."
He cleared his throat while sinking a slightly trembling hand into your hair. "My only regret is her not getting to meet you," he said thickly.
Reaching up, you brushed a tear from his cheek. "I still can one day. If you'd like to take me to where she's buried, we'll get her her favorite flowers. Then have lunch with her and talk."
He buried his face in your shoulder then, and began to sob.
After preparing the both of you plates of fancy seafood pasta, coupled with glasses of red wine, Brendon rests his head in your lap as you each watch a movie from his couch together. Goodfellas is an excellent film, in your opinion, but all it really serves to do is make you hungry for more pasta.
Once the credits are rolling, he switches off the flatscreen before leading you into the bedroom and shutting the door behind the two of you.
You quietly pant as Brendon kisses your right inner thigh before switching to the other side and sucking against the supple skin found there.
He's been at it for the better part of an hourâletting his hands roam your naked body and his tongue your salivating mouth before sinking his head between your legs. Only, he refuses to show any amount of attention to your throbbing clit.
He's got you so wet that it's dripping on to his smooth, navy-blue sheets which smell of something dark and spicy, but every time you lift your hips and quietly whimper "please", he chuckles and blows against your sensitive bundle before mumbling "not yet" and licking at your pubic mound.
Clenching the tangled sheets beneath you, Brendon plants wet kisses from the bend of your knee all the way to the crook of your thigh. Spreading your slick labia apart with his index and middle finger, he gently blows against your swollen clit with a concentrated stream of air, which causes your back to arch and hips to buck in response.
"Always so needy," he rumbles from the foot of the bed.
You press the heels of your palms against damp lashes.
Swiping a finger through your folds just to tease you, you release a quiet sob. "Please. Please just put something inside of me."
He shakes his head, though you can barely make him out in the dark. "You're not calling the shots here, are you?"
You pout. "No."
"Didn't think so."
He lifts your left leg over his shoulder before peppering kisses down the length of it.
You curl your toes as he gets closer to your cunt, then deflate when he drops your limb back onto the mattress.
Planting two fingers between your folds, his eyes flit to you. "This what you want? Hm?"
You nod excitedly. "Yes! Yes, please."
He hums thoughtfully. "Well, if you insist," he says mockingly.
You just know he's about to piss you off even more with whatever he's about to do.
Sinking his middle finger inside of you, Brendon appreciates how your pulsating walls squeeze repeatedly around itâbut he knows it's something else which they're frantic for.
You wiggle your hips. "Can you finger me?"
He doesn't move the digitâjust leaves it lodged inside of you. "If I wanted to, I'm sure I would." He glances up to you. "But I don't," he spits.
Tangling your fingers in your hair, you throw your head back and begin to sob. "I can't take much more."
He sinks a second digit inside. "You'll take whatever I tell you to until I've had my fill."
Feeling your walls clench, your own body gives away just how much you enjoy the filthy things he says to you.
Completely hopeless that you'll get to orgasm tonight, you break into a full on weeping fit.
He sighs in relief at the sound. "There she is. That's my good girl," he drawls heatedly.
With painstaking slowness, he begins to pump his fingers in and out, in and out. "God you're making such a mess," he murmurs. "Getting it all over the sheets."
"Sorry," you whimper.
And then he smacks your pussy. "Quiet."
You bite your lower lip to obey.
This isn't the first time you two have been intimate, but it is the first time it's been in his houseâhis bed, specifically. As such, he feels wholly in control here. A safe word was decided long ago, however: hammerhead. Completely ridiculous, but better than nothing at all.
As he eases his fingers in and out of your wet heat, the sounds it makes fill the silence which surrounds you. It's humiliating, really.
You spread your legs impossibly wider.
Pulling his fingers out, you start crying again. "Oh, Godâ"
"What did I just say?" he barks.
You shut your mouth again.
You hear the shifting of clothesâthank God, he's finally undressing and ready to give you what you've been after the whole timeâand then the bed dips on either side of you. Resting back on his haunches and straddling your thighs, Brendon works at his cock with a closed fist, breathing heavily as he circles the tip with his thumb.
"This what you wanted?" he questions.
"Yes, please," you sigh.
Manuevering himself to the side, he grips both of your knees and plants your feet before spreading your legs apart. "You don't move unless you're told to."
"Yes, sir," you whisper.
Climbing atop you, he swipes the head of his weeping cock against your slick entrance, which he's made more than ready to take him.
"Wait," you say while half sitting up. Leaning back on your elbows, you study him. "You didn't put on a condom."
"I don't do condoms," he replies matter-of-factly.
Your eyes widen in horror. "WhaâHow many women have you had unprotected sex with, then? We...we used them at my place."
"None."
Your brows furrow.
You're so very perplexed.
Squeezing one of your breasts with his free hand, he explains. "I told myself that if I ever brought a woman home, I wouldn't allow anything to stand between us. Including a cheap fucking piece of rubber."
You lay back again. "How many have you brought here?" you inquire quietly.
Easing between your walls without warning, he groans. "This would be a first."
Knocking your legs apart with his knee, he circles his hips before bottoming out against your cunt.
Prodding gently against your belly, you can feel the tip of his cock.
Oh, dear God, this is heavenly...
"But, what..." You swallow thickly. "Um..."
You can't formulate a thought with him now rocking his hips rhythmically against your own.
"Will you pull out?" you ask.
"No."
Your eyes flutter closed. "Birth control doesn't alwaysâ"
He licks your lips. "Guess there's a conversation we'll need to have in the morning, then."
You slide your fingers into his hair. "Oh, yeah?"
His cock twitches at the breathless way you say that. "You wanna be a mother, don't you?"
You cup his cheek. "Someday."
"Might as well start trying now," he grunts before gripping your hips to begin pounding away.
Content Warnings: jealous kirara (poor baby), hakari is his own warning tbh, kissing, reader IS DOWN BAD. fem!reader, mentions of blood and cuts, they're lowkey looking at you for a third.
cw: 1k
I had so much fun writing this! based off this lovely request!! thank you so much for this idea, you will forever be cherish đ„°
Hakari always gives you the best scripts. You were his top fighter after all, no way in hell he wouldnât give you something you didnât win. Yeah, you tried to shy away from it⊠especially with how his girlfriend would stare at you when youâd talked to him. But itâs Hakari Kinji weâre talking about.
And suddenly, heâs inviting you to the monitoring room after a fight.
âYou got kinda roughed up there, Y/N,â Kinji chuckles, pouring you a drink you donât think youâll like. âShe looks fine to me.â Kirara butts in before you can say anything, âThere was probably no reason to invite her up here, Kin-Chan.â She argues, and you just purse your lips, looking away, I mean⊠Kirara was probably right, you were fine, maybe a bruise here ând there. âOkay? What if she wanted a drink?â Kinji rebuts Kirara, and you canât help but look down, feeling like a kid whose parents start fighting in the middle of dinner. âItâs really no big deal, like I wasnât hurt and-â
Yeah, he still invites you up after that, offering a drink, a cigarette, money, whatever. But itâs especially after one fight, he personally goes to check on you.Â
And Kirara hates that.Â
I mean, who exactly were you?
Some sorcerer, who fought well? Okay, that wasnât new.Â
But what was new, was him patching your face up after a rough fight. He made a mental note to remember the dude who went off-script as heâs dabbing cotton on your face.Â
âIâve told you, I can patch myself up, Hakari.â You state, but Hakari shakes his head, âFirst of all, youâre a friend,â Hakari mumbles, grabbing your face to get a closer look, âAnd second, youâre the reason why Iâm getting money, so shut up.âÂ
Itâs quiet, too quiet that you realize how close and intimate this is, and your heart drops, âHow is Kirara?â You ask, but suddenly you feel like thatâs a personal question, âSheâs good, jealous of you though.â He laughs, making your eyes widen, grabbing his wrist and pulling away, âWhoa- what?â Hakari doesnât say anything but shrugs, wearing that fuckass smile. âThinks youâre gonna steal me away from her,â Getting closer to your ear, âMy personal opinion? I would like to see you both be my girls.âÂ
He leaves after that; the only thing you can hear is your heartbeat and the buzz of fluorescent lights.
Itâs like Hakari purposefully planted that seed in your head, because now?
The last thing youâre seeing as you fall asleep is Kirara Hoshi's eyes.
It starts small, warm smiles here, waving at her, but she doesnât budge, telling Hakari when theyâre alone, âShe keeps smiling at me, the fuck is she smiling at me for?â, and donât get her started when she saw you pat his arm after a fight.
âWhy did you let her touch you?â Kirara interrogated, and Hakari just shrugged, smirking at her when she pouted at him.Â
âGive her a chance,â Kinji suggested, âSheâs nice, and youâd probably like her.â However, Kirara isnât hearing any of it. âYouâre just trying to make me jealous.â Kirara whines, pouting at him, âIs it working?â
Days had passed, silently trying to get Kirara on your side, and you almost started praying at one point. Trying to think of a moment or a day, you could get her alone, but that was impossible; she was always at Hakari's side, and it was starting to piss you off. Because why did his greedy ass always get to have her by his side? It was like Hakari was doing it on purpose, especially when he invited you up, smirking at you whenever he slid his hand down her waist.Â
Fuck ass Kinji Hakari.Â
It was late, and Hakari decided he needed more of whatever he was drinking, and left you two to be alone; however, not leaving without a wink to both of you.Â
Itâs awkward, and suddenly the floor looks more interesting.Â
But alas, you swallow your pride and look at her, âI really-uh- like your piercings, by the way.â
âThanks.â
âDid you dye your own hair? Or⊠yeah, okay⊠never mind.â You mumbled off, looking at your hands, mentally cursing yourself. What else could you say? Would she even listen?
âI think a pink strip would look nice on you,â Kirara mumbled, snapping your head up, surprised she even answered. âYour hair, that is, you have pretty hair.âÂ
Definitely a start.
âYeah? I donât think it would be as good as yours. What dye do you use?â Kirara doesnât notice, but youâre definitely flirting with her.Â
After that night, she started to open up more, small talk, compliments here and there.Â
âYour âKin-Chanâ is a very lucky man, yknow.â You state, one night, as Kirara decided to patch you up one night, âI know he is.â She shoots back, a small smile on her face. âYouâre very beautiful, Kirara. I seriously mean it when heâs a lucky man.â
Her body freezes, and suddenly she forgets how to clean up a cut, âOh, well, thank you. In a way, heâs lucky to have you as a fighter, yknow.â Kirara responded, moving to dab that nasty cut across your nose, âYou think so, Kirara?â âI know so.â
âAll done.â She whispers, backing away from you, buzzing from the fluorescent lights was the only sound, and both of you are quiet. You wanna say something so bad, get closer to her, talk to her more, and before she opens the bathroom door, youâre jumping off from the counter, grabbing your wrist, âYouâre the most gorgeous person I think Iâve seen, like ever. Fuck, it makes me angry that Hakari gets you all to yourself and mmf-âÂ
Sheâs kissing you.
And you really donât care about Hakari; in fact, youâre sure he sent her down here, and youâre lucky he did. (And so will he, later on.)
Sheâs pulling back before you can even kiss her back. âYou think Iâm gorgeous?â Kirara quite literally giggles, and youâre nodding your head, âFuck, yes, I do, who wouldnât?âÂ
This time, you do get to kiss her back, hands grabbing at her waist, finally making up for all the times Hakari did just that. Biting her bottom lip, for more access, and she gives you just that, moaning as you suck on her tongue, itâs like sheâs luring out every moan and whimper in your body, and you feel like youâre in heaven.Â
You pull back this time, both breathing hard, hands on each other, âI think youâre pretty too, y/n.â
Hakari isnât dumb; he sent his girl down there for a reason, and heâs not dumb when he sees Kirara with a dazed expression and now glossy lips.Â
âHave fun?â He asked, taking Kirara under his shoulder, âTold you, she was nice.âÂ
Kirara is swatting his hand off her shoulder.Â
Friday nights are your favorite, not just because youâre fighting, but because now youâre on that couch with both of them, sitting beside Kirara, as she cuddles in on your side, âYou did so well! Kin-Chan and me could see the fever within you.â She laughs, fingers going up and down your side, âI think itâs hot when youâre amped up, n/n.âÂ
Hakari's lips tug at a smile, before he slides you and Kirara to him, you now in the middle of the two. âI think itâs hot too, y/n, seeing the passionate drip off you while you fight.â
All you can do is hum, skin heating up, brain overloading from their compliments, âOh! I almost forgot!â Kirara shoots up, grabbing a bag from the corner, shoving it into your lap, âYou asked what hair dye I use, thatâs it.â As youâre opening the bag, seeing the materials you need, and it's pink hair dye.Â
Hakari was wondering what the bleach and pink dye were for, and now it made sense.Â
âYou dying your strip pink?â He asked, as Kirara bent down to choose a bubblegum pink, âIâm not.â âThen what for?â
âIâll dye it, if you want, I do still think pink would suit you.â Kirara smiles, going back to your side like she didnât just make your entire week. âCome over tomorrow, itâs a reset day anyway.â Hakari smiles, feeling like his heart may actually jump out of his chest and ruin his whole tough guy act.
And yet you canât help but think you may not be ever leaving their side, especially when weeks later, Hakari pulls you aside, âYou make Kirara a happy girl, hope you know youâre not leaving us now.âÂ
a/n: i had too much fun writing this i fearâŠ. i love me some kirara hoshi⊠oh and hakari igâŠ. đ
I do not own anything, do not copy or feed my works to A.I
summary: jack abbot has made it his life's mission to take care of you, so obviously he doesn't take it very well when he finds out you've been living on the abandoned floor of the ptmc. (3k)
characters: jack abbot / fem!reader, roommate whitsantos crumbs
contents: sugar daddy jack abbot universe, established relationship, protective!jack, hurt/comfort, cw for brief mentions of harassment and allusion to smut 18+ (MDNI)
( NAVIGATION ) | ( MASTERLIST ) | ( AO3 )
There is nothing about you that Jack Abbot wouldnât immediately notice.
He nurses a sweaty can of beer in his right fist from where he sits on the opposite side of the park bench, keeping several agonizing inches of space between you in front of the rest of your coworkers. It leaves a wet ring on the thigh of his camo fatigues when he forgets to drink it, far too busy looking at you looking at Whitaker, who rants about a hefty surcharge on his Lyft account across the way.
âI thought she was a nice old lady! How was I supposed to know she was racist?â
âWell, you know what they say,â Santos croons from beside him, cheers-ing with her near-empty can. âNo good deed, St. FuckleberryâŠâ
Jack knows youâre about to laugh before youâve even done it. Heâs got it down to a science, almost. He knows the signs too well: the way your eyes crinkle at the edges first, and the way your nose bridge scrunches slightly second. A laugh sputters from your mouth a second later, coated in sunshine and painting the starry night a vivid shade of flaxen gold.Â
The rays hit him square in the chest.
He can almost time when youâre about to take a drink, too â the way your fingers fidget around the chilled aluminum, right before your tongue darts out to wet your mouth. You tip your head back with the can to take a quick sip, then lick your lips again when you bring the beer to your lap again.
Itâs subtle and mostly unconscious, but Jack canât help but notice all of it.
The same way he canât help but notice how flustered you get when he asks, âDid you get that dress I bought you?âÂ
Your head snaps in his direction. Your eyes widen with a set of owlish blinks. The smile you had before softens slightly as your shoulders tuck in, going painfully shy in a flicker.Â
Itâs not so much the reminder that Jack scoured the internet for the butter-yellow dress Kate Hudson wore in How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days â after a passing comment you made about it during movie night some weeks back. Itâs more so the reminder that you didnât get it because you no longer had a real address to receive it at.
Because youâd rather die than tell him youâve been sleeping in the PTMC for the past week.
âUh⊠No. I-I donât think so,â you stammer.
Jackâs brows lower. âReally? The e-mail said it was delivered yesterday.â
You glance away again â fingers fidgeting, tongue darting. âMaybe it went to the wrong place?â you shrug and bring the can up to your mouth again.
Jack notices how you shift awkwardly on the bench beside him; how you struggle suddenly to meet his gaze, and how you try and fail to tune back into Whitakerâs rambling. Thereâs something more going on inside your head, something more youâre not telling him, but he figures prying after a twelve-hour shift probably isnât the best idea.
âYeahâŠâ he says slowly. âMaybeâŠâ
Thereâs a long beat of silence between you thereafter, filled by members of the dayshift exchanging staggered goodbyes. Jack takes a quick sip of his beer. He swallows hard, adamâs apple bobbing, and turns to you with the sheen of alcohol coating his lips.
âI should probably start heading out to,â he clears his throat. âWant me to walk you home?â
You fake a shy smile, instead of telling him that you have no real home to go to.
âIâm a big girl, Abbot. I think I can get there on my own,â you lilt drily. Jackâs stare hardens into an unwavering deadpan; not mean, just firm. You cave with a roll of your eyes. âYou go ahead. Iâll walk with Trinity and Whitakerâ They live closer to me, anyway.â
Jack hesitates for a lingering beat.Â
He wants to tell you that it makes him feel better when he walks with you, that sometimes he thinks he lives and breathes only to protect you, but heâs self-aware enough to know how insane that sounds. So he just nods with a slow exhale.
âOkay⊠Justâ Call me when you get home?â
You give him a soft smile that doesnât quite meet your eyes. âOf course.â
Jack takes the long way out to give you enough time to pack up your things and head out in the opposite direction with Santos and Whitaker.Â
He cuts around the block instead of heading straight out, positioning himself just far enough away from the entrance that he can still see it. When he turns the corner, he spots you brushing shoulders with Trinity and tipping your head back to laugh at something he canât hear from here.
The sound of your giggling is carried on the summerâs evening breeze, along with your words as you veer suddenly towards the side of the hospital again. âShitâ I left my keys in my locker. You guys go ahead, Iâll catch up with you.â
You slip inside through the automatic doors.
Jack straightens his back and tightens his hold on the strap of the camo bag slung over his shoulder. He gets a strange feeling in his chest that he just canât shake and decides to follow you back inside the PTMC. He figures itâs better to be safe than sorry â better to seem insane by following you like a creep instead of risking something bad happening to you, anyway.
He weaves through the noisy emergency department with strong shoulders and a sharp gaze. He checks for you in the locker room first, then the break room second, then doubles back for Shen at the workstation.
âSaid she left something up in ortho,â the attending shrugs through a short sip of his iced coffee. Then he jokes,âWhat do you wanna bet sheâs screwing around with Park the Shark?â
Jack's chest flares, but he tries not to let it faze him as he makes a beeline for the elevators.Â
He knows youâre lying â you wouldnât have said something different to Trinity otherwise â not unless you really were sneaking around with Dr. Park, that is. Jack has to shake the thought physically from his head, which Shen had unknowingly planted there, the entire ride up to the eighth floor.
No one goes up there anymore â no one other than you and Jack â and itâs the only other place he hasnât yet looked to find you. The west wing of the upper floor has been nothing short of abandoned, and is eerily quiet compared to the E.D. below, save for the faint buzzing of fluorescent lights that are bound to die out any day now.
As he passes the old rooms, left clean and untouched, he hears a faint song playing from behind a shut door. One of those old 2000s pop songs you always play in the car when youâre together. He knocks first and, when he receives no answer, pushes it slowly open with a call of your name.
This room, unlike the others, is not abandoned. Not exactly. There are blankets folded neatly on the edge of the bed; a duffel bag tucked in the corner by the nightstand; and a pile of books stacked on the windowsill. A laptop sits open on the pillows, where music spills from its speakers.
ââCause every time we touch, I get this feeling; and every time we kiss, I swear I could flyâ!â
Itâs all so organized, so lived in. Jack feels his chest tighten accordingly. He wonders how long youâve been staying here, how long youâve been lying to him.
The drumming water faucet shuts off from behind the closed bathroom door. He hears your voice behind it, singing softly to the music, and freezes when the door clicks open a few moments later.
âCanât you hear my heart beat so, I canât let you go! Want you in myââ You cut yourself off with a scream when you find a figure standing in front of your bed.Â
Your hand rises instinctively to your mouth to muffle the sound. Your chest deflates with a breath of relief when you realize itâs Jack, then tightens again when you realize that itâs Jack.Â
âFuckâŠâ you huff. âYou scared meâŠâ
Your free hand readjusts the fluffy white towel wrapped around your body, still warm from the shower and glistening with droplets of water. As the steam rolls out from behind you, he gets a whiff of your sweet body wash â and, as you shift awkwardly on your feet, he notices that youâre wearing a fluffy pair of house slippers. All of which tells him youâve been staying here for way, way longer than he initially thought.
âWhat the hell are you doing here?â Jack squints, a little harsher than he means to be.
âWhat are you doing here?â you retort. âYou scared the shit out of me.â
âI was worried about you,â the man shoots back, firm hands propped on his hips as he sways slightly on his aching prosthetic. âAnd obviously for good reasonâ What is this? Are you living here?â
Your mouth opens to argue, but you hesitate with a wavering breath in. You adjust the towel on your naked form and fight back a shiver as the humming AC cools the water on your skin.
âIâm⊠Iâm just⊠Iâm in between places right now. Thatâs all.â
Jack lets a short, disbelieving chuckle. His stern stare never wavers as you duck past him for the desk across the room, where your pajamas sit on the back of the chair.
âIn between places?â he echoes. âWhat does the even mean?â
You sigh, gaze averted, and try to get dressed without dropping your towel.
âYou remember when I told you about my creepy landlord? You know, the one who wonât stop calling me?â you ramble, sliding on a pair of underwear before reaching for your sweatpants. âWell, I was going to move to a new place, and I had already started the process of moving out, but I didnât get approved for the apartment I wantedââ
The canvas of your bare back is revealed to him when you throw the towel to the side and reach for the sweatshirt laid out before you. Your voice goes slightly muffled as you shove it over your head.
ââAnd I canât go back to my old place, obviously, so I just⊠Moved in here. You know. For the time being.â
âWhy didnât you tell me?â Jack presses. âI wouldâve helped you.â
âI know,â you roll your eyes. âBecause youâre always helping me. Because I canât do anything for myselfââ
âThatâs not what I saidââ
âYou donât have to say it,â you snap, flashing him a wide-eyed glare. âThatâs just what it is. And I canât keep going to you every single time I have a problem that needs fixing.â
Jack shrugs, oblivious. âWhy not?â
Your face twists at his confusion.Â
âBecause I canât just rely on you for the rest of my life, Jack! Thatâs notâ sustainable,â you rant, gesturing wildly with your hands. âI mean, what if you get bored of me? What if this stopsâ being fun for you, and I become a burden? Then where does that leave me?â
The words hang in the quiet, still, sweet-smelling air between you for several long moments.
Jackâs stern expression melts into something softer as a white-hot feeling sears his chest from the inside out.
âYou arenât a burden to me, honeyâ Youâve never been a burden to me,â he tells you, closing the distance between you in a few short strides.Â
You peek through your lashes to meet his gaze when he towers over you. The corner of his mouth flickers into a smile as he huffs a breathless laugh.Â
âI mean, not to sound like a selfish asshole here, kid, but this is more for me than it is for you⊠I donât buy you stuff just because you want me to; I do it because it makes me happy. I take care of you because it makes me feel goodâŠâ Jack trails off, going foreignly sheepish as he crosses his arms and bounces his shoulders in a lazy shrug. âUs being in love with each other is just a⊠super cool bonus.â
You blink up at him with wide, wet eyes. âReally?â
âYeah,â he nods. âAnd you know what would make me feel really good?â
You hesitate for a moment, eyes narrowing in suspicion. ââŠWhat?â
âIf you stopped squatting in an abandoned hospital room, and come stay with me at my place,â Jack says. âAnd if not with me, then at least in my guest room. That way, I know youâre sleeping in an actual bed. And have access to a real kitchenâ What have you been eating, anyway?â
You cower under his squinted stare.
âI donât know... Uber Eats on a good day. And whateverâs in the vending machine on a bad dayâŠâ you answer shyly. âAnd cafeteria food on a really bad dayâŠâ
Jack nods slowly, smacking his lips against his teeth.
âYep,â he deadpans. âYouâre coming home with me.â
Home, as it turns out, wasnât so bad.
You had been to Jackâs place before, to be sure, but never with the intention of staying long term. It makes the place feel a bit foreign to you as you try to find your footing within it, when you arrive with nothing but a bathroom bag and your haphazardly-packed duffel, âcause Jack assured you heâd get all the rest of it for you later.
You leave your things in his guest room while he orders you something for dinner. You eat together in his living room, like usual, and wind up inevitably in his bedroom before the night is over.Â
Casino plays on the television, bathing the dark room in its flickering neon glow. You lie on your stomach with your legs kicked up behind you, while Jack slouches against the headboard, legs spread to accommodate your body between them. He holds your right foot against his chest with a pair of wide hands, massaging the ache in the ball of it with his fingers.
âGod, I would die for that coatâŠâ he hears you mumble to yourself, as Robert De Niro slides the white fur over Sharon Stoneâs shoulders. (He makes a mental note to find that one for you, too, and send an email to recover the dress from yesterday.)
âIsnât this so much better than a hospital bed?â Jack wonders aloud.
You scoff a faint laugh, lifting your heavy head from your fist to flash him a deadpan look. âI think the floor would be better than that hospital bed.â
Jack chuckles quietly to himself before realizing, ââŠThatâs why youâve been complaining about your back so much, isnât it?â
You feel him shift behind you, bed frame creaking under his weight. Your foot falls to the mattress as he sits between your legs, careful to keep the weight off his amputated limb as he kneels on the mattress.Â
His warm, calloused hands smooth under the fabric of your sweatshirt. His thumbs dig into the unrelenting ache between your shoulder blades. You exhale a slow sigh and drop your head between your arms, melting under his touch.
You donât realize heâs leaning over you until his lips brush your neck. You fight back a shiver when his silver scruff brushes the delicate skin.
âFrom now onâŠâ Jack mumbles against you, low and quiet and just shy of menacing. âI want you to come to me the next time you need or want anything, alright? Anything.â
Your breath catches. Something warm pools in the pit of your stomach.
âDonât keep it from me⊠Donât brush me offâŠâ Jack continues with a voice like honey as his hands press firmly against your back. âCome to meâ directly. Thatâs my job now. Understand?â
You donât trust your voice, so you just nod in response. Jack can feel it with his lips still pressed against your skin. You can feel his mouth curling into a smile as his hands smooth down the length of your spine, with a tenderness that sends chills pebbling across your skin in his wake.Â
You forget how to breathe when his fingers curl in the hem of your sweatpants.Â
âWho takes care of you, honey?â he murmurs lowly in your ear.
âYou doâŠâ you hear yourself say, half-muffled with your head still bowed.
Jack grins. He pulls your bottoms and your underwear down the curve of your ass in one fell swoop.
âCanât hear you, baby,â he says in gritty monotone before sitting back on his haunches.Â
You lift your heavy head, blinking away the haze of desire clouding your vision when you glance at the man behind you. You find him kneeling there, with a hand shoved down his pajama bottoms, massaging himself the rest of the way hard.
Jack smiles wider when he catches you staring. He feels his cock twitching in his fist at your heavy-eyed and wanting gaze.
âWho takes care of you?â he echoes, more firmly this time, but with a teasing squint in his light eyes.
The corner of your mouth lifts in a mischievous half-smile. âYou do,â you repeat, more eager this time.
Jack nods once, almost approvingly so, and sighs as he squeezes hard at his stiffening cock. âHell yeah, I doâŠâ he murmurs to himself, proud.
summary: robby tells you he wants to keep things casual after you catch him flirting with noelle. he's less enthusiastic when he finds out you've been seeing his best friend. (5k)
characters: michael robinavitch / fem!reader, jack abbot / fem!reader, trinity santos, dennis whitaker, mel king
contents: established relationship, friends with benefits, jealousy, mutual pining, angst, possessive!robby, allusions to smut
FIC #5 / 20 FOR 20
( NAVIGATION ) | ( MASTERLIST ) | ( AO3 )
You and Robby were not together. Not officially, and definitely not publicly. You were hardly together privately, if you were being real honest with yourself â aside from a few stolen nights after particularly draining shifts, where heâd show up at your place with takeout and exhaustion sitting heavy in his eyes and promises of distracting you from the hard day; where heâd then wake up before sunrise and leave before you had the chance to miss him.
Casual. That was the point. Because he was an attending, and you were his resident, and Robby had already made the mistake of blurring those lines once before. âIt gets messy, sweetheart,â he murmured against your bare shoulder one night, voice heavy with sex and sleep alike. âAnd when it ends, it⊠It really fuckinâ ends, you know?â
You didnât know what he meant by that, actually. You figured he was saying that dating within the hierarchy tends to crash and burn in some way or another, but you didnât press him on the issue then. Though now you think that maybe you shouldâve.
You shouldâve told him to give this a name back then â whatever this thing was between you â because at least then youâd have a name for the feeling searing in your chest just now, as youâre forced to watch Robby flirt with Noelle on the other side of the workstation.
Youâre examining the chart glowing from the iPad in your hands, trying hard to ignore the ache in your lower back and the fact that you havenât eaten since six that morning, when the sound of Robbyâs sudden laughter graces your ears â finding you despite the buzzing chatter of the crowded E.R.Â
You glance up automatically and find him leaning against the counter, with the sleeves of his undershirt pushed up to his elbows and his stethoscope looped lazily around his neck, towering several inches over Noelle.
âYouâre getting less grumpy in your old age, Robinavitch,â the older woman quips beneath a quiet smile and the faint flush coating her caramel-colored cheeks. She arches a manicured brow in his direction, dark eyes glimmering beneath long lashes. âSomething been improving your mood lately? Or some-one?â
Your palms go clammy around the tablet in your hand. You never wanted anyone to find out that you were dating your attending, but god, your heart stops beating just to hear your name fall from his lips.
Robby laughs instead, a sharp exhale from his nose.Â
âYou always think you know everything,â he says with a shake of his head, though you can still hear the smile in his voice when he tells her, âIâm not sure your new boyfriend up in ortho would like you asking about my love life, HastingsâŠâ
âOh, I stopped seeing him ages ago,â Noelle scoffs. âHe kept calling himself an alpha male unironically, and Iâ couldnât take it anymore.â
Robby physically recoils. âJeez⊠And here I thought your taste in men improved after me.â
Their laughter entwines and lingers in the air for several lingering moments. Itâs more familiar than flirtatious, but your stomach twists with a sick feeling anyway. Because Noelle was, to put it simply, everything you werenât. She was effortlessly gorgeous and carried all that confidence in her matching pant suits and pulled-back curls. She was much closer to Robbyâs age, too, and their lengthy history is one you know you couldnât compete with if you tried.
You feel a little like a child as you watch them talk in hushed voices. You flare with all the embarrassment of one, too, when Robbyâs eyes lock suddenly with yours.
You turn away a beat too late, just in time to catch the look that flashes suddenly across his weathered features â as if heâd somehow been caught. You pretend not to notice, or otherwise care, when he dismisses himself from Noelle and closes the distance between you. He towers over you the same way he had with her, smelling like a mixture of his cologne and your bed sheets.
âHeyâŠâ he says, all casual, stuffing his hands into his scrub pockets and nodding to the tablet in your hands. âYou get that CBC back on Central Eight?â
âYep,â you deadpan, still without looking at him.Â
He flinches slightly when you shove the chart suddenly at his chest with a less-than-gentle hand. His brows lower in confusion when you turn on your heel and walk away a second later, with considerably more ire than you had that morning. (âCause youâd been complaining about some mild insomnia for a while now, so Robby fucked you to sleep the night before. He figured youâd be in a better mood today accordingly. But alas.)
âSo I take it youâre not helping with this endoscopy?â he calls after you, pulling his glasses from his shirt pocket for a better view of the screen in his hand.
âNope,â you call back, already halfway down the hall â not as his resident, but as a woman halfway scorned.
Whitakerâs eyes dart back and forth like heâs watching a tennis match â between you, Robby, and the bloodied head wound heâs watching you stitch up with practiced hands. Thereâs a heavy tension he can feel simmering in the air, snatching all the remaining oxygen out of the room. Even from where he stands behind you, peering over Trinityâs shoulder, he feels hardly shielded from the building stress.
âCall ortho for a consult for me, will ya?â Robby asks you, or rather politely commands, without looking away from the chart in his hands.
You, similarly, donât glance up from your sutures as you tell him, âYou have a pair of free hands, donât you, Dr. Robby?â
The manâs eyes dart to you in an instant, peering at you over the top of the glasses sitting low on his broad nose. His dark brown gaze glimmers with a mixture of amusement and shock as a faint smile flickers beneath his beard.
âExcuse me?â
âIâll do it!â Whitaker blurts, half-strangled by the tension, as he rushes for the red phone across the room. Itâs quite telling, the younger boy finds, that heâd rather suffer a call with Park the Shark than watch this loverâs quarrel unfold.
Robby squints as he takes a slow step towards you. His eyes flit from your deadpan face, to your gloved hands, to the balding head of the unconscious patient you stitch up.Â
âHave you eaten today?â he wonders aloud.
âAre you gonna ask if I need a nap next to?â you scoff. âIâm not a child.â
âWell, youâre kinda acting like one,â Robby says within a breathless chuckle. âSo do you wanna maybe dial the attitude back a notch?â
âSorry, Dr. Robby,â you say flatly, tying off the final stitch with sharp, methodical movements. âIâll remember to stroke your ego next timeâ Maybe then you wonât accuse me of being a bitch.â
âI wasnâtââ
A laugh sputters suddenly from Santosâ mouth before she can help it. She hides it behind her fist when Robby glares at her and pretends to cough instead.
The tension between the two of you doesnât snap until around the tenth hour of the shift, when youâre hiding from the chaos of the E.D. with the excuse of fetching more supplies from the walk-in closet. Robby enters like a dark cloud, mixing with your own storm, and threatening to create a most fatal concoction when he corners you against the shelf. (You hadnât stopped moving for about four straight hours, to be fair â this was his only real chance of getting you alone.)
âWhat the hell is your problem today?â the older man says in lieu of a greeting.
You huff and roll your eyes, shoving at a pack of saline flushes a little harder than necessary when they threaten to fall from the shelf and on top of you. Robby watches with narrowed eyes and a pair of weathered hands splayed on his hip.Â
âDid I do something to you? âCause youâve been acting crazy all dayââ
You slam the cabinet door shut with a resounding clang, so hard it refuses to latch,before spinning on your heels to face the man behind you. The glare you give him almost makes him flinch before he swallows down the instinct to.
âCrazy?â you echo through a tense jaw. âYou flirt with Noelle all day, right in front of me, and now youâre calling me crazy?â
Robby blinks owlishly back at you for several long moments.Â
You almost think you see a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth beneath his mustache, before a chuckle sputters suddenly from his lips. You flinch at the intensity of his laughter, and at the distant mania glimmering in his dark eyes.
âOh, my godââ
âDonât laugh!â you exclaim, face burning under the weight of your embarrassment.
ââThatâs what this is about?â
âYes! It is. Because I thought I was enough for you.â
His weathered features soften with a heavy sigh, though traces of his amusement still remain â equal parts fond and exhausted.Â
âOh, câmon⊠You know this wasnât supposed to be anything serious,â Robby croons gently, taking slow steps towards you. âThat was the agreement, right? Casual. So we could avoid all⊠This.â
You peer up at the man from beneath your lashes when he plants himself in front of you. You try not to melt when you catch a whiff of his dizzying cologne. âThis?â you echo.
âYeah⊠You know, all the⊠jealousy and theâ arguments,â he huffs with a lazy shrug and crosses his pale arms over his chest. âIâve been through this before, kid. Trust me. This is⊠This is whatâs best.â
Your chest sears with a mixture of red-hot anger and ice-cold jealousy. Your jaw tightens at how detached he sounds, how rational, as if he were discussing policies instead of real actual feelings. (If he was even capable of those). You want him to feel this, too â this awful, wretched jealousy clawing at your ribs from the inside out.Â
You fold your arms tightly across your chest, forcing your voice into a deadpan as hurt simmers somewhere beneath the words. âSo I can see whoever I want?â you ask him.
Robbyâs expression flickers slightly, almost imperceptibly. His adamâs apple bobs in his throat as he swallows, but his dark gaze never once wavers from yours.Â
âOf course, you can,â he tells you, though his taut voice threatens to betray him. âWeâre casual. That was the deal.â
âOkay,â you nod once and turn away from him again, giving him very little to play off of as he tries and fails to call your bluff.Â
Robbyâs forced to stare at the back of you while you pull a large pack of lap pads from the shelf. His brows knit in confusion when you spin back around to face him, mostly back to normal again, with a ghost of a polite smile dancing the edges of your mouth.
âRun these to Trauma 1 for me, will ya? Dr. Al-Hashimi needs âem for a trauma patient coming in.â
You press the package to Robbyâs chest before he can answer and walk past him for the exit before he can blink.
Three days after the fact, youâre sitting in a crowded bar a block away from the PTMC, drowning your post-shift sorrows in half-priced beers.Â
In those three days, you havenât seen Robby once outside of work. There were no more stolen kisses in empty elevators, no more lingering touches in stairwells, no more âcome overâ texts sent in the dead of night. And Robby thought it was strange, because the two of you werenât even fighting anymore â not technically, anyway â and yet you were more distant now than ever.
âQuestion,â the man murmured casually from the other side of the desk while you finished up your charting at the monitor. âIs it me youâre avoiding or just my apartment?â
âWhat?â you scoffed, still typing. âIâve just beenâ busy, Robby.â
âHmâŠâ he sighed, less than convinced.
You didnât spare him a second glance â not then and not when you took Santosâ offer of happy hour and Friday night karaoke. The girl herself returns now to the cracked pleather booth in the corner of the dingy bar, where you sit with Mel and Whitaker, after butchering another Alanis Morrissette song.Â
Her chest heaves with panted breaths under her black tank top, pale skin sticky with a thin layer of alcohol-induced sweat.
âOkay, whatâs with the long faces over here?â Trinity jokes as she steals a room-temperature fry off your plate, talking through the mouthful. âI know you and Robby are fighting or whatever, but I just gave the performance of a lifetime up there.â
You slurp nosily at the remnants of your fruity drink and nearly choke on it at the accusation. âWhat?â you cough with the thin straw still in your mouth. âWe arenâtâ fighting. What are you talking about?â
âOh, please,â Trinity scoffs and reaches for her beer. âYouâre both been acting like a couple of⊠divorced parents at soccer practice.â
âOkay, I donât even know what that meansââ
âPlaying nice in front of everyone as not to evoke suspicion, which inevitably turns the obvious tension between you from angry to sexually charged,â Mel rambles matter-of-factly. Her blonde hair sways around her jaw as she nods, left slightly crimped from her undone braid.
Your eyes flit to Whitaker then, who nods much more solemnly in agreement.
Your face burns red-hot in response. âWellâ weâre not even, like, together or anything, soâŠâ
âMhmâŠâ Santos hums with a knowing look that makes you shift uncomfortably in the booth. She takes another quick swig from the amber bottle in her hand before her gaze zeroes in on an unfortunate Whitaker. âCâmon, Huckleberry. Youâre up.â
His light eyes widen, glassy with exhaustion and alcohol alike. âIâm⊠Up?â
âYeah. Youâre doing karaoke with me. Letâs go,â Trinity says as she slides once more off the weathered vinyl. She frowns when she rises and finds the boy still sitting in place. âLetâs go, I said! We gotta get back in line before the spots fill upââ
Whitaker scrambles to follow the girl towards the stage despite his better judgment. You use that as an excuse to get another drink, tugging the skirt of your dress further down your thighs as you go. You weave through the crowd of strangers and coworkers alike until you reach the sticky wooden counter.Â
You lean your elbows against it and flash the bartender a kinda smile. âCan I get another aperol spritz, please?â
âPut that on my tab,â a familiar voice says from beside you.
Your head whips to find Jack sitting there, one chair down and nursing a sweaty amber bottle of cheap beer in his pale hand. He looks more relaxed now than you think youâve ever seen him â camo pants baggy around his legs, black t-shirt untucked from the belt, warm around the edges from the alcohol.
You feel very suddenly overdressed in your form-fitting velveteen number and cross your arms over your chest to hide beneath the loose cardigan you wear over top of it. âOh, you donât have to do thatââ
âI insist,â the older man smiles. âYou deserve it after that canthotomy you did today. You were a real trooper.â
The bartender slides a cocktail glass across the wooden surface over to you. The orange liquid threatens to slosh over the thin rim. You give him a polite grin in return. âThank you,â you tell the man, then grow considerably shier when you turn back to the attending sitting a stool down from you. âThanks, Dr. Abbot.â
âJack,â the older man corrects before bringing the lip of his bottle back up to his mouth.
âJack,â you echo softly.
The man shifts on the hard stool, keeping his prosthetic limb stretched slightly ahead of him beneath the bar. A not quite silence settles between you then, filled by the buzzing bar all around you. Your eyes cut to the stage on the far side of the room, where Santos belts the lyrics to âYou Oughta Knowâ and Whitaker stumbles over himself to get the foreign words out.Â
âI think Shen is looking for a karaoke partner,â you quip, nodding your head towards the doctor standing by the stage and flipping through the binder of song choices there.
The dim overhead lighting turns Jackâs silver curls a softer golden shade when he turns his head to follow your gaze. He grimaces instantly at the thought. âYeah, absolutely not.â
âWhy?â you laugh softly, with the thin straw dancing against your mouth. âYou scared?â
âYes,â the man answers without a second thought. âAnd Iâve been shot at beforeâ Today, evenâ And somehow karaoke still feels more terrifying.â
Your eyes squint in his direction, glittering with something foreign. âThatâs a little dramatic, donât ya think?â
âEh. Maybe a little.â
You scoff and slide into the bar stool beside him. âYou donât strike me as someone who embarrasses easily, Dr. Abbot.â
âThatâs because you only know me at work,â he quips halfway into his beer, before licking the amber sheen from his mouth. âWhere I am equal parts competent and mysterious.â
âMysterious?â you repeat skeptically.
âMm,â Jack nods with narrowed eyes and a faint smile twitching the corner of his lip. âVery tortured, you know? Very brooding.â
âAh, yesâŠâ you sigh with alcohol glittering on your lips like gloss. âThe very brooding, tortured doctor who makes dinosaur noises to win over scared children in pedes.â
Jack pauses mid-sip, pale eyes narrowing. âWell, this is newâŠâ he hums.
Your stomach flips at the way heâs looking at you. Heat crawls instantly up your neck. You feel very suddenly suffocated by the heavy cardigan on your shoulders. ââŠWhat is?â
âI donât know,â he answers with a lazy shrug, though his heavy eyes dart once down your form and up again. You donât realize, until then, that this is his first time seeing you in anything other than your dark black scrubs. âYou⊠Flirting with me.â
You exhale a breathy laugh, if only to dispel the anxiety clawing at your chest. âFlirting? Is that what this is?âÂ
âHeyâ Youâre the one who called me mysterious.â
âActually, I was clarifying if you thought you were mysterious.â
âStill counts.â
âDoes it?â you squint.
Jack smirks behind the lip of the beer bottle against his mouth. His adamâs apple bobs with a short sip before he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. âYou know⊠For a while there, I thought you hated me⊠Considering you never talked to me unless you had to.â
âYou work nights, Jackâ I donât talk to you because I see you for, maybe, twenty minutes out of my day,â you scoff, and donât realize youâve called him by his first name until his eyes glimmer with amusement. You turn away with a shake of your head as your face burns, bringing the straw back up to your mouth. âThough, Iâd be lying if I said it didnât consider itâŠâ
âOh, really?â Jack hums with raised brows. âWhatâs the verdict now, then, huh?â
You let your gaze drag over him deliberately as you ponder the question, biting at the straw between your teeth. You scan over his toned biceps, his lean stomach caged beneath his form-fitting tee, and his spread thighs that make your head spin, before meeting his eyes once more.Â
âNow,â you hum sweetly, âI think Iâm starting to understand the appealâŠâ
Jack stares at you for a long moment before he lets out a low, disbelieving laugh. The lamplight shines in his greying curls as he shakes his head. âYeah? And how does Robby feel about that?â
Your eyes harden in an instant.
Jack raises a free hand in surrender. âHey, Iâm just sayinââ He looks like he wants to put his fist through a wall any time another attending talks to you for more than thirty seconds.â
Your chest tightens unexpectedly. You swallow hard to fight the strangling feeling â of Robby, and of his laughter in the supply closet â as you shrug a lazy shoulder in response. You donât bother to lift your cardigan when it slips softly down your arm.
âItâs casual,â you tell him.
Jack studies you for a long moment. The corner of his mouth curls into a slow half-smile, and you feel your heart stuttering behind your ribcage.Â
âCasual, huh?â he hums and brings his bottle back up to his mouth. âInterestingâŠâ
Morning arrives slowly through the veiled curtains of the quiet bedroom, where pale golden light cuts softly over hardwood floors and rumpled sheets. You rouse gradually, cocooned beneath strangely heavy blankets that smell differently from your own back home â like unfamiliar detergent, cedarwood, and musky cologne.Â
For a blissful wink of a moment, you donât remember where you are. Not until you stretch your tired limbs and brush a scruffy leg with your foot, anyway.
Your breath catches. Your heavy eyes snap open. Your body prickles with heat as flashes from the night before return to you at once â of the walk home from the bar, of Jackâs laugh against your throat, of his stubble scraping your skin, of the teasing murmur in his velvety voice as he told you to cum for him.
Your thighs clench together at the memory, while a lingering ache pulses pleasantly low in the pit of your stomach.
You lift your head from the pillow and inhale sharply through your nose as your eyes scan the foreign bedroom, which you had been too busy to do the night before.Â
Thereâs an expensive-looking record player in one corner, sat beside a crate of well-loved vinyls. Thereâs a bookshelf lining the far wall â cluttered with medical textbooks, old paperbacks, and framed photos from his military days. His camo bag, etched with his name, slouches by the entrance, and over the foot of the bed, you can see his prosthetic limb lying beside your shoes.
Other than that, itâs strikingly empty, with very little decoration on the wall or bedside tables. It makes sense, you figure, for a man who is working far more than he isnât.
Your head turns in the opposite direction to find Jack sleeping soundly just beside you. The gentle rays of morning light brush over the canvas of his bare back, turning his freckles there a deeper shade of golden brown. Heâs got one arm shoved beneath the pillow he folds into his cheek and the other lying loose across the mattress â from where your waist mustâve been before you slithered out from underneath it.
Your chest pinches at the sight of him. With pride, maybe, at having conquered him. And with a pang of white-hot guilt that twists when your mind inevitably drifts to Robby.
You slide out of bed, careful not to let the mattress give too much beneath your weight. You grimace when the fabric of your t-shirt twists uncomfortably around your form, only to find that youâre wearing Jackâs shirt, which had seemingly been given to you at some point last night. It falls over your thighs when you stand, bare feet padding as you gather your discarded clothes.
You bend down to drag your underwear back up your thighs and wince when your head throbs from last nightâs cheap cocktails. With your dress and knit cardigan balled in your arm, you toe your shoes back on. Your breath hitches when the mattress shifts with a soft creak.
Jack squints when he raises his wild head. His mouth twitches when he finds you at the foot of the mattress. âYâknowâŠâ he rasps, voice rough with sleep. âIâm at least grateful youâre not robbing me before sneaking out. Thatâs very courteous of you.â
âIâm not sneaking,â you scoff. âI just⊠didnât want to wake you.â
The man inhales sharply as he twists onto his back, charcoal sheets tangling around his waist. You force yourself to look away from his lean stomach and the red claw marks you left on his scruffy chest when he stretches his toned arms above his head.Â
âThatâs sweet,â he says with a wince. âBut unfortunately, I wake up if somebody breathes wrong in the next room.â
You exhale a soft laugh.Â
Jackâs eyes soften around the edges at the sound of it. âYou workinâ today?â
âYep, in aboutâŠâ Your eyes flit to the alarm clock on his nightstand. âHalf an hour.â
âBrutal,â he scoffs.
âYouâre fault.â
âDonât say that like you didnât have a good time,â he teases with narrowed eyes, then softens slightly when you turn away. You fumble with the stubborn back of your shoe, and his chest twists at your silence. âDo you⊠Do you regret it?â
âNo,â you answer instantly.
âGood,â he hums, relaxing visibly once more into the sheets. âMe neither.â
Your stomach blooms with warmth. You shift awkwardly on your feet before him, even still. âSo, uh⊠Whatâ What now?â
âWell, feel free to use my shower, if you wantââ
âIâm serious, Jack,â you insist gently, then add, more sheepishly. âBut I will be using your shower, actually, thank youâŠâ
Jack inhales deeply, considering. âWell,â he starts carefully, âI like you. Obviously.â
Your pulse rushes like a teenage girl.
âBut,â he continues, as relief and disappointment tangle in your chest all at once. âI also know that neither of us is in the right spot for a relationship right nowâŠâ
âSo⊠Casual?â you offer lightly, mouth lifted in a tired smile.
âCasual,â Jack agrees with a firm nod and glassy eyes.
You wear the night before all over, despite your desperate attempts to hide it.
Robby notices it the moment he sees you â how relaxed you are, how happy you seem to be. Whatever had been plaguing you before is now long gone, and that alone should be enough to comfort him. But still, he canât shake the feeling that someone had gotten rid of all the aching for you â fucked it out of you the way only he could.
âYouâre in a good mood today,â he observes while signing off on the chart youâd given him.
âAm I?â you hum.
âYeah,â he nods, clicking his pen with his thumb. He glances at you over the top of his glasses before averting his gaze once more. âWhatâd you get up to last night, huh?â
âNothing,â you shrug. âOther than watching Santos butcher Alanis Morrissetteâs discography at karaoke⊠Maybe I just slept well.â
âYou usually only do that at my place.â
Your brows furrow when he passes the clipboard back to you. âIâm sorryâ Are you accusing me of something, Dr. Robby?â
His mouth opens to respond â to tell you that he can smell the foreign body wash on your skin, far muskier than the delicate sweet-vanilla heâs used to. But the automatic doors across the station swish open and shut before he can.Â
Jack enters with his camo pack slung over his shoulder and brings a cool evening breeze in with him. Robby canât help but notice how your eyes find each otherâs almost instantly, clicking like magnets and lingering together like thereâs a secret that only the two of you know about. His stomach swirls with jealousy.
âLook alive, degenerates,â Jack announces in lieu of a greeting, then quiets slightly when he reaches your side. âWhatâd I miss?â
âI was just briefing Robby on last night at karaoke,â you answer with a polite smile. âAnd how I will never be able to listen to Alanis Morissette after Santosâ crimes last nightââ
âFuuuck you,â Trinity drags out from the desk beside you, still sluggish from the long day and the hangover that wonât seem to leave her.
âDonât drag me into this,â Jack quips. âI took an oath as a physician to do no harm.â
You exhale a quiet laugh. The manâs eyes soften around the edges, as though pleased at having earned the sound, before walking off towards the locker room. He leaves a trail of musky cedarwood as he goes, and Robbyâs heart drops when he finally places the scent â the one heâs been smelling on you all day.Â
The realization hit him like a truck.
His expression darkens instantly when he turns back to you.
âSupply closet,â he mutters lowly as he walks past you. âNow.â
Your stomach drops at his tone. He takes all the remaining breath from your lungs with him as he goes. Your chest stings accordingly â with a surge of pride at his jealousy, and with a pang of distant regret at his hurt. You follow behind him down the long hallway to the supply closet like a scolded child. He barely waits for the door to click shut behind him before rounding on you.
âYou slept with him?â he shouts, eyes wide and wild.
You cross your arms tight over your chest, with your head tilted inquisitively to your shoulder. âArenât you the one who said I could see whoever I want?â
âYeah, I meant random assholes at the bar,â he snaps. âNot my best fucking friend!â
An incredulous laugh sputters from your lips. âOh, so now we have rules? What happened to just being casual, huh? If you can flirt with your coworkers, why canât I?â
Robbyâs dark eyes narrow as he takes a slow step towards you. You catch a faint upward flicker of his mouth as he asks, âSo thatâs why you did it, huh? You just wanted to piss me off?â
Your anger spikes instantly. You feel it prickling red-hot beneath your scrubs. Because heâs an arrogant asshole, maybe, or maybe because a distant part of you knows that heâs right.
âNo, actually,â you tell him anyway. âBecause not everythingâs about you, Robby. I did it because Jack wanted me. Because he didnât treat me like I was just another one of his dirty secretsââ
âYeah, alright,â Robby scoffs a breathy laugh and turns away, running a pale hand through his chopped brown hair.
âBecause being with him made me feel goodââ
âI said alright!âÂ
âAw, whatâs wrong, Robby?â you coo, voice dripping with sarcasm. âDoes it bother you that somebody else wanted me?â
Robby exhales another one of his stupid laughs.
Your chest swells with a burning feeling that makes you feel like crying. âWhy is it so hard to admit that you care about me?â
âI care about you! Of course, I fucking care about you!â he exclaims, red in the face. âBecause Iâve spent months trying not to screw this up.â
âOh, please,â you roll your eyes. âSays the man who practically shoved me into someone elseâs bed.â
âOh, donât do that,â Robby squints.
âDo what?â
âAct like this is what I wantedââ
The words die in his throat when the silver knob to the closet door clicks suddenly behind him. The hinges open with a quiet squeak a second later. Your heads whip in sync to find Santos in the threshold, rubbing at her tired eyes as she steps into the room. She doesnât realize the two of you are in there until the door shuts behind her again.Â
Her wide eyes dart back and forth between the two of you for a moment. ââŠWhy does it feel like I just walked into a hostage situation?â she quips in a monotone.
âNow you know how I felt last night,â you joke back weakly.
She flips you off and walks further inside. Neither of you says a word as she retrieves a case of saline flushes and four-by-fours from the shelves. The plastic crinkles loudly in the silence.Â
âPlease. Feel free to continue,â Santos deadpans as she leaves. âI definitely wonât be listening with my ear pressed against the door.â
The entrance shuts behind her with a dull click that sounds much louder in the quiet. You let out a breath you didnât know you were holding as Robby pinches his nose between his thumb and forefinger. When he lifts his head against, his eyes zero in on you.Â
âWeâll finish this when we get home,â he tells you, firmly.
âCanât tonight,â you shrug, lying through your teeth. âI have plans.â
âYeah, not anymore, you donât.â
Your stomach does a back flip at his words, at his very sudden act of dominance that makes you feel like melting into a puddle at his feet. And judging by the newfound glint in Robbyâs dark eyes, he notices it, too.
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