summary: when an abandoned baby takes the e.r by storm, and seems to only be comforted by you, jack takes a keen interest in the maternal streak he didn't know you had. (5k)
characters: jack abbot / wife!reader, dana evans, emma nolan, michael robinavitch, whitaker and his ducklings (joy and ogilvie), baby jane doe!!!
contents: grumpy!reader, established relationship, angst, hurt/comfort, humor, not proofread cw for mentions of child abuse (r had a bad upbringing), smut 18+ ft. breeding kink!!
FIC #3 / 20 FOR 20
The smell of fresh coffee clings to the stale air of the empty break room, mixing with the stubborn scent of antiseptic that always seems to follow you and the ghost of Shen’s egg salad that he just had to pack for lunch. You sit slouched in a plastic chair at the round table, with one leg hooked over the spare one at your side, and a clipboard resting on the thigh of the other.
You hope to spend the next hour or so of your shift right here, pretending to stay busy flipping through MRI results and procedure notes until it’s time to go.
“I won’t tell anyone you’re camping out here if you promise to do the bulk of the driving to the cabin tonight,” Jack had told you when you found him in the break room, passing you the mug of steaming coffee he’d made for himself without a second thought.
The caffeine is the only thing keeping you going this far into your shift; along with the fact that you’ll be spending the rest of your Fourth of July with him in his countryside cabin — the furthest from the PTMC either of you has been since you got married.
“How about you don’t tell anyone, and you do the driving?” you propositioned, flashing the man a faux-innocent look from over the top of the rim as you brought the cup to your mouth. The fresh brew singed the tip of your tongue a bit, just enough to jerk your exhausted mind awake.
“Fine…” Jack caved with a slow huff; his first good breath all day. His following words came out slightly muffled as he leaned forward to press a fleeting kiss to your temple before walking on by you. “How much we got left on our sentence, huh? An hour? Two?”
“Sixty-four minutes, but… Who’s counting?”
“Well, that’s plenty of time for something fun to happen.” Jack turned in the doorway to flash you a knowing grin that you met with a tired scowl.
“Don’t jinx it,” you called to his retreating figure.
You’ve given enough of yourself for one night, you think; and after a rather urgent thoracotomy that nearly killed both the patient and you (though mostly in the metaphorical sense), you feel like you’re owed the small break. Now that the day shift is trickling slowly in, you’ve decided to stay hidden until somebody absolutely needs you.
You sink deeper and deeper into the plastic chair, willing yourself into invisibility, until a baby’s cry shatters the sacred quiet.
The high-pitched whine cuts through everything — your heavy exhaustion, your simmering headache, and the steady hum of the emergency department you’ve learned to tune out over the years. You drag yourself from your seat with a distant groan in the pit of your throat, ‘cause you know you won’t be able to relax until you know someone else has got it handled.
You trudge to the door and take a peek down the hallway, if only to say that you did, and find the long corridor bustling with an energy much livelier than you are. When the crowd parts, you spot Dana walking your way with something tiny swaddled in her arms — much too small to be as loud as it is now.
Her eyes light up at the sight of you.
“Dr. Abbot— Just the person I was looking for!” the older woman croons in her usual gritty monotone, with a knowing smile sitting crooked on her mouth. “We got a baby Jane Doe, ditched in the bathroom.”
Your features crumple under the weight of your exhaustion. Your head tips back to groan a long and theatrical, “No…” though your sneakers scuff the floor as you trudge her way despite yourself. “I only have one hour left on my shift— Please don’t make me do anything else.”
“Well, I also got a central line placement in Central 13,” Dana deadpans. “You know, if you’d rather not waste time takin’ care of this perfectly nice baby.”
The swaddled thing fusses when it’s shifted in her hold. Your eyes flit from its scrunched face, round and wet with tears, to the wise look in Dana’s eyes. She grins at your obvious hesitation.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
You sigh and step forward, like a martyr to the gallows. You trade the clipboard in your hand for the baby in Dana’s. She sets the thing gingerly in your hold — a warm and delicate weight between your arms, fitting just perfectly against your chest.
You had done a rotation in pediatrics before you settled on emergency medicine some years back. You know what it means to take care of a baby in the most technical sense, though none of it ever seemed to come totally naturally to you.
You move like a robot accordingly, all tense and methodical. The whining baby settles into your hold with a gentle coo anyway, like a switch suddenly flipped.
“Well, look at that,” Dana hums with an arched brow of amusement. “You’re a natural.”
“You’re evil,” you deadpan.
“So they say,” the woman quips drily, patting you on the shoulder with a warm hand. “C’mon. Show my shadow how to do a proper pedes check-up— Dr. Abbot’s not as mean as she looks, Miss Emma, I promise.”
You flash the young, fresh-faced nurse a polite smile that doesn’t quite meet your eyes before leading her towards the pediatric unit across the way. She’s made of bright smiles, braided chestnut curls, and sunshine incarnate as she scurries just behind you. She’s got a sparkling look in her dark eyes that you’re pretty sure you lost somewhere around your first week of residency.
You pass the workstation with a sort of tunnel vision zeroed in on the vibrantly painted pedes room. You nearly miss Jack standing there, leaning over the desk with his arms folded and his biceps straining against his scrub sleeves.
The silver-haired man briefs a newly arrived Robby on the morning cases and pauses at the sight of you — his whole entire life, cradling a much smaller one in her arms, with an exhausted frown on your face that you don’t bother trying to hide.
Robby traces the man’s suddenly distracted gaze over his shoulder. His brown eyes follow your form, lighting up at the sight of you the same way Jack’s do.
“Well…” the older man croons. “Would you look at that—”
“Don’t,” you cut in sharply, and don’t bother slowing your stride as you pass them.
Jack’s quiet laughter follows you across the room. His eyes do, too, as he drinks up every ounce of you and the tiny thing swaddled in your arms. He finds himself getting drunk on a craving he didn’t know he had until that very moment.
Robby’s dark eyes squint. “Why do I have a feeling that you’re mentally siphoning through a bunch of baby names right now?”
“I always liked the name Milo for a boy. And Iris for a girl— but the missus is pretty allergic to pollen, so I’m not sure she’d go for that,” Jack answers without missing a beat, as though the thought had haunted his head at least once before. He only turns to face Robby again once you’re out of view. “What do you think?”
Robby just scoffs out a laugh. “I think you’re screwed, brother.”
Baby Jane Doe is mostly stable, all things considered.
Physically, she’s perfect. She had obviously spent the bulk of her little life being properly cared for. And, if you had to guess, she spent most of the time being held — if her immediate protest at being left in the warmer had anything to say about it. Her breathy whines fill the otherwise silent room as you perform a routine evaluation with practiced hands. You pay little attention to her annoyed cries and slip into teaching mode despite your palpable fatigue.
Emma hovers just behind you, with empathy glittering in her dark doe eyes. “Gosh,” she sighs. “How sad…”
“Eh,” you hum with a lazy shrug. Your gloved fingers lift the hem of her tiny white t-shirt to check for any bruising on her soft, pale skin, or for any other markers that might indicate signs of infection. You ramble on, half-distracted, “If you think about it, this baby got pretty lucky— If it really was abandoned, I mean. Better to be left here than with a family that can’t love it properly, right?”
Emma’s eyes widen at your cynicism. She can’t shake the feeling that you’re speaking from experience as she swallows hard and nods once in response. “Right…”
The door swings open across the room. The noise of the E.D. swells for a brief moment, before muffling when it clicks shut again a second later. Robby steps in first, with Jack following close behind. The former stands on the opposite side of the warmer and keeps his suddenly softened gaze on the cooing baby before him.
Jack migrates to your side the same way he always does — never as close as he’d like to be while on the clock, but never more than a few inches away from you when he can be.
“What are we thinkin’ here, Doc?” he asks.
“Normal pulse. Normal BP,” you rattle off with an air of indifference. “She’s well-hydrated, too. No visible sign of infection, either — though I guess we can’t rule out a benign virus just yet.”
“Do you think she qualifies for Safe Haven?” Emma wonders from Robby’s side.
You shake your head, lips softly jutted. “No. Either this baby is gigantic, or it’s well past the twenty-eight-day mark for Safe Haven. Worse-case scenario at this point is obviously abandonment. She’ll likely be put in foster care after a full evaluation.”
The young girl’s face falls slightly.
You soften despite yourself.
“But,” you add, if only to make her feel a bit better. “Past experience tells me that her parents might’ve just needed a break. Maybe they— I don’t know— stepped out for a cigarette or something. God knows, I’d need one if I had to take care of an alarm clock twenty-four-seven.”
Robby scoffs a weak laugh and shakes his head. “I’ll get Lupe to make an announcement in Chairs. See if anyone’s looking for her— If you’ll excuse me,” he nods with a polite smile down at the squirming baby below before sauntering out of the room.
The baby jerks when the noise of the crowded E.R fills the room again, startled by Dana’s yelling, who seems to be telling off a rowdy patient down the way. Her wet eyes squeeze shut as her gummy mouth opens to bellow a tiny wail. You reach out to comfort the baby, if only to hear less of the thing, with a methodical palm placed against its frail chest.
It whines for a moment before softening with a contented sigh.
“Look at that… You’re good with her,” Jack mumbles, taking a step closer to peer over your shoulder — until you can smell the coffee on his breath and the musky cologne lingering on his skin. A small smile lifts the corner of his mouth as he watches you with glittering eyes. “Told ya you should’ve gone into pedes.”
You flash him an emotionless scowl. “Don’t patronize me,” you scold.
“Have you guys ever thought about having kids?” Emma wonders with a kind smile, having assumed your marital status from your matching last names and golden wedding bands. She cowers instinctively when your eyes turn to her in sync, fearful she might’ve said the wrong thing. “Or is that super rude to ask? I’m sorry—”
“No, it’s not rude at all,” Jack assures her, reaching to wrap his hands around either end of the stethoscope around his neck. It makes his freckled biceps strain against the black sleeves of his scrubs as his silver head swivels slowly to look at you. Something mischievous swims in his blue-green eyes as he lilts, “We’re just… going with the flow. Right, Dr. Abbot?”
You meet his tightlipped grin with a deadpanned look. The two of you agreed long ago that, while neither of you is totally opposed to having children, you’d also be perfectly happy living a completely childfree life.
But instead of getting into all of that with less than an hour left on your grueling shift — in front of the newest addition to the nursing team, no less — you just nod with an artificial smile.
“Right. Yeah,” you say, already inching back towards the door. The baby starts to cry again a second later, in a series of revving whines that lead to a sharp shriek. You flash an apologetic grimace over your shoulder from your place in the doorway. “You guys have fun with… all that.”
You spend the next half hour finishing up your already-completed charting. You reword, backspace, and click occasionally at your mouse — pretending to work to keep from being bothered, though it isn’t quite as foolproof as you would’ve liked. Whitaker rushes your way with one of his interns in tow, sporting a worried sort of glint in his wide puppy dog eyes that he only gets when something’s going wrong.
“Hey… Dr. Abbot. Are you— Are you busy at the moment?”
“Nope,” you answer in a monotone, without looking up from the bright-white computer screen ahead of you. “And I’d very much like to keep it that way.”
“Well, uh…” Whitaker falters, shifting awkwardly on the other side of the desk. “We— We kinda need you. In pedes.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Baby Jane Doe hasn’t stopped crying since you left,” the woman behind him says, standing several inches shorter than the boy and sporting a heavy pair of glasses and a glittering silver septum in her nose.
Your eyes dart toward the stranger — Joy Kwon, MS3, the badge on her chest reads.
“That was, like, twenty minutes ago,” you say with an incredulous twist to your features.
“Exactly,” she deadpans.
You huff and lead the duo the short distance back to the pediatric unit. The crying hits you before you’ve even crossed the threshold — a sharp, unrelenting wail that adds to the headache you’ve been nursing all day.
You find a lanky, blonde-haired man who eerily resembles Whitaker in the vibrantly painted room, though his badge reads James Ogilvie, MS4. The young med student flashes you a wide-eyed look of horror, holding the writhing baby in a visibly awkward hold.
“Please help me,” he pleads.
You don’t bother trying to hide your apathy as you trudge across the room to close the distance between you. You slip the tiny baby back into your hold, where it settles almost instantly, heavying against your chest with another breathy whine. You rock it gingerly in your arms the way you were taught to. Its wet eyes flutter slowly shut as fat tear drops trail down its reddened cheeks.
Whitaker gestures with a dazed smile. “See? Knew it. Total natural.”
You flash the boy a deadpanned look over your shoulder. “Because I’m a woman? That means I’m automatically a natural-born caretaker?”
His light eyes widen with an immediate panic. Joy tries and fails to hide her amused smile as she purses her lips to the side of her mouth. Whitaker, meanwhile, stumbles over himself to get the words out.
“W-What? No! No, not at all! I just—”
“She’s just messing with you, kid.”
Jack’s voice drifts in as he steps through the door, saving the boy from his own stuttered-out apology. He’s perhaps the only one in Pittsburgh who can decipher your usual monotone from your humorous one, which he was only able to master after years of loving you.
“Oh…” Whitaker says, deflating with a relieved sigh, though his pink cheeks are slow to lose their newfound color.
“Go check on Mr. Alvarez for me, will ya?” you tell him, jutting your chin back towards the door. “You know, since I have to take care of… this thing.”
Whitaker leaves and takes his interns with him, who trail after him in line like ducklings. They pass by Jack in the doorway, who peers at you over their heads with a pair of wide eyes.
“This thing?” he scoffs.
You bounce a shoulder in a lazy shrug. “I’m not getting attached to it.”
“It?!”
You huff and adjust the baby in your arms, with one hand resting on its diapered bottom and your other rubbing gently over its tiny back. You sway gently back and forth, far too sweetly for the following words out of your mouth.
“The entire reason I got into emergency medicine was so I could help people without having to deal with all the— baggage that comes with him.”
“Well, babies don’t have baggage, honey,” Jack laughs as he strolls slowly towards you. “They’re brand new— that’s literally their whole thing.”
“Yeah. That’s because the parents give it to ‘em through… years of psychological torment.”
Jack studies you for a long moment with a pair of squinted eyes. “I think you might be projecting a little bit here…”
“I know I am,” you scoff. “Which is why I’d be a horrible mother. ‘Cause I’d just be a mirror of my mom, and our kid would just be a mirror of me, and it’ll just be a whole cycle of… emotionless, unaffectionate women...”
You trail off with a heavy sigh, lifting your gaze from the calming baby to the man towering over you. You find him wearing a much softer gaze than you expect him to. He tilts his silver head to his shoulder, eyes narrowing and lips curling slowly.
“Our kid?”
Your eyes flick away and back again. “…What?”
“You said our kid,” Jack clarifies with a wider grin.
You roll your eyes at him despite the way your cheeks blaze beneath his unwavering stare. “Well, we are married, you know? Who the hell else would I be having kids with— Robby?”
“God, I hope not— Poor kid,” Jack quips drily before leaning in to press a soft, fleeting kiss to your temple. His silver scruff brushes our delicate skin when he pulls away, far sooner than you would’ve liked. “And, just for the record, I think you’d be an amazing mom.”
Something warm flickers in your chest at his words, like embers stoked suddenly to flame. You recoil physically from the foreign feeling, with a grimace twisting your features.
“Eugh…”
“What?”
You shake your head in response, parting from him to set the now-slumbering baby into the warmer at your side. You lay it gingerly onto the blankets before stepping away with your hands splayed out, as if it had burnt you in some way.
“It got too real for a second there,” you mutter with a look of disgust on your face. “I started feeling all… warm and… and fuzzy— I didn’t like it…”
Jack laughs.
“Yeah, that’s what they call happiness, Dr. Abbot,” he jokes in a gritty deadpan. “And I’m glad you’re finally getting to experience it after three whole years of marriage.”
Jack can’t get the sight of it out of his head. You, in the rocking chair in the corner, with the pedes room dimmed to a dull lamplight, cradling a sleeping baby to your chest and looking half-asleep yourself.
“Thought you weren’t getting attached?” he whispered into the serene silence from his place in the doorway.
“’M not,” you mumbled back, head lolled to your shoulder, eyes half-closed. “‘M just using this as an excuse to shut my eyes for a second.”
Something about it all catches him off guard. Not the baby, exactly — he’s seen a thousand babies before — held them, handed them off, charted them like any other patient in a sea of a hundred different patients. They were always temporary things to him, always someone else’s.
But then he sees you — his future, his eternity — with someone else’s baby tucked to your chest as if it had always been there. You had one hand instinctively supporting the weight of her head while your other smoothed up and down her back. And your voice, often edged with sarcasm dry enough to sand wood, had softened into something warm and low and honeyed. And the seemingly orphaned baby, who could cry loud enough to rattle glass, goes instantly still in your arms like it finds sanctuary in you alone.
It does nothing more than pique his curiosity at first — the idea of having kids with you, of how great a mom you would be — which isn’t a completely rare thought, but one that is typically fleeting. But then the thought lingers. Festers. Settles somewhere in the pit of his chest until he can’t breathe without thinking about it.
By the time you’ve settled in the empty cabin, six hours away from the PTMC, the desire has rooted itself somewhere far deeper than he’d like to admit.
Jack, freshly showered, reclines on the clean sheets of the familiar bed, smelling of detergent and time gone by. The bedroom settles slowly into a lamplit darkness in time with the late night. Fireworks crackle faintly in the distance, in mere echoes rolling across the midnight-colored lake outside. The quiet feels borderline suffocating compared to the never-ending chaos of the E.D.
You move through the space as if you had always been there. Jack watches you from his spot on the bed, which gives him a perfect view of you in the adjacent bathroom.
Your hair is still slightly damp from the shared shower, dripping onto the t-shirt swallowing your body whole. Your bare feet pad softly along the tile as you complete the last steps of your skincare routine; your attention flitting between your reflection in the mirror and the video playing on your phone.
It strikes him somewhere deep — swells from his stomach, to his chest, to his throat, until he gets the very sudden urge to cry.
“Should we have a kid, you think?” Jack blurts, as if the question were as simple as asking you if you wanted pizza for dinner.
You still in place in the golden-lit bathroom. Your fingers freeze on your cheeks, mid-swipe of moisturizer, as you flash him a deadpanned glare from the doorway.
“…Do you hear that?” you wonder in a monotone.
“The sound of my sperm dying?” Jack jokes
“The sound of quiet,” you correct before turning away to continue your work in the mirror. “Which doesn’t exist when you have kids. I mean, think about it— We wouldn’t have even been able to come here today if we had a kid. We wouldn’t be able to do anything.”
“Well, that’s just not true,” Jack scoffs, folding his arms behind his silver curls until his biceps strain beneath the sleeves of his black undershirt; the hem rises just enough to reveal the tuft of light brown-blonde hair trailing down into his sweatpants.
His silver scruff brushes his freckled skin when he turns his head. “Parents take their kids places all the time— or alarm clocks, as you so lovingly called them.”
“Yeah, well, not mine,” you murmur distantly as you chuck your crumpled cotton pads into the bin beside the sink. “They always told me that I was the reason we couldn’t afford to do anything. ‘Cause apparently feed and clothing me was such a burden to them— as if I asked to be here.”
“Your parents were just assholes, babe.”
“The crazy thing is, they were actually pretty nice…” you sigh, bare feet padding softly across the floor as you trudge to bed, plugging your phone into its charger on the nightstand. “Just not to me. Like I ruined them or something.”
Jack’s chest flares with a white-hot warmth that makes his eyes sting. “You know that’s not your fault, right?”
You don’t answer him with words. You just bounce your brows and tilt your head, though he struggles to tell if it’s an agreement or not. He shifts on the mattress when you pull the fluffy comforter down to slide into bed beside him, brows lowered as he keeps his unwavering stare locked on your face.
“Is that why you don’t want kids?” he wonders gently. “Because you think you’ll end up like your parents?”
You scoff, kneeling on the mattress until you settle into place next to his reclined form. “Isn’t everyone terrified of ending up like their parents?”
“Sure, but… You’re nothing like them. I mean, I saw you with that Jane Doe today— You were perfect.”
“Well, you have to say that.”
“No, I don’t,” Jack scoffs. “If I thought any differently, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now. But I know you’d be a great mom because I saw that today— Saw the rest of my whole goddamn life in that place…”
He trails off with a faraway look in his eyes.
You watch him with a suspicious glint in yours.
“…You really mean that?” you murmur, halfway shy, picking at pills of cotton on the blanket thrown over your legs. “The part about me… You know, being a good mom, I mean?”
“Of course I do,” Jack laughs like it’s obvious, eyes glittering as he peers up at you. “And it’s not like I expect you to change your mind right now— or ever, if that’s what you want. It’s just… Something to think about, you know?”
“Well…” you tilt your head and trail off with a mischievous sort of lilt in your voice. “They do say the best part of having kids is trying for one.”
Jack grins up at you, brows raised to his hairline. “Do they?” he hums lowly.
“Mhm,” you nod.
“Should we test that theory out, you think?” he teases, all giddy like a teenage boy.
You shrug lazily, t-shirt sleeping off your shoulder, pretending to remain uninterested despite the excitement flaring red-hot in your chest. “Well, what the hell else are we gonna do?”
Something about your indifference makes Jack ravenous. It always has. It makes him feel like he’s got something to prove. And there’s nothing he loves more than watching your mask slip, than watching all your attempts to tease him fade into moans you couldn’t hold back if you tried.
You melt for him first, when his long fingers slide your pretty panties to the side, dragging an orgasm from you with an expert hand — and then further when he presses his mouth to the wet spot in the thin cotton, drinking the honey you leak from him until he licks another twitching orgasm from your buzzing body.
Jack’s wearing your slick down to the silver scruff on his chin when he crawls back up your trembling form, massaging his stiff cock through his boxers. “You’re not too sensitive, are you?” he wonders gently despite the proud smile sitting crooked on his face and the honey still coating his tongue.
Your hips buck on their own accord, chasing a pleasure you’re not entirely sure you can take.
“Fuck a baby into me,” you plead in a half-drunken slurs, etching scratch marks long his back in an attempt to ground yourself. “Wanna make you a daddy, Jack— Want feel you leakin’ outta me…”
“Jesus Christ,” Jack huffs, like you’ve just punched all the air out of his lungs. “You can’t talk like that, baby— I’ll cum before we’ve even started.”
He knows it’s just the previous two orgasms talking, ‘cause you’re still on the pill after all — having a baby now is pretty much out of the equation even if you really wanted to. But Jack isn’t in the business of depriving you of what you want. So he gives you all he has for the time being.
He folds your knees to your chest with a pair of wide, calloused hands, keeping your drooling pussy spread for him as he pierces you slow. The head of his cock, glowing red with need, disappears inside your pulsing confines. His throaty groan entwines with your quiet whimpers as your cunt suckles him further in. Once he’s sheathed fully inside, he stills just against you, with the greying thatch of coarse hair above his cock nestled against your sensitive clit.
“Yeah, you feel that?” Jack croons with a breathy laugh, which turns into a moan when your nails rake down his muscular chest. “You’re so full of me, aren’t you, baby?”
Your heavy head nods lazily against the pillow, eyes bleary and wet with desire. They squeeze shut a second later, when Jack’s hips drag back, until only the head of his cock is left inside you. Then he slides back into you, slow enough that you feel every ridge and vein of his cock, and smiles when your back arches off the mattress.
“I’ll give you a baby one day, honey, I promise,” the man babbles, choppy between his measured thrusts. “Fill you up so much it’ll be leakin’ outta you for days—”
You whine, hips bucking into and away from his cock all at once.
“Yeah, that’s it… I’ll get you all round and full… ’Til you’re walking around the E.D… Showin’ everyone what I did to you— how good I make you feel…”
“Please,” you whine.
“Yeah?” Jack coos sympathetically, beneath the wet schlick, schlick, schlick sound of his thrusts inside you. “That what you want?”
You nod, head tilted back and eyes squeezed shut, though the pathetic “please, please, please”’s continue spilling from your kissed mouth.
“Take it then, baby— Take it.”
He buckles down over you, punching into you with shallow thrusts that slowly start to lose their rhythm. He talks you through every inch of your orgasm, which hits you so hard it makes tears swell in the corners of your eyes.
“That’s it, honey. Let me have it,” he murmurs in your ear as your body starts to twitch beneath his muscular one. “Give me all of it, baby. That’s it.”
Your stomach pools with heat a second later when Jack tenses on top of you, burying his groans in his neck as his jerking cock spits thick ropes of warm cum inside of your pulsing confines. He deflates on top of you when he’s finally spent, sticky body melting with yours, until both of you are melting into the tousled sheets below.
“You okay?” Jack asks through panted breaths, muffled into your sweat-slick neck.
You nod wordlessly, swallowing hard as the high fades, and shoving lazily at his bare shoulder. “Get off— I gotta go to the bathroom,” you huff.
Jack slides off your body and falls heavily onto the other side of the mattress. He watches with lidded eyes as you hurry to the bathroom with your thighs clenched together. You clean yourself up inside and return some minutes later to Jack having wiped himself off and tucking his soft cock back into his grey boxers.
“Do you wanna… talk about all that?” he asks with a knowing squint in his eyes.
“Remind me tomorrow,” you sigh, feet heavy as you trudge back into bed.
Jack scoffs a laugh, knowing you’ll likely tell him the same exact thing tomorrow, and flips off the lamp on the nightstand. The golden bedroom delves into a midnight-blue darkness.
His limbs entwine with yours on nothing short of muscle memory when he slides back into bed with you. His long legs slot with yours beneath the covers as he throws a heavy arm over your stomach, folding his free one beneath his head.
Quiet settles over the dark bedroom like a blanket.
“Actually,” you blurt into the silence, catching Jack right before he falls asleep.
“Yeah?” he mumbles, warm breath fanning over your shoulder.
“It’ll probably take about— I don’t know, three or so days for all the results to come back. You know, for Baby Jane Doe’s workup,” you murmur, half-shy. “And we’ll be back to work by then, so… I was thinking maybe we could… Never mind, it’s stupid.”
Jack lifts his head before you can shrink back into yourself, eyes flitting across your shadowed profile. “No, what is it?”
You roll onto your back to meet his darkened gaze with a far more sheepish one. “Maybe we could take her, you know? Just foster her on an emergency basis until we can find her family. Or someone who can foster her long-term. Like a…”
“A trial run?” Jack finishes for you with an audible grin. “Yeah, that’s definitely one way to pitch it, honey.”
You grimace, hiding your burning face behind your hands. “I told you, it’s stupid,” you whine, muffled behind your palms.
“It’s not stupid,” Jack assures you with a quiet laugh. He pries your hands from your face with gentle fingers wrapped around your wrist. “I think it’s a great idea. We can, you know, taste the waters about the whole baby thing and help a kid in need at the same. Sounds like a win-win to me.”
“Yeah?” you hum with a soft wince.
“Yeah,” he nods. “We can look into it when we get back.”
Your chest swells with a sunshine sort of warmth when he settles back into bed beside you, tossing a muscular arm over you to tuck you back into his bare chest. It’s a pure, unadulterated feeling of overwhelming happiness that weirdly makes you feel like crying. ‘Cause only Jack would agree to foster an abandoned baby you found at work not even a day ago; only Jack would see all of you and still love you completely, for a reason you still can’t name.
“I hate when you’re supportive,” you grouse on instinct as you bury your head back into the pillow, even though you mean the exact opposite.
Jack knows this, too, so he just grins into your hair and jokes, “Yeah, I know. It’s definitely my worst quality.”
Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x Chief Resident!Reader
When the ED finds out about you and Robby, the whispers and side-eyes start piling up. After an exhausting HR meeting, Robby reminds you exactly where you belong. With him.
warnings/tags: smut, porn with plot, minors DNI, handjob, unprotected piv, creampie, fingering, pussy eating, lots of praise, kinda protective!robby
A/N: Arianaaa what are you doing here???? I know The Pitt isn’t one of my fandoms, and it’s not where most of my mutuals are, but I felt inspired and ended up writing something anyway. It’s my first time writing for Robby and I only recently started the series, so it’s probably shit, but I wrote this specifically for me, myself, and I, and I figured why not share it?
The first HR meeting came one week after you and Robby stopped hiding.
There was no big announcement, just the two of you walking into the Pitt together, brushing your shoulders, looking like two people who’d woken up in the same bed. By the shift’s end, when you left holding hands, walking toward your car, the gossip had already caught fire.
You’d both known the risks: the sideways comments, the bureaucratic headaches. But after six months of secrecy, after deciding to move in together, sneaking around like teenagers felt ridiculous.
It all went south quickly, because the next morning, the murmurs started. Not loud or outright hostile right away, just sharp enough to disrupt the rhythm of the ED.
You were in bay 6, supervising the placement of a central line on a septic patient. The resident was doing well, she had steady hands, but every time you leaned in to give some direction, you caught the way the other residents glanced over. One of them muttering to another, low enough that it was meant to be private but wasn’t: “Of course she gets the plum procedures. Sleeping with the chief attending will do that.” Your shoulders stiffened for half a second, but you didn’t react. You were ready to face some shady comments, and you’d promised yourself you wouldn’t let it affect you. But damn it, it was hard not letting it get to you.
Later, in the break room during a rare five-minute lull, it got more direct. You were refilling your water bottle when two nurses walked in, and you managed to catch a little of their conversation before they abruptly stopped once they noticed you.
“…just think it’s unfair for the rest of the residents. He’s the chief attending. And now his little girlfriend gets all the high-acuity patients? Come on. That’s favoritism, plain and simple.”
It keeps happening throughout the day, getting worse when an intern questioned you for having two trauma 1 cases the same morning. And suddenly, the interns you were supposed to be teaching, the ones who were meant to learn from you, were doubting every single one of your orders, as if you didn’t know what you were talking about, as if you were only there because you’d slept with Robby.
"Just saying. People are talking. You get all the complex cases lately. Like that GSW yesterday? I could've handled that, but it went straight to you." One of them said.
You kept your voice professional. "The GSW went to me because I was the chief resident on shift. Now focus, you have the chance to learn, but if you want to miss it then I'll do the procedure myself."
He muttered something under his breath as he finished, but the seed was already planted in the minds of all the residents, especially those who didn’t really know Robby, who didn’t understand he would never compromise anyone’s education, no matter who he was in love with.
"She's chief resident, yeah, but come on. Sleeping with the attending? No wonder her evals are glowing. I bet her reports are padded."
"Look at her latest report. Perfect scores again. Meanwhile, the other us are struggling to get by. If that's not favoritism, I don't know what is. And assigning her the lead on that multi-trauma? Please. Someone should say something."
Dana overheard the interns talking, and slammed her tablet down. "Ladies, if you've got a problem, take it to admin. Otherwise, shut it and get back to work. We've got patients dying while you're busy gossiping."
You felt the eyes on you all afternoon, and suddenly, the place that, up until today, had felt like a second home, where you’d always moved like a fish in water, now felt like you were being slowly kicked out.
Thankfully, the people you were closest to: Mel, Santos, Whitaker, Dana, never stopped looking at you or treating you the same. They knew you, and they knew Robby. They had your back, and more importantly, they made you feel normal when everyone else made you feel like an oddity.
“You have nothing to worry about,” Mel was explaining while you both worked through charts on the computers. “The regulation isn’t specific enough when it comes to cases of fraternization between a chief attending and a chief resident. You can allege—”
“What’s up, Melancholia?” Trinity said as she approached the two of you. “Hey, Chief Slutty.” Chief Slutty, the affectionate nickname Santos had given you. “Jesus, I can’t believe people are still going on about this shit. Why do they care so much who you’re sleeping with? Every time I close my eyes I picture you and Robby going at it, and I want to rip my eyes out.”
“Some of us would like to rip our ears off when it’s three in the morning and we can’t sleep because some people are… very enthusiastic,” Whitaker added as he passed by, pushing a patient in a wheelchair. Everybody knew about Santos and Garcia, except, of course, nobody cared, since Garcia wasn’t a chief attending. Lucky them.
“Oh, deal with it, Huckleberry. You’re not even paying rent,” Santos shoot back before looking at you. “I was meaning to ask, any chance you can get your boyfriend to write me a killer recommendation later?”
“Believe me, I know what it’s like, people thinking you got here because of who you’re related to,” Victoria chirped as she stepped out of Trauma 2, pulling off her latex gloves and tossing them in the bin. “Don’t listen to them. Only you know how hard you worked for this.”
You offered her a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. Your friends did their best efforts in cheering you up, and even though Robby tried to comfort you once you were back home, you still felt uneasy.
“They’re talking,” you said quietly. “A lot. Favoritism. Unfair. Wrong. That I’m getting special treatment because we’re…”
He didn’t look up from his phone, only exhaled through his nose. “I know.”
You crossed your arms. “Doesn’t bother you?”
“It bothers me that it bothers you.” He leaned on the couch, readjusting his glasses, finally putting down his phone to look at you. “But I’ve been here long enough to know how this place works. People talk. Always have. When I got chief, half the attendings said I wasn’t ready for it. When I started pushing for better trauma protocols, they said I was power-tripping. Now it’s this.” He shrugged one shoulder. “They’ll get bored. Or they’ll get used to it. Either way, I’m not changing how I run my department because of what they say.”
You nodded slowly. “And me? They think I’m riding your coattails.”
“Well, it’s not my fault I’m extremely popular, and a damn good catch,” he said with a smirk, nudging you with his foot.
“Robby,” you started.
“Listen to me, you’re one of the best residents I’ve ever worked with. You were before we started this. You still are. Anyone who can’t see that is either blind or jealous. And if they want to question your competence because of who you’re sleeping with, that’s their problem. Not yours.”
You felt the heat flooding your face, just as much as when he’d first complimented you on our first day at work. “You really don’t care?”
“I care that it’s making your day harder.” His hand found yours, squeezing it briefly before letting go. “But I’m not sorry. I’m not going to pretend we’re not together just to make them comfortable. We’re adults. We’re professionals. We follow the rules, no sex in the hospital, no conflicts on shared cases if it comes to that. Beyond that? They can gossip all they want. Besides, it’ll be a nice change of scenery to have Gloria bugging me about something other than patient satisfaction scores,” he chuckled to himself. “Being nagged for having amazing sex with my amazing girlfriend doesn’t sound so bad.”
His bad attempt of being funny made you roll your eyes. “Stop. It’s not funny.” You playfully swatted at him. “Now I’m going to feel like every time you fuck me, it’s not because of me, but just to indirectly piss off Gloria.”
“Can’t a man do his two favorite things at the same time?” he said with a half smile right before you threw a pillow at his face.
Things got even worse by Wednesday, when you were running a chest tube on a pneumothorax patient. Robby was there, supervising, watching your technique with approval. The intern assisting you, a new guy named Mark, kept glancing between you and Robby like he was waiting for something to happen.
The tube was placed, the patient was stable, and you were securing it when Mark finally opened his mouth.
"Guess that's another perfect procedure for the chief resident," he said, just loud enough for the three of you. "Must be nice having the chief personally oversee everything. Some of us have to actually earn our stripes without a boyfriend doing us favors."
The words landed like a slap. Robby turned slowly. "Excuse me?" His voice was low, the kind that made people lean in to hear it.
Mark flushed, and he doubled down. "I just said—"
"I heard what you said." Robby stepped forward, not raising his voice, no matter how pissed he was. "You want to repeat it? Louder? So everyone can hear how little respect you have for your chief resident and the work she does?"
Mark opened his mouth, but closed it right away. Robby didn’t give him time to recover. "You're new, but you’ve been here long enough to know how this department works, Mark. You want to question a procedure? Fine. You want to question my judgment on case assignments? Go ahead. But the second you imply that she didn't earn her spot because of who she's sleeping with, you're not just talking shit about her. You're talking shit about me, about this program, and about every patient who walks through those doors expecting competent care."
Mark's face was beet red now. "I didn't mean—"
"You meant exactly what you said." Robby stepped closer. "You think favoritism got her here? Look at her numbers. Look at her complication rates. Look at the patient satisfaction scores that are higher than yours and mine combined. She's chief resident because she's the best doctor in this class. Not because I enjoy sleeping with her."
The bluntness hit you like a shockwave. Mark flinched, and you could see the heat crawling up his neck. Robby kept going. "If you can't handle the fact that two consenting adults are in a relationship, that's your problem. Not hers. Not mine. But if you ever, ever, question her competence again in my hearing, I will personally make sure you spend the rest of your rotation doing nothing but rectal exams and bed baths. And I will make sure every attending in this hospital knows exactly why."
Mark stared at the floor, swallowing hard. "I… I'm sorry."
Robby didn’t soften. "Apologize to her. Not me."
Mark finally looked at you. He looked completely miserable, like a little kid who just got scolded. "I'm sorry, Dr. That was out of line."
You nodded once. "Accepted. Go help with the MVC patients. We don't have time for this."
During the rest of the shift, you heard the echoes of Robby’s words filtering through the department:
“Did you hear what he said to Mark? Called him out right there.”
“‘I will personally make sure you spend the rest of your rotation doing rectal exams.’ Jesus.”
“He basically told the whole room he’s sleeping with her and doesn’t give a shit who knows.”
By mid-afternoon, the story has spread to every corner: trauma, the hallway beds, even the pharmacy techs are repeating variations of it. Some people sound impressed. Some sound scandalized. But apparently, everyone had an opinion. on your sex and romantic life. The ED wasn’t that different from highschool.
As the shift wound down slowly, the board got cleared, and the last critical patient got transferred to the ICU. Everyone was tired, coats already half-on, bags slung over shoulders.
But when the last update was done, Robby didn’t dismiss the group. He stayed standing, “I’ve got something to say,” he started. “And I’m only saying it once, so listen up. For the last few days, there’s been a lot of talk in this department. About me. About your chief resident. About whether she’s earned the position she’s in, the cases she runs,and the evaluations she gets. Let me be crystal clear: the answer is yes. She has. Every single time. I’ve been running the ED here for many years. I’ve watched every one of you come through these doors, some of you as interns, some as attendings. I know what competence looks like. I know what excellence looks like. And I know favoritism when I see it, because I’ve fought against it my entire career.”
He paused for a second.
“What I do not do is hand out special treatment because I’m sleeping with someone. If anything, I’ve been harder on her to make sure no one could ever question it. And still, people decided to run their mouths. To imply that her work, her outcomes, her patient care, are somehow tainted because of who she’s in a relationship with.”
A few people shifted uncomfortably. Mark was in the back, staring at the floor like he wanted it to swallow him.
“So let me make this easy for everyone. She is the chief resident because she’s the best doctor in her class. Her numbers are the best. Her patients do better. Her families remember her name. If you have a problem with that, take it up with the data. Take it up with me. But do not question her competence again. Not in my hearing. Not in this department. We’re all tired. We’re all burned out. We’ve all seen shit in these halls that would break most people. The last thing we need is to start tearing each other down over personal lives that don’t affect patient care. If you’ve got a real concern about bias, about fairness, about anything that touches a patient, bring it to me. Bring it to Gloria, though I doubt you’d want to. Bring evidence. But if you’re just looking for something to whisper about because you’re jealous, insecure, or bored? Keep it to yourself. Or find a new place to work.”
He looked around one last time, landing his eyes on you for half a second, long enough for you to see the quiet pride there, the protectiveness, before he looked away again.
“That’s it. We’re done here.”
Robby knew he had let his emotions win in that moment. He shouldn’t have said the things he said, or at least not in the way he said them. His speech was the match that struck the fire. Because on the morning of Tuesday, you were called to the HR office.
You sat, smoothing your scrubs unconsciously, folding your hands in your lap to steady the faint tremor.
"For the record, this meeting is being recorded for documentation purposes. Date: January 10, 2026. Time: 10:22 a.m. Present: Sarah Smith, HR Director, Finn Rivera, HR Assistant.” You shivered when she said your name next. “Chief Resident in Emergency Medicine at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center."
Sarah adjusted her glasses, opening a folder. "Dr., we're conducting an investigation due to a formal anonymous complaint regarding potential favoritism and conflicts of interest in the Emergency Department. The allegations involve your personal relationship with Dr. Robinavitch and its possible impact on departmental fairness, evaluations, and assignments. We'll go through a series of questions to gather your perspective. Please answer as fully and honestly as you can. Do you have any questions before we begin?"
You shook your head, and Finn started with the basics, looking at the tablet in his hand. "To confirm, can you describe the nature and timeline of your relationship with Dr. Robinavitch?"
You took a measured breath. "We're in a romantic relationship. It began about six months ago. We started as colleagues, and it developed naturally from there, outside of the hospital. We've always kept it professional at work."
Sarah nodded, jotting a note. "And how would you characterize the start of the relationship? Was it mutual and consensual from the outset?"
"Absolutely," you said it firmly. "It was entirely consensual. We were both single adults, and no power dynamics were abused. We talked about the potential complications early on, given our roles, and decided to proceed carefully. There was no pressure from either side."
Sarah's pen scratched across her pad. " Have there been any instances where you felt the relationship was not fully consensual or where professional boundaries were crossed?"
"No," you replied immediately. "Never. We've been very intentional about consent and boundaries. If anything, we've over-communicated to make sure neither of us feels pressured."
Sarah's tone shifted slightly, more probing. "Regarding the consensual nature, given the inherent power imbalance between an attending and a resident, have you ever felt that Dr. Robinavitch used his position to influence the relationship, even subtly? For example, implying better opportunities or evaluations in exchange for personal involvement?"
You met her gaze with security, leaving no room for argument. "No. Never. It was consensual because we’ve always treated each other as equals outside work. No quid pro quo, no manipulation."
Finn scrolled on his tablet. "Moving to the professional side, the complaint alleges that since the relationship began, you've received preferential treatment, such as being assigned more high-profile cases, higher performance evaluations, and perhaps leniency in feedback. How do you respond to these claims?"
You leaned forward slightly. You’d worked your ass off to get where you stood now, and you’d be damned if you let anyone underestimate you, thinking you’d earned your place by sleeping with someone instead of the endless nights of study, the brutal shifts, and the hard dedication it actually took. "I respond by saying they're not accurate. My role as chief resident already involves leading on high-acuity cases, that's part of the position, assigned by the program director based on seniority and performance. I've handled tough traumas because I'm available and capable, not because of favoritism. My evaluations have been strong since my intern year, from multiple attendings, not just Dr. Robinavitch. If you compare my pre-relationship evals to now, there's consistency. In fact, he's given me more pointed feedback recently."
Sarah tilted her head. "Can you provide a specific example of a case where you believe the assignment was merit-based rather than influenced by your relationship?"
"Sure," you said. "Take the multi-car pileup two weeks ago. I was the senior resident on shift, so I took the lead on the most critical patient, a pedestrian with abdominal evisceration. Dr. Robinavitch supervised, but he didn't hand-pick me, the triage nurse assigned me based on protocol. We stabilized the patient and got them to the OR. My outcomes on that case were with minimal complications. If it were favoritism, why would he push me harder in debriefs? He doesn't let me slide, he expects more because he knows I can deliver."
The interview stretched on for nearly forty minutes more, asking you of examples of critical feedback from Robby, and instances of perceived shielding. You provided dates, patient outcomes, and even suggested they pull resident feedback surveys where you'd been rated highly by peers.
An hour later, they called Robby in.
"Dr. Robinavitch, thank you for coming on short notice. I'm Sarah Smith, HR Director. This is my assistant, Finn Rivera. Please, take a seat."
Robby took the offered seat across from them, keeping his back straight, resting his hands loosely on the table. He wasn't here to fidget or defend himself or the relationship, he was here to state facts.
"For the record," Sarah began, her voice sounding practiced, "this meeting is being recorded for documentation purposes. Date: January 10, 2026. Time: 11:20 a.m. Present: Sarah Smith, HR Director, Finn Rivera, HR Assistant, and Dr. Michael Robinavitch, Senior Emergency Attending and Chief Attending Physician at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center."
Robby nodded once. "Understood."
Sarah adjusted her glasses, glancing at the thin folder in front of her. "Dr. Robinavitch, we're here today to discuss a formal anonymous complaint we've received regarding potential favoritism and conflicts of interest within the Emergency Department. The allegations center on your personal relationship with the current chief resident, and how it may be influencing departmental operations, including case assignments, performance evaluations, and overall fairness to other residents and staff."
Robby's expression didn't change. He'd expected this exact script. "There are no explicit rules in this hospital regarding fraternalization between chief attending and chief resident. The complains should be marked as unsubstantiated."
Sarah nodded, her tone neutral. "We're aware of that. However, following your public comments during last night's sign-out, where you addressed the department directly, additional concerns have been raised. Multiple staff members have contacted us expressing discomfort with what they perceive as a power imbalance. Some feel it creates a hostile work environment, where raising legitimate issues could lead to retaliation, based on your statements. Our role in HR is to conduct a thorough, impartial investigation to ensure compliance with hospital policies and to protect all employees."
“All of this is bullshit. This place would have more stars in Google than Disneyland if instead of concerning with what competent workers do in their personal lives,” Robby said. “They’d concern with the fact that people have to wait twelve hours just to be seen by a doctor, or with the current shortage of nur—”
“Dr. Robinavitch, I understand your frustration, but we’re here to address the nature of your relationship with your chief resident,” Sarah said, trying to calm Robby down before he launched into a full-on rant about every fucking thing that was wrong with the hospital. “If you have any other concerns, you can direct them to Dr. Underwood.”
Robby let out a laugh that lacked any real amusement. “Oh, that’d be just fantastic. Brilliant idea.”
Finn tapped his tablet, pulling up notes. "Dr. Robinavitch, could you please confirm the nature and timeline of your relationship with the Dr.?"
Robby met his eyes steadily. "We're in a romantic relationship. It started approximately six months ago. We kept it private initially, but it's become public knowledge in the last few days."
Sarah made a quick note on her pad. "And prior to this relationship, what was your professional dynamic with her?"
"She's been a resident in the program for four years. I supervised her as part of the attending rotation, same as every other resident. She was appointed chief resident last year based on her performance evaluations from the entire faculty, not just me. That decision was made before our relationship began."
"The core of the complaint alleges that your partner has received preferential treatment since the relationship began. Examples include being assigned disproportionately high-acuity cases, receiving inflated performance evaluations, and being shielded from constructive criticism that other residents face. How do you respond to these claims?"
Robby exhaled slowly, keeping his voice level. "They're unfounded. Let's break it down. First, as chief resident, she's expected to lead on high-acuity traumas, that's the role. Assignments are based on resident availability and skill level. Her complication rates are the lowest in her class, and her patient throughput is the highest. I assign her tough cases because I trust her not to screw them up, which protects patients. If other residents feel they're not getting enough exposure, they can request more rotations. No one's come to me with that until this anonymous complaint."
Finn scrolled on his tablet. "We've pulled some data on case distributions over the last six months. She has handled 28% more level-one traumas than the average resident. Does that not suggest bias?"
"No," Robby countered. "It suggests she's reliable. Check the outcomes, her mortality rates on those cases are 15% below the department average. He patient satisfaction scores are 92% higher than the rest of residents. That's not bias, that's excellence. If I were playing favorites, I'd be assigning her the easy stuff to pad her stats. Instead, she's getting the grind because she can handle it."
Sarah tilted her head slightly. "And the evaluations? The complaint notes that your written assessments of her performance are consistently outstanding, with minimal areas for improvement noted."
"Pull the full set," Robby said. "Compare my evals of her to those from other attendings, even the surgical consultants she rotates with. They're aligned. Now compare my evals of her from before we started dating to after, there’s no change in tone or scoring. If anything, I've documented more constructive feedback post-relationship to ensure transparency. For example, in October, after a multi-vehicle crash, I noted in her report that she could improve on delegating ancillary tasks during codes to free up her focus on critical interventions. That's not 'inflated', that's fair."
"Have there been instances where you've intervened in criticism directed at her from other staff?"
"Only if it's unfounded or unprofessional," Robby replied. "Like yesterday, when a resident made a snide comment implying her skills were due to who she sleeps with rather than her merit. That's not criticism, that's sexism. I addressed it publicly last night because the gossip was spreading and affecting morale. If someone has legitimate feedback on her performance, they can bring it to me. But baseless attacks? No. That undermines the team."
Sarah's expression remained neutral, but she leaned forward. "Regarding your speech at sign-out, several witnesses described it as confrontational. You mentioned disciplinary actions, like reassigning duties, for anyone questioning her competence. Some staff feel this creates a chilling effect, where they might fear retaliation for raising concerns."
Robby tightened his jaw. "I said consequences for unfounded gossip that questions her competence based on our relationship, not for legitimate concerns. But what I've seen is whispering in hallways, second-guessing her calls in front of patients, implying she's 'sleeping her way' to success. That's not a 'concern', that's sexist bullshit. And yes, I'll shut it down hard. A hostile environment? That's what the gossip creates, for her, for me, for anyone trying to do their job without personal lives being dissected."
Finn cleared his throat. "Do you believe your relationship could compromise your objectivity in supervising her or the department as a whole?"
"I've asked myself that," Robby admitted. "Multiple times. And the answer is no. We keep boundaries. If a conflict arises, like if she were up for a promotion I directly influence, I'd recuse myself. She's in her final year, so she'll be out of residency soon anyway."
Finally, Sarah leaned back. "Thank you for your time, Dr. Robinavitch. We'll review all materials, including the data you've referenced, and follow up with recommendations. In the interim, please continue your duties as usual, but remain mindful of how perceptions can impact the work environment."
Now, Robby has his hands tight on the wheel, his knuckles going white, he’s that same controlled tension you’d seen in the ED many times before when a patient was crashing and he was the only one who could keep it together. You keep glancing at him, he was staring straight ahead, like he’s still seeing whatever went down in the HR office.
You can’t stand the silence anymore. “Robby.” He doesn’t answer right away. Just exhales through his nose. “Talk to me,” you say, softer. “Please.”
He flicks the turn signal, and takes the exit toward home, but still doesn’t speak.
You reach over, resting your hand on his thigh. “You’ve been silent since you came back. What happened up there? What did she say to you?”
“Same they said to you, probably. I told them it’s bullshit. You’re the best resident we’ve got. Told them your numbers speak for themselves, patient satisfaction, outcomes, complication rates. Told them to pull every report I’ve written on you, before and after we started. There’s no difference. I’ve been harder on you, if anything, to avoid exactly this.”
“You’re pissed,” you say quietly. It’s clear in his tone, even if he tries to soften it for you.
“Yeah.” The word comes out rough. “I’m fucking pissed.”
You nod, letting that sit. “At the hospital? At the person who complained? At me?”
He shoots you a look, almost startled. “Not at you. Never at you.”
“Then talk to me. I can take it.”
He pulls into the driveway and kills the engine. The sudden silence is deafening, but neither of you moves to get out. Robby scrubs a hand over his face, his beard rasping against his palm. “I’ve spent years building this place. Years of fighting for better protocols, better staffing, better outcomes. I’ve taken every hit, budget cuts, admin bullshit, burnout, families screaming in my face. I’ve never once compromised patient care.”
You stay quiet, letting him go. “And now? Now someone’s trying to turn what we have into a fucking scandal. Like you didn’t earn every case you’ve run. Like your evals are fake. Like I’d risk the department, the patients, everything, just to hand you favors.” He laughs once, humorless. “I’ve had attendings question my decisions before. Residents push back. Families threatening me with lawsuits. But this? This feels… personal. Dirty. Like they’re trying to drag you down to make themselves feel better.”
You reach for his hand on the gear shift, lacing your fingers through his. His grip is tight, almost too tight, but he doesn’t pull away. “I hate that they’re making you doubt yourself,” you say softly. “Even a little.”
“I don’t doubt myself.” He turns to look at you. “I doubt them. I doubt the system that lets one anonymous asshole throw mud and force me to defend something that’s none of their goddamn business.” He exhales, and you can see how some of the tension bleeds out of his shoulders. "How'd yours go?"
"Long. They asked about everything, the timeline, how it started, if it was consensual from the beginning. Like they were checking for some hidden coercion or something."
Robby narrowed his eyes. "Consensual? They went there?"
"Yeah. I told them it was mutual, that I made the first move outside work. No pressure, no imbalance exploited. But it felt… invasive. Like they were dissecting us." Your voice cracks on the last words, and suddenly the frustration boils over with unexpected tears that prick in your eyes. You blink them back, but they come anyway, spilling over as you drop your head into your hands.
"Hey." Robby's pulling you into his chest in a second. His arms are solid, cupping the back of your head with one hand. "Hey, talk to me."
You shake your head against his shirt, but the words tumble out anyway. "I'm just… so frustrated. So fucking angry. I worked my ass off for this. Years of med school debt, rotations where I barely slept, and proving myself every single shift. I earned chief resident. I earned those cases, those evals. And now? Now it's all being discredited because we're together? Like none of it matters. It's bullshit. It hurts."
The sobs come harder now, muffled against him. He holds you tighter, rocking slightly, stroking slow circles on your back. "I know. I know. Fuck them, you know you earned this. The people who matter in the ED, Dana, Yolanda, Cassie, we all know it."
You pull back just enough to look at him with tears streaking your face. "What if they don't believe us? What if this tanks my fellowship apps? Or worse, what if it makes people think I'm not good enough? I've fought for every inch in that department. The late nights studying protocols, the extra simulations, even when I was exhausted. And now some anonymous coward gets to smear it all?"
Robby's touch is gentle as he wipes your cheeks with his thumbs. "Listen to me. You're not being discredited. Not by anyone who matters. Your work stands on its own, patients alive because of you, families grateful. Think of that family that sends you flowers and cupcakes every year after you saved their child, think of all the life’s you’ve positively impacted. The data backs how professional a doctor you are. HR will see that. And if they don't? We'll fight it. Together."
You sniff, leaning into his palm. "I just… I hate feeling like this."
"You're stronger than this shit. Better than it. And fuck anyone who tries to make you doubt that." He pulls you close again, kissing the top of your head, holding you until the sobs ease into shaky breaths.
Eventually you pull back, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand. "Sorry. I didn't mean to fall apart."
"Don't apologize." He brushes a strand of hair from your face. "You needed to let it out. Hell, I wanted to punch a wall after my meeting."
You manage a watery smile. "Yeah?"
"Yeah,” He says, pressing slow and open-mouthed kisses along your neck and cheek, making you shudder from head to toe.
The heat blooms instantly in your lower belly. Just that simple touch, the heat of his lips against your skin, is enough to set your whole body alight with arousal.
“Well, I’m glad you didn’t fracture your fifth metacarpal. I wouldn’t want these hands in anything less than perfect condition.”
“Oh, I know how much you like these hands,” he says, downright smug now. He slides his palm to your waist and squeezes, making you jolt against the passenger seat. “Want me to remind you exactly what they can do?”
You nod, too breathless for words. The second your head dips, he’s already moving, stepping out of the car. “C’mon. Inside the house. Now.”
You follow on legs that feel unsteady, knees weak, every step making you feel the wetness between your thighs. You can feel how soaked you already are, the slickness coating your panties, spreading with each movement. Just the promise of him, of what’s coming, has you aching.
As you cross the threshold, Robby lands his hand on your ass in a quick and playful smack. You jolt forward on your feet with a startled laugh that melts into a needy sound.
He doesn’t bother with the stairs, he’s too desperate for that, too impatient. He curls his fingers around your hip, guiding you straight toward the couch in the living room.
Only when you’re both stretched out on the couch, you under him, caged by his body, does he pull back, just far enough to look at you. His gaze drags over your face, your neck, down the line of your body still fully clothed in the soft T-shirt and leggings you threw on after your shift. There’s something reverent in the way he looks at you, like he’s memorizing you all over again, even though he’s seen you like this dozens of times.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, and with the way he says it… the way his eyes darken further, it makes heat pool in your belly.
He starts slow. His mouth finds yours in a deep and languid kiss as he slips his fingers under the hem of your shirt. He pushes it up inch by inch, trailing his lips from your mouth to your jaw, then down the column of your throat as more skin is exposed. When the shirt is bunched under your arms, he pauses to tug it over your head, tossing it aside without looking. He immediately moves his hands back to you, sliding his palms over the newly bared skin of your waist, your ribs, brushing his thumbs all over the undersides of your breasts through your bra.
Robby kisses his way down your sternum, leaving a trail of wet kisses, pausing to mouth at the swell of one breast over the lace. You instantly arch into him, threading your fingers through his dark hair almost unconsciously, and he hums in approval, the vibration making you twitch under him. With efficiency, because he’s always efficient, he reaches behind you, unhooking your bra with one hand, drawing the straps down your arms slowly as he kisses every inch of skin he uncovers.
When your breasts are bare, he stops, allowing himself just a second to look at you. His breath stutters out, and you feel his hands tremble slightly as they cup your tits, using his thumbs to circle your nipples until they peak under his touch. “Jesus,” he breathes almost to himself. “Look at you. Look at this body.”
Then his mouth is on you. He takes one nipple between his lips, sucking gently at first, barely flicking his tongue. But the tenderness doesn’t last long, he goes harder as his impatience grows, grazing with his teeth just enough to make you gasp. His hand works the other breast in tandem, kneading your soft flesh, rolling and pinching until you’re writhing beneath him, rocking your hips up against his thigh, where it’s pressed between your legs.
He switches sides, giving the same devoted attention and murmuring praise against your tits between kisses. Words like perfect, gorgeous, mine fall from his lips like he can’t help himself. He moves his free hand lower, tracing the curve of your waist, the dip of your hip, mapping every inch like he’s starved for it.
Eventually, he moves lower, kissing down your stomach, dipping his tongue into your navel, making you shiver. He hooks a hand into the waistband of your leggings, and he looks up at you, locking his eyes on yours as he peels them down slowly along with your underwear, until you’re completely bare beneath him.
He sits back on his heels for a moment, just drinking you in. The hunger in his expression is raw. It’s the same hunger you saw the first time you laid naked in front of him. “Fuck,” he says quietly, “I could look at you forever.”
You feel yourself flush under the intensity of his compliments, but there’s no embarrassment, only desire. He runs his hands up your calves, behind your knees, along the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, parting them gently. His touch is everywhere, exploring your body as if it were the first time he’s ever seen it, worshipping you like you were divine. When he finally slides his fingers between your legs, you’re already soaked, and he groans at the discovery, dropping his head to your thigh as he presses an open-mouthed kiss there.
“All this for me?” He murmures against your skin, and you can only whimper, a sound he takes as a “yes”. He starts maddeningly slow, dragging the flat of two fingers up through your slick folds in one long pass. He parts you open, spreading your swollen lips wide before sliding back down, coating himself in your wetness. Then he circles your clit with tight little spirals as he watches your face while he touches you.
He pushes those same two fingers inside you, stretching you open until your walls flutter around the intrusion. He curls them on the withdrawal, dragging over that spongy spot that makes your back arch off the couch. He keeps his thumb pressed on your clit, drawing those circles that give you overwhelming pleasure.
His forearm comes down across your right thigh, pinning it firmly to the couch, forcing you wide open for him. The position leaves you completely exposed, glistening and helpless, and he groans at the sight. You buck your hips uselessly against his hold.
“Stay still, baby. Let me play with this pretty pussy.” His pace stays torturously controlled, and when he finally lowers his mouth between your legs, you nearly cum right then.
His tongue is fucking molten. Robby starts with wide and sloppy drags at first, coating your entire cunt in wet spit as he laps you up like he’s starving. Then he narrows in, curling the tip over your swollen clit, flicking just hard enough to make your thighs jump.
“Please… right there, baby, please…” Your throaty moans come straight out of your chest. “Your tongue feels so good!”
He curls his two fingers deeper inside you, grinding his knuckles against you every time he thrusts into you. Robby groans against your pussy, like he’s getting off on the taste alone. Suddenly, he's yanking you down onto his face so there’s no escape, so he can bury his nose against your mound, fucking you with his fingers while his lips suck messily around your clit.
“Taste so goddamn sweet I could stay here all night.” He pulls away just for a second, just to admire his wrecked you look. “Keep those thighs open for me, baby.”
Every time you try to squirm, he growls and pulls you back harder, smearing your slick across his chin, his beard, his whole face glistening with you. He’s relentless and greedy, moaning louder when you clench around his fingers, like he’s chasing his own release just from drowning in your cunt.
“I’m gonna cum—fuck, don’t stop, don’t you dare stop—”
You’re trembling now, your thighs shaking around his head, and your fingers twisting tight in his hair as the pleasure takes you higher and higher. He doesn’t let up, he keeps devouring your pussy until you arch your back off the couch as the orgasm crashes over you in waves.
You gush against his mouth, and he flattens his tongue wide to catch every hot pulse of your release. Robby laps at the flood greedily, with long drags up your soaked folds, gathering the slick that’s dripping down your ass and pooling beneath you. He seals his lips around your clit again, coaxing out the last trembling spurts while you whimper and twitch.
Then he dips lower, pushing his tongue inside your fluttering hole to taste you one more time, slurping noisily at the creamy sheen coating his chin and dripping from his mouth.
He doesn’t stop until you’re boneless and totally oversensitive, tugging weakly at his hair to pull him up.
Only then does he back up your body, kissing every inch along the way, until he’s hovering over you again, his beard glistening with your arousal, and his eyes dark with satisfaction. You pull him down into a deep kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue.
Your hands frame his face, brushing your thumbs over his wet facial hair, “You’re amazing. God, Robby… you make me feel so good. Every time.”
He exhales sharply, his eyes are full of pride, the satisfaction of a man who knows he succeeded in deeply satisfying his woman. He kisses you again, slower this time, “You have no idea what you do to me.”
You smile into the kiss, sliding your fingers down his neck, over the collar of his T-shirt. He’s still fully clothed, and suddenly that feels unfair. You tug at the hem. “Your turn.”
He sits back on his heels, letting you pull the shirt over his head. You take your time, tracing the lines of his chest as they’re revealed, his broad shoulders, the muscles earned from years of hauling patients and running around the ED. You move your hands lower, untying the drawstring of his pants, pushing them down along with his boxers. He helps kick them off, and then he’s bare above you, unapologetically himself. You drop your gaze to appreciate his naked body, and the heat floods you all over again.
His cock is thick and long, the veins are standing out in pulsing ridges along the shaft, the fat head flushed dark and already glistening with precum that beads at the slit and slowly drips down the underside. It rests against the plane of his lower belly, the tip kissing just below his navel, smearing a shiny wet trail there. The dark, trimmed, but still wild, hair at the base is the same texture as the beard on his face, unkempt and curling slightly where it meets the root.
You wrap your hand around him, your fingers barely meeting around the girth. The skin is hot and smoothl, and he’s throbbing hard against your palm like it’s got its own heartbeat. You feel every ridge, every vein, the way it twitches and swells thicker in your grip. A fresh bead of precum wells up and slides over your thumb as you stroke once, lazily.
He jerks his hips forward involuntarily, fucking up into your fist like he can’t help it, chasing the pressure. The motion makes his balls draw up tight, brushing the heel of your hand.
“Fuck… your hand,” he rasps, one hand hovering over yours like he’s fighting not to grab your wrist and make you move faster. His cock pulses again, and another thick drop of precum spills over your knuckles. He shudders when you squeeze just right at the base, milking another low moan out of him. “Baby, you’re killing me.”
Robby doesn’t let you tease for long. He leans down, kissing you hard. “Need to be inside you,” he says against your lips. “Need to feel you around me.”
Without a word, he stands up and slides his strong arms under your thighs. He positions you near the edge of the couch, as he stands between your spread legs. You whimper, letting your thighs fall open wider on instinct.
He doesn't give you time to beg. Robby just steps closer, wrapping one hand around the base of his cock and the other sliding under your ass. He lifts your hips off the couch in a single effortless motion, bringing your pussy to the same level as his member. Your lower back arches off the edge of the couch, keeping your shoulders, neck, and head still pressed into the cushions, but your legs dangling uselessly in the air except where he holds you up.
The position is obscene, it feels vulnerable, you’re completely at his mercy. Your pussy hovers just above the couch, exposed and dripping.
He drags the swollen head of his cock through your drenched folds, letting the fat tip catch on your entrance, then slide up to nudge your oversensitive clit, smearing your slick all over him until his shaft glistens. Then, without warning, he lines up, notches the blunt head against your fluttering hole, and thrusts in hard.
Your back bows off the couch like you’ve been electrocuted, a cry tearing from your throat as your cunt is forced to take every thick inch at once. The stretch is fucking devastating, it always is with him, it makes your walls clamp down instinctively around the invasion. He bottoms out right away, slamming his hips flush to yours, the coarse hair at his base grinding right up against your clit, rasping over it with every tiny shift.
He stays buried deep, unmoving for a long second, letting you feel it all, the throb of his cock stretching you wide, the way his balls press tight against your ass, the way your pussy ripples and squeezes around him like it’s trying to push him out and pull him deeper at the same time.
He’s breathing hard through his nose like he’s savoring the moment. “So tight… You have no idea how good you feel.”
"Fuck—Robby—" You cry out, but he doesn't give you any more time to adjust. He starts fucking you immediately, with punishing snaps of his hips that drive him deep every time.
Each thrust jolts your whole body, making your breasts bounce, tipping your head back against the cushion. The angle is devastating, he's hitting that spot inside you on every stroke, dragging the head of his cock against your G-spot relentlessly.
You can't keep quiet, the whimpers and moans spill out of you, the words tumbling between gasps. "S-so—good—fuck—ha-ah-rder—please!"
He drops his gaze to where you’re joined, fixating his eyes on the filthy sight of his cock splitting you open, glistening with your slick every time he pulls out slow, only to slam back in deep, stretching your pussy wide around him. Your arousal is coating his shaft, dripping down his balls with every thrust.
His stare lingers there a moment longer, watching how your lips cling to him, how your clit peeks out every time he bottoms out. Then he drags his eyes higher, llanding on your tits, on the way they’re bouncing hard with the force of his hips. One hand leaves the grip on your hip, sliding up until he cups one breast, his palm engulfing it completely. His swipes his thumb over the stiff peak, sending a jolt straight to your core.
“Look at you,” he rasps. “These tits… fuck! Moving just like that while I fuck you. You’re gorgeous. You’re so beautiful. I’ll never get tired of watching you.”
He speeds up gradually, the slap of skin on skin filling the room, mixed with your gasps and his groans. Robby digs his fingers into the soft flesh of your ass as he holds you exactly where he wants you, lifted and open, helpless to do anything but take it. The couch creaks under the force, the cushions shifting beneath your shoulders.
"Look at me," he orders you, "Watch me fuck you. You feel how sloppy this pussy gets when I’m fucking you?”
You force your eyes open, meeting his gaze. His pupils are blown wide, and his face looks flushed as he pounds harder into you. The sight… the way his cock disappears into you over and over, it makes you clench hard around him.
"Fuck! yeah, just like that," he groans. "Squeeze me like that."
You do, and your walls start fluttering and gripping him on every withdrawal, trying to swallow his cock, to keep him deep inside you and milk his load. Your hands scrabble at the cushions, digging your nails into the fabric, then up to his forearms, clinging as he fucks you harder.
He angles his hips higher, tilting just right so the ridge of his cock drags relentlessly over that swollen spot inside you. The pressure makes you curl your toes, and your vision blur at the edges. You bite your lip to desperately muffle a scream, but it still rips out anyway, way too loud, echoing off the walls like you’re trying to wake the whole damn neighborhood.
“There?” Robby snaps his hips faster, keeping that same angle that has the head of his cock punching right up against your cervix, a kind of pleasure so intense it borders on pain. “Right there, baby?”
"God! Yes! Robby! right there—don't stop! Right there!" You scream, and he doesn't stop. If anything, he goes harder, thrusting into you with bruising force, making his balls slap against your ass on every thrust. The angle also makes your clit rub against his pelvis every time he bottoms out, sending bursts of pleasure spiking through you.
"Your pussy’s so fucking tight," he pants. "So wet… you’re dripping down my thighs, making a big mess—" You can feel it, your arousal is slicking his cock, coating his base, dripping down to where his fingers grip your ass. The couch is probably ruined, but neither of you cares. "Touch yourself. Play with that pretty clit, cum on my cock."
Your hand flies between your legs, finding your swollen clit and circling it fast with your fingertips. The added stimulation shatters you, your cunt clamps down hard around his cock like a vice.
“Fuck… yeah, rub that clit for me. Make yourself cum for me. You don’t know how pretty you look like this..”
"R-robby—I'm—g-gonna—"
"Do it," his thrusts start to turn erratic, he’s losing the rhythm as he chases his own edge. "Cum—let me feel it… fuck—"
You shatter. The orgasm rips through you, harder than the first, making your walls clamp down on him like a vise, pulsing in tight waves. You cry out his name, arching your back so sharp your shoulders lift off the couch as your fingers keep rubbing frantic circles over your clit to drag it out.
He groans loud, his hips stuttering as your contractions squeeze him. "Fuck—fuck—take it—Gonna pump you so full."
He buries himself deep one last time, his cock pulsing as he cums hard inside you. You feel every single fat rope of his thick load painting your walls, filling you up until it’s too much, until the pressure builds and you can feel the warmth spreading and coating every inch of you. His cock jerks with each release, the head pressed tight against your cervix like he’s trying to pump it straight into your womb. He grinds in filthy circles, rolling his hips to milk every last drop out of himself and into you.
You can feel the heat of his cum starting to leak out around his buried length, mixing with your own mess, dripping down your ass and soaking the couch beneath you. He doesn’t pull out, just keeps you pinned there while his cock softens, but still remains thick inside you, plugging you full while he catches his breath.
For a long moment neither of you moves, but after a couple of minutes he slowly lowers your hips back to the couch, careful now, easing out with a low hiss. You feel the warm trickle of his cum leaking out, pooling under you, making an even bigger mess.
Robby exhales against your neck, scraping his beard against your tender skin. “You’re fucking incredible,” his words go straight into your bones. “I can’t even begin to tell you how good you make me feel.”
Suddenly, everything else just… dissolves. The remarks from the other residents about you and Robby, the tedious HR meeting, the people who doubted your worth and your hard work. All of it vanishes.
“Better?” he whispers, brushing his lips to your ear.
You huff a quiet laugh against his skin. “Yeah. Better.”
You stay like that, wrapped around each other, the anger and sadness from the day burned away, at least for tonight. Tomorrow will bring whatever it brings. But right now, it’s just you and him.
A/N: Honestly, I don’t know if I’ll write anything else for Robby, inspiration works in mysterious ways, so we’ll see.
If you’re a moot, hi🫶🏻 If this is your first time seeing me, I usually write for Joel Miller and Tom Hardy’s characters, and I also have an updates account @cinnxmxngxrlupdates
[TRANSLATION] A Heart To Heart Talk
Yuichi Nakamura (Gray Fullbuster) x Mai Nakahara (Juvia Lockser)
Key take aways:
Gray can't always be honest with Juvia. Yes, he's a tsundere. 🤭
Gray is naturally a bit overwhelmed by how direct Juvia is, but doesn't mind spending everyday with her.
The silly moments between Gruvia are "almost stylized" aka FOR HUMOR. And pure habit. 🤪
The scenes with Juvina are important for Gray, who doesn't usually use words to express his feelings. We always said he is an action guy!! After all, he holds Juvia hand, hugs her, blushes, imagines having a son with her, and died for her multiple times. 🤷♀️
Gray noticing Juvia seemed different, declaring she's important to him, he will become a man strong enough to protect and make her his... all noteworthy!!
Gray finds good traits in Juvia. Wow, he never hated her personality! 😮 He loves her the way she is.
JUVIA FEELS GRAY'S LOVE!!!! She knows he loves her despite him not verbally saying it.
Butttt hopefully he will one day! It's foreshadowed after all. Gray's goal and focus in 100 Years Quest is Juvia. Come on, Mashima!
HAPPY (belated) GRUVIA DAY!!
Also I feel like tumblr killed the quality of this image so here is the twitter/X version.
It’s so funny how many people are saying “Why is Juvia involved in every fight Gray does” DUDE. The point of Gray’s journey in the sequel is to become a better man for Juvia. So why wouldn’t he think about her during battles??? Anyway, This new gruvia update IS HILARIOUS to me. I NEVER WOULD HAVE EXPECTED THIS.
Every time I see this velvety skeleton I’m endlessly amused by how hairy it is. Efforts have clearly been made to keep it clean but it’s still just fucking caked in what is almost certainly cat hair. Truly the inevitable, inexorable fate of all velvety things.
also other than g*jevy (who is literally pregnant), gruvia is easily the most canon out of the big 4 like im smiling we wonnnnnnnnn
im not trying to drag other ships im js i never thought i wouldve seen the day where gruvia was SO blatantly obvious
we went from og ft where gray wearing a scarf that juvia made for him made us piss and shit and cry all over the place and now we live in a world where gray says shit like “i dont wanna be happy, i just wanna make juvia happy”, “romantic love, huh?” while thinking ab juvia, and literally gets a spell cast on him that turns him into the woman he’s IN LOVE WITH and turns into juvia. also, the entirety of chapter 26. like. u cant make this shit up good lord
I love how much Gray gets so jealousy and aggressive when any man think or wants Juvia. Lyon, Gildarts, Natsu and even Gajeel because of how close they are and let's not forget when he ate her to hide her from Elfman.💀
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