Hiiii I dont know if you still take requests for Park the Shark but I would like to give one!!
I’d love your headcanons or blurb about Park being possessive and jealous over very kind and warm younger!nurse :)
He was enamored by her when she first started at PTMC and everyone was like “wow Park has feelings?” She’s always super kind and warm to him because she didn’t realize he was an intimidating person to everyone else. He’s always concerned about where she is and if she’s okay like when she’s out with her friends because duh she’s drop dead gorgeous and he knows guys will throw themselves at her. And ofc concerned about her while she’s at work :)))
lmao my brain took this and ran with it so this is what i have lmao :) i hope you enjoy!
dr. brendon park x nurse!reader who can't stop talking about him ✿ 1.5k words
summary: you're out getting drunk with your friends and you can't stop talking about brendon. one of them decides to play matchmaker
cw: fem!nurse!reader, alcohol/drinking, reader has two friends named sarah and chelsea who do not work in the ED, reader is a silly drunk and is very obviously in love with brendon
the pitt masterlist
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You don’t understand what grudge everyone seems to have against Dr. Park.
Sorry, Brendon. He gets antsy when you call him by anything other than his first name.
And that’s weird, at least according to everyone you work with. You’d been scared to meet him at first, given all of the warnings and low whispers you’d heard about him on your first few shifts.
‘He’s horrible.’ One of the other nurses had told you with a shiver, her elbows knocking against yours where you lean on the nurse’s station counter. ‘He’s got these eyes and it’s like he can see directly into your soul.’
‘He wants to eat all of us alive.’ Dr. Whitaker had whispered once when Dr. Park had come up as a topic of conversation during surgery. It was enough to make your heart race at any mention of him.
But then… you’d met him. And sure, you can’t argue that he’s not intimidating. His eyes constantly narrowed in suspicion, his jaw sharp and clenched, the tendons in his neck pulsing with every movement of his body. But you understand him, or maybe it’s that no one else looks past the “shark” exterior to see what’s underneath.
The overwhelming desire to be successful, focused, calm even in the worst of storms. The fear of failure, the anxiety that he or someone else might majorly fuck up and he can’t fix it. The vicious growl in his voice that really means he’s scared to let anyone get too close.
You looked at him, and you saw bits and pieces of yourself.
And you think maybe he saw the same in you, because you became his right hand any time he had to consult in the ED. Maybe part of that was against your will, everyone knows that he doesn’t speak down to you the way he does everyone else. You stand beside him like you’ve always been there, predicting his moves before he can even make them. You hand him the right tools at the right time. You move in flow with him, and he always leaves the perfect amount of space right at his side for you.
So, no, you don’t understand what grudge everyone else seems to have against him.
“Wow.” One of your friends, Sarah, finishes off her drink, eyes scanning you up and down from her place across the table as you finish speaking. “Seems to me like you really like this Dr. Park guy.”
You feel heat bloom in your cheeks, your fingers twisting your straw back and forth in your already empty cocktail glass. “It’s not like that, okay? Brendon and I just work well together.”
Chelsea, your other friend, meets Sarah’s eyes and they both grin brightly. “Brendon…” They both repeat his name, a teasing lilt in their voices. You swat your hand at them.
“Stop it!” You shake your head, rolling your eyes as you try to ignore the butterflies erupting in your stomach. You sit up a bit when you realize the waiter is approaching your table, and you send your friends a look. “The waiter is coming.”
“Oh! Let’s do shots!” Sarah suggests despite the slight slur already present in her speech. Chelsea nods excitedly, already leaning over Sarah to tell the waiter, who nods and takes the empty glasses from in front of you. You roll your eyes at them, but you don’t fight when the shots come to the table.
It’s not long before you decide to go to the bathroom, already a little dizzy when you stand up, steadying yourself on the table.
“I’m going to the bathroom.” You announce, pointing toward it. Sarah and Chelsea nod, waving you off as you go. The two of them sit there, debating ordering another round of shots, when they hear a phone ringing.
It’s your phone, left face up on the table. And the name on screen reads Brendon Park.
Sarah gasps, whacking Chelsea on the arm to get her attention, gesturing to your phone. “It’s that doctor! He’s calling her!”
Chelsea’s smile turns mischievous, and her nimble fingers pluck the phone from the table top.
“Wait, Chelsea don’t-" Sarah tries to protest but Chelsea holds up a finger to silence her, raising your phone to her ear.
“Helloooo Brendon!” She greets brightly, her voice only slightly less slurred than Sarah’s.
“Who is this?” A masculine voice answers from the other line. Chelsea covers the microphone with her hand, looking at Sarah.
“He sounds hot!” She whispers, before clearing her throat and continuing, “I’m Chelsea, I’m just answering the phone because she’s not at the table…” All of her words are long and wobbly.
“Where is she?” His voice is almost snappy now, something that makes Chelsea’s face morph into an even more mischievous look. Sarah tries to shake her head, but Chelsea waves her off again.
“Hmm… I don’t know… She hasn’t been at the table for a while…” She watches as you exit the bathroom, leaning away from Sarah as she tries to grab the phone from her hand. “She was pretty drunk though, you should probably come get her!”
Chelsea can already hear Brendan moving a bit frantically around on the other end, presumably getting his things together to come find you. Her thoughts are confirmed when he bites out a clipped, “Where are you?”
Chelsea quickly gives him the name of the bar as you approach the table again, then an “okay, bye!” and tosses your phone back on the table. You sit down, an eyebrow raised as you look between the two of them.
“What? Did someone call me?”
“Oh, just spam, I think!” Chelsea gives Sarah a pointed look, full of meaning you don’t understand. “Right, Sarah?”
Sarah hesitates, looking between you and Chelsea for a moment before agreeing with a slow, “Right…”
You roll your eyes but move on, distracted by chit-chat and the arrival of the waiter again.
Two shots later, you find yourself wondering if you can even stand, head bobbing side to side as you giggle. You jump when you feel a hand land on your shoulder, almost falling out of your chair to squint at the culprit through your blurry vision. Luckily, he catches you before you end up on the floor.
“Brendon?” You blink hazily at him, and his grip on your shoulder tightens just a bit. “What are you doing here?” You’re drunk enough that you don’t notice the giggling of your friends, but Brendon obviously notices, his eyes narrowing a bit at them.
“I heard you might need some help.” He says, eyes returning to yours. Your stomach twists in the most pleasant way, and you can’t stop a drunk grin from taking over your face.
“You came here for me?” Your voice, as slurred as it is, drips sickly sweet like honey.
Brendon eyes you, then your friends, who giggle and whisper between each other, not nearly as sly as they think they are.
“It seems I did.” He steps closer to your chair, and you find yourself leaning toward him, your forehead bumping his hip. He gets a look on his face, one you’d definitely question if you were sober, and says, “I wanted to make sure you were safe.”
You melt, and so do your friends. Brendon has to stop himself from sneering at them, reaching for your hand and encouraging you to stand.
“Let’s get you home.” He tells you, and your body follows him like it’s as easy as breathing. Sarah and Chelsea giggle and wink at you, giving you a silly wave goodbye.
“You should probably take her to your house!” Chelsea calls out behind you as you walk away. Brendon puts his hand on your back to guide you and it makes your knees feel even weaker than they already do. “And probably in your bed too! Just to make sure she’s okay!”
Brendon lets out a huff and rolls his eyes. “C’mon, let’s go to my car.”
He guides you to it, surprisingly close to the bar given how busy everything is. You find yourself wishing you were sober so you could try to find more details of him in the car. You always want to learn more about him.
Your drunk mouth decides to voice these thoughts out loud, and the corner of Brendon’s lips raise.
“Are you really going to take me to your place?” You ask him then, practically giddy to be sitting next to him as he pulls off and starts heading down the road.
He gives you a side eye. “Not while you’re drunk like this.” You pout, and he scoffs.
“We can talk about it more on Monday when you’re sober and not at risk of throwing up. Now, give me your address.”
SUMMARY: Jack is that stage in life where a day off can never really be a day off. He always finds something that needs fixing, and as his wife, you’ve grown accustomed to that. You don’t expect him to be so clumsy at it, and you don’t expect to get hurt helping him when the doctor becomes the patient.
NOTES: Injuries (laceration on the arm, fractured ankle), household accidents, mentions of blood, medical setting, established marriage, very sweet and selfless Jack, hurt/comfort vibes.
REQUESTED BY: @dillydallyy
NAVIGATION | PITT MASTERLIST | KO-FI
The rhythmic, heavy thud of the mallet against wood had been echoing through the house for the better part of an hour. Jack was upstairs on the landing, finally tackling the squeaky floorboard that had been driving you mad for weeks. You were down in the kitchen, enjoying the quiet weekend and waiting for the kettle to boil so you could bring him a cup of tea.
The comforting routine shattered in an instant. A sudden, metallic crunch echoed down the stairs, followed by a heavy thud and a sharp, choked gasp of pure agony. The silence that immediately followed was heavy and terrifying.
"Jack?" you called out, your heart leaping into your throat. There was no answer, just the sound of low, ragged breathing. Dropping the mug onto the counter, you bolted up the stairs, your socks slipping slightly on the carpet as you rounded the corner to the landing.
Jack had collapsed against the wall, his face entirely drained of colour and slick with a sudden, cold sweat. His eyes were clamped shut, and his right hand was wrapped desperately around his left forearm. Dark, thick blood was already spilling through his fingers, pooling rapidly on the pale timber he had just been prying up.
"Fuck, Jack," you breathed, dropping to your knees beside him. The sheer volume of blood made your stomach drop, your hands hovering over him, trembling violently. You had seen him in his hospital scrubs a thousand times, completely unshakable in the face of trauma, but seeing him as the patient completely paralysed you.
Jack opened his eyes, the pupils blown wide with shock and pain. Even as his breathing hitched, the seasoned emergency doctor in him fought through the agony. He looked at your shaking hands and forced his voice to remain steady, though it came out as a strained, gravelly rasp.
"Hey, hey, look at me, sweetheart," Jack whispered, squeezing his eyes shut for a second as a fresh wave of pain hit him. "Don't look at the floor. Look at me. I need you to be my hands right now, okay? I slipped with the chisel. It’s deep."
"What do I do? Tell me what to do," you pleaded, your voice cracking as you tried to anchor yourself to his gaze.
"Go to the bathroom. Grab the first aid kit from the cabinet, and grab a clean towel," he instructed, his breath hitching as he shifted his weight. "Move fast, honey. Go on."
You scrambled to your feet, your socks skidding on the hallway runner as you burst into the bathroom. You grabbed the heavy medical kit and yanked a towel off the shelf, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. Within seconds, you were back on the floor beside him, unfolding the towel with trembling fingers.
"Okay, I'm here. I have it," you said, your breath coming in short, panicked gasps.
"Good girl," Jack murmured, his head leaning back against the wallpaper. "I need you to open the kit and get the thickest trauma dressing in there. If not, the towel will do. You need to apply direct pressure right over my hand. Don't be gentle, sweetheart. You have to push down hard."
You nodded, swallowing down the rising panic. You folded the towel into a thick pad and placed it directly over his bleeding arm. As Jack slowly pulled his own crimson-stained hand away, the sight of the jagged, deep laceration made your vision swim, but you didn't hesitate. You placed both hands on the towel and leaned your entire body weight into his arm.
Jack let out a sharp, agonised groan, his fingers digging into the fabric of your jeans as his body went rigid.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," you sobbed, tears finally blurring your vision.
"Don't be sorry," he panted, his forehead resting against your shoulder now, his breath hot and ragged against your neck. "You're doing perfectly. Keep holding it like that. We need to stem the flow before I can try to stand up."
For a few minutes, the landing was silent save for the sound of your combined, ragged breathing. You kept every ounce of your weight pressed onto his arm, feeling the warm pulse of his blood beneath the heavy fabric. Slowly, the bright red seeping through the white towel seemed to slow down, the direct pressure doing its job.
"Is it stopping?" you whispered, looking down at his pale face.
"It's slowing," Jack managed, offering a weak, strained version of his usual reassuring smile. "You're amazing, you know that? My brilliant girl. Now, we need to tie it off tight. Use the roller bandage from the kit. Wrap it over the towel, as tight as you can manage."
Working with one hand while keeping pressure with the other, you managed to fish out the heavy bandage. Under his quiet, patient whispers, you wrapped the fabric securely around his arm, pulling it taut until Jack gave a tight nod of approval.
"That’s it. That’s got it for now," Jack breathed, leaning back against the wall with a sigh of sheer exhaustion. His face was still ghostly pale, but the immediate, terrifying torrent of blood had been contained. "Now, can you grab your phone? We need to get the crew out here."
"It's on the top step," you said, turning your head to look at the mobile device resting just a few feet away near the banister.
You started to shift your weight to stand up, your muscles stiff from the tension. But as you moved, your foot found the slick, wet patch of blood that had splattered onto the edge of the exposed, loose floorboards. Before you could even register the lack of friction, your foot shot out from under you.
"Whoa—!" you cried out, your hands flailing for a grip that wasn't there.
Your momentum carried you sideways, right over the lip of the top step. With a sharp gasp of terror, you tumbled awkwardly down the first half-flight of stairs, your body bouncing painfully against the carpeted steps before you landed with a dull, heavy thud against the wall of the half-landing.
A searing, white-hot pain immediately exploded in your left ankle, so intense that it stole the air right out of your lungs. You lay there on your side, pinned to the floor by the sudden, throbbing agony, clutching your leg as tears stung your eyes.
"Honey? Sweetheart, talk to me!" Jack’s voice echoed down the stairwell, completely stripped of its professional calm. It was pure, unadulterated panic. "Are you alright? Answer me!"
"My ankle," you gasped out, your voice small and choked with pain. "Jack, I can't move it. It hurts so bad."
From the top of the stairs, you heard a heavy drag and a grunt of pain as Jack, completely disregarding his own severe injury, began crawling toward the edge of the landing. He looked down at you, his eyes wide with horror as he saw you curled into a ball on the landing below.
"Don't move, honey. Just stay completely still," Jack commanded, his voice thick with emotion as he held his bandaged arm tightly against his chest. "I'm coming down to you."
"Stay there, Jack, don't move!" you cried out, looking up at him through a blur of tears. The sight of him dragging himself toward the edge of the stairs, his face entirely grey and his newly wrapped bandage already showing a fresh blossom of crimson, was almost worse than the white-hot agony radiating from your ankle.
"I'm not leaving you down there, sweetheart," Jack panted, his voice strained as he carefully manoeuvred his weight onto his good arm, slowly lowering himself down the first step. Every movement was a battle against shock, his breath catching sharply in his throat with each hitch of his body. "Just keep breathing. Nice, deep breaths for me."
It took him what felt like an eternity, but Jack finally managed to slide down the half-flight of stairs, collapsing heavily onto the landing beside you. He let out a ragged groan, leaning his back against the wall and immediately reaching out with his uninjured right hand to cup your face. His thumb brushed a tear from your cheek, his touch warm and desperate.
"Look at me, honey. Let me see you," he murmured, his eyes scanning your face, looking for any signs of a head injury before his gaze drifted down to your left leg. "Where does it hurt the most? Is it just the ankle?"
"Yeah," you choked out, squeezing his hand tightly. "I just slipped on the... on the blood, Jack. I tried to grab the phone and my foot just went. It snapped so loud."
"Okay, okay, let me have a look. I'm going to be very gentle, I promise," he whispered, leaning forward slightly. With practiced, tender precision, his steady fingers gently hovered over your ankle, barely brushing the skin. Even that tiny movement made you gasp, your fingers digging into his shoulder.
"I know, I'm sorry, sweetheart," he said softly, his brow furrowed in deep concern as he assessed the rapidly swelling, distorted joint. "It’s a nasty sprain, possibly a fracture. We need to get that elevated and iced, but first, we need to actually call the ambulance. Where's the phone?"
You pointed a shaking finger up toward the top step where your mobile was still resting, completely out of reach for both of you.
Jack let out a dry, breathless laugh, shaking his head. "Right. Plan B. My phone is in my back pocket. Do you think you can reach it? My left arm is completely useless right now."
Carefully shifting your weight while trying not to jar your leg, you slid your hand into the pocket of his jeans, pulling out his phone. Your fingers were still trembling so hard you almost dropped it, but you managed to unlock the screen and hand it over to him.
Jack didn't dial the standard emergency number; instead, he tapped in a direct line straight to the local ambulance dispatch handling the Pitt’s intake area. He pressed the speaker button, setting the phone down on the carpet between you. Within two rings, a familiar, crisp voice boomed through the speaker.
"Ambulance dispatch, what is the nature of the emergency?"
"Hey, it's Jack Abbot," Jack said, leaning his head back against the wall, his voice dropping into that calm, authoritative tone he used when directing a chaotic trauma bay. "Listen, I need a crew at my house. We've got a bit of a situation here."
There was a brief pause on the other end, followed by the sound of furious typing. "Jack? Dude, what’s gone on? You’re supposed to be off until Monday."
"Yeah, well, the world had other plans," Jack grunted, wincing as he shifted his bandaged arm. "I've managed to put a chisel through my left forearm. Deep laceration, heavy bleeding, but we've got a pressure dressing on it now. My wife just slipped on the landing trying to help me and has taken a tumble down the stairs. Suspected fractured left ankle, severe pain, non-weight bearing."
"Jesus, Jack, you don't do things by halves, do you?" he replied, his voice a mix of professional urgency and fond disbelief. "Alright, I’ve got a unit just three minutes away from your street. It’s Mac and Sally. They're en route now. Keep that pressure on your arm, and keep your wife still."
"Thanks. Tell them the front door is unlocked," Jack said before hanging up. He turned his attention back to you, his expression softening instantly as he tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear. "Hear that? Three minutes, honey. You're doing so well. I'm so proud of you."
"I was trying to help you, and I just made it worse," you whispered, a fresh wave of tears spilling over your lashes. "Now you're stuck on the floor because of me."
"Don't you dare worry about that," Jack chided gently, his voice thick with emotion as he pulled you as close to his side as he could manage without hurting either of your injuries. He pressed a firm, lingering kiss to your temple, his breath warm against your skin. "You stopped the bleeding, sweetheart. You saved me from a massive haemorrhage. If anyone is to blame, it’s me and my DIY projects."
A few minutes later, the heavy thud of the front door swinging open echoed from downstairs, followed by the hurried footsteps of two paramedics moving into the hallway.
"Jack? Where are you, buddy?" a loud, cheerful voice called out from the bottom of the stairs.
"Up on the half-landing, Mac!" Jack shouted back, his voice cracking slightly with the effort. "Mind your step as you come up, it’s a bit of a disaster."
Two paramedics, loaded down with trauma bags and an extraction chair, rounded the corner and stopped dead in their tracks. Mac, a burly man with a thick beard, stared at the two of you huddled together on the small landing. Jack pale and blood-stained, and you clutching a ballooning ankle.
Sally, his partner, let out a loud, astonished bark of laughter, clapping a hand over her mouth. "Oh, you have got to be joking. Jack, what on earth have you done to your poor wife?"
"I didn't do anything to her, she was trying to rescue me!" Jack protested, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the way he winced as Mac knelt down beside him.
"Hm, likely story, doc," Mac teased, his hands already moving efficiently to check the pulse in Jack’s wrist below the bloody bandage. "Honestly, Jack, we leave you unsupervised for one weekend."
While Mac focused on Jack, Sally slid gracefully onto the floor next to you, opening her kit with a reassuring smile. "Alright, let's have a look at this leg. Jack’s a terrible patient, so you're my priority right now."
The next twenty minutes passed in a blur of efficient, careful movement. Sally administered a dose of medication for your pain, which finally took the sharp, agonizing edge off your ankle, while Mac reinforced Jack’s dressing and got him a dose of something strong.
Despite their teasing, the paramedics were incredibly gentle, carefully loading you both onto separate carrying chairs to navigate the rest of the stairs. Jack refused to be loaded into the ambulance first, stubbornly waiting until you were securely inside so he could have his stretcher positioned right next to yours. The entire drive to the hospital, his hand never left yours, his thumb rhythmically stroking the back of your knuckles as he murmured sweet, groggy assurances that everything was going to be fine.
The moment the ambulance doors burst open at the Pitt, the familiar, sterile smell of antiseptic and the hum of bleeping monitors washed over you. But the usual professional quiet of the admissions bay was shattered the instant Mac and Sally wheeled your matching gurneys through the automatic sliding doors.
"Heads up, team, we've got a double intake!" Mac called out at the top of his lungs, a massive, mischievous grin on his face. "Your best doctor has managed to incapacitate the entire Abbot household."
The reaction was instantaneous. Langdon, who had been charting at the central desk, dropped his pen entirely, his jaw hitting the floor. "What the... Dr Abbot?"
Dana emerged from Bay 4, a clipboard tucked under her arm, but stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes darting from Jack’s heavily bandaged, blood-stained arm to your elevated, ballooning ankle. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me. The hell did you do to this lovely lady, Jack?"
Within seconds, a small crowd of familiar faces converged on the two stretchers. Mel hurried over from the staff room, a half-eaten sandwich still in her hand, her eyes wide with a mix of horror and absolute amusement. "Oh my… are you okay? Well clearly not but… what happened?”
"I slipped on his blood!" you called out, the pain medication making you laugh weakly as the stretchers were wheeled side-by-side into the major trauma bays.
Robby walked out of the resuscitation unit, snapping off a pair of surgical gloves, his expression instantly melting into a look of profound, theatrical despair. He walked over to the foot of Jack’s bed, crossing his arms. "Abbot. I leave you in charge of your own home for twenty-four hours, and you bring your lovely wife into my ER on a stretcher? Explain yourself."
"It was a loose floorboard, Robby," Jack groaned, the morphine making his voice deep and slightly slurred, though he still managed to shoot a mean glare. "The chisel slipped. She was brilliant, actually. Total natural."
"And then she fell down the stairs because you're a terrible husband," Trinity chimed in, leaning against the doorframe of the bay with a massive smirk on her face. She looked over at you, giving you a sympathetic wink. "Don't worry, beautiful, we'll make sure his stitches hurt extra bad for making you go through this."
Samira pushed through the crowd, carrying a fresh bag of IV fluids and a splinting kit. She looked at the two of you, shaking her head in fond disbelief as she began setting up near your bed. "Right, let's get a look at this ankle, shall we?"
Despite the relentless teasing and the chorus of laughter echoing through the department, the underlying warmth and care from the staff were palpable. The curtains between your bays were pulled completely back, creating one large room so Jack could keep his eyes on you. Even as Samira gently examined your leg and Langdon began prepping Jack’s arm for a neat row of sutures, Jack kept his right hand stretched across the gap between the gurneys, his fingers hooked securely around yours.
"You're in good hands, sweetheart," Jack whispered, completely ignoring Trinity and Robby, who were currently debating which one of them got to write ‘DIY FAIL’ on his medical chart. He squeezed your hand tightly, his eyes soft with devotion. "They're going to fix us both up, and I promise you, I am never touching a tool again."
"Don't make promises you can't keep, Abbot," Langdon chuckled, pouring sterile saline over Jack’s forearm to clear away the dried blood. He winced on Jack's behalf as the true depth of the laceration was revealed. "Though looking at this, you won't be holding a chisel or a scalpel for at least a few weeks. You've sliced right down. You're lucky you missed the important stuff."
"I told you, she stopped the bleeding," Jack said, his voice thick with pride despite the sharp intake of breath he let out as Langdon administered the local anaesthetic around the edges of the wound. He kept his eyes locked onto yours, his grip on your fingers tightening as the needle did its work. "She was incredible, Langdon. Didn't even faint."
Over on your side of the bay, Samira was carefully wrapping a temporary fiberglass splint around your rapidly bruising ankle, having just come back from reviewing the digital X-rays that Robby had rushed through the scanner. "Well, your brilliant wife has a nasty grade-three sprain and a tiny fracture. No surgery needed, thank goodness, but you're going to be on crutches and a boot for a while."
"Hear that, honey?" Jack murmured, a look of profound relief washing over his pale features as the morphine and the local numbing agent finally took the edge off his pain. "No surgery. You're going to be just fine."
"I'm more worried about you," you admitted, your voice still a little breathless from the lingering adrenaline and the effects of the medication. "You look like you've been through hell."
Dana walked back into the bay, holding a selection of takeaway menus, placing them on the bedside table between your gurneys. "Right, since you two managed to completely ruin your Saturday, the department is buying dinner. Santos wants pizza, Mel wants Thai, so you two get the deciding vote. Consider it a consolation prize for having the most embarrassing admissions of the year."
"Pizza," Jack grunted without hesitation, earning a loud cheer from Santos, who was still lingering near the desk. Jack looked back at you, his thumb smoothing over your knuckles. "We'll get the one you like, sweetheart."
As Langdon methodically began placing neat sutures into Jack’s arm, the initial chaotic energy of the department began to settle back into its usual professional rhythm. Robby and Dana headed back to the central desk to handle a new influx of patients from the waiting room, leaving the curtains open just enough for the staff to keep an eye on their favorite patient duo.
By the time Jack’s arm was neatly bandaged and your leg was securely immobilized in a heavy boot, the evening sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting long, warm shadows across the trauma bay. A delivery driver had dropped off three massive boxes of pizza, and Samira had kindly brought over two cups of tea, served in the mismatched mugs from the staff room.
Jack managed to shift his gurney a fraction closer to yours, his right arm slung comfortably over the metal guardrail so he could remain completely connected to you. The exhaustion of the day was finally catching up to both of you, the quiet hum of the hospital a strangely comforting background noise compared to the terror on the stairs just hours earlier.
"I really am sorry, honey," Jack whispered, his voice soft and entirely devoid of the bravado he had shown in front of his colleagues. He leaned his head against the side of his pillow, looking at you with an expression of pure, unfiltered devotion. "I wanted to fix that stupid floorboard so you wouldn't trip on it, and I ended up putting you in a cast instead."
"We're a matching set now," you teased gently, reaching over to squeeze his uninjured hand, gesturing to his heavily wrapped arm and your massive black boot. "Besides, you heard the crew. We really don't do things by halves."
Jack let out a low, rumbling laugh, the sound warm and familiar as he lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a tender, lingering kiss to your skin. "No, I suppose we don't. But from now on, we are hiring a professional for absolutely everything. Next weekend, you and I are staying on the couch."
You show up to the PTMC’s emergency department with an injury. Unlucky for you, your boyfriend happens to have sharp teeth that decided to sink into your skin the night before.
tags/warnings: mentions of sex, cursing, brief medical talk, reader has EDS but it’s mentioned once and not pivotal, I think that’s it.
_
You were fucked. In both the literal and metaphorical sense of the word. Last night, Brendon had drove you so far into the mattress that you thought the bed frame was going to break. His sweet words contrasted with the sharp ache that his teeth would bring, clamping down on whatever skin he could find. Your poor chest absolutely littered with bruises and indents of his teeth. Not that you were complaining about that fucked. You’d never admit it but you might’ve even begged for it.
No, the fucked you were dreading was the fact that you’d managed to dislocate your collarbone and most likely your ribs, too. Every time you tried to take a deep breath the stabbing pain would nearly double you over. Your left arm was out of commission, tingling pain shooting down it with every shift. Normally, you’d tough out the pain, used to the occasional dislocations and subluxations.
This time wasn’t like that. This pain was radiating in a way you weren’t used to and you couldn’t say with confidence which way your collarbone went. Knowing if it went posterior it could rupture an artery, you decided to err on the side of caution. Which means you’ve been sitting in the ER’s waiting room for the last hour.
Langdon is the one who calls you back, still stuck working chairs at Robby’s orders. The PTMC staff knew you. The numerous times you’d show up with lunch for Brendon, the occasional times you’d stop in with an injury of your own, various work events. Everyone got along with you well, much more than with your predator of a boyfriend. Jokes that weren’t actually jokes but comments disguised behind a laugh would often flow about how Park the Shark ended up with you.
That being said, you knew someone definitely bumped you up in line. You weren’t going to complain though. The pain was bad enough that you just wanted to go home and pass out in bed the second this was over.
Frank smiles at you, genuinely happy to see you. “Hey Shark Bait, what’re you doing here?” The nickname manages to bring a small smile to your face. The shift in Frank’s tells you it resembles more of a grimace, though.
“Fucked up my collarbone, probably a couple ribs too.” You groan as you settle down on the exam chair.
His fingers gently probe over your shirt. Running as light as possible down the side of your ribs, clearly sensing the pain in your face the second he applies pressure. “Yeah, definitely feel some things outta place there. Let’s get you sent back for some imaging. I’ll page Park.”
Your only acknowledgement is a small nod and thumbs up. Within minutes, Perlah’s at your side and walking beside you as you slowly make your way to exam 8.
The curtain is pulled back abruptly and the sight of Robby comes into view, his hands furiously rubbing sanitizer over themselves. “Heard we had a VIP in the ER, figured I should come take care of it myself.” He jokes, eyes focused on reviewing your chart.
“Aw, Abbot not in yet?” You tease. Robby shoots you a raised brow over his glasses with a sharp glare and you chuckle. The movement sends a shock of pain through your entire left side, causing your lungs to constrict. It’s another 10 seconds before you’re able to take a semi-full breath again.
Robby’s face falls into sympathy, “Want anything for the pain?”
“S’alright. I’ve gotta drive home. Besides, you know it doesn’t do much for me anyways.” Nodding solemnly, Robby moves to your side.
“You mind if I have some students sit in with us? Not every day we get a hypermobile Ehlers Danlos patient in here. No one better to teach ‘em than you.” His hands are carefully starting to feel down your left arm, checking for a pulse and nerve reactions. You look up and see the med students already standing there.
Javadi you know well enough. Some new students, Ogilvie and Kwon, you’re pretty sure. Behind them Santos and Whitaker are walking past the nurses station and when Santos sees you, she quickly pivots and pulls Whitaker with her.
“What did we do to deserve fresh bait in here?” Santos jokes.
You shift awkwardly, face flushing and throat suddenly dry. It makes a grating sound when you clear it and speak lowly to Robby, “Could this maybe not be a teaching moment?”
It took a good three hours of gaslighting yourself before you let yourself believe maybe, you should get medical attention. Another two after that to finally accept yes, I should get this checked out just to be safe. The hickeys and bruises from last night were impossible to hide. The second closest ER would’ve taken another half hour to get to and you’re pretty sure it wasn’t wise to drive in your current state as is.
The last thing you wanted was half of the PTMC’s emergency department staff to see the evidence of your latest fuck with one of their surgeons who regularly does orthopedic consults. Robby alone would be bad enough.
Robby’s face scrunches in confusion but he immediately complies, nodding. “Yeah, yeah that’s fine. Let me go get Dana to sit in.”
Turning, he ushers the small crowd that started forming out of the room and ducks his head into the hallway to call for Dana. She walks in a few moments later and closes the curtain behind her and sighs when she looks at you. “What’s going on, hun?”
“Oh you know. Think I dislocated a couple things trying to walk and chew gum at the same time.” She grants you a small laugh and comes over beside you, hand hovering over your shirt.
“Need a hand with this?” Nodding you lean back a bit to give her a better angle to help reach for the hem. “Got anything underneath? Should I grab you a gown?”
“No I’ve got something on, thanks. Besides, not like y’all haven’t seen tits before.”
Dana huffs a true laugh out at that, “More than I’d like to sometimes, kid.”
Robby’s keeping his head down as he pulls on his gloves. Despite the fact he’s about to be touching your exposed chest he still wants to give you a sense of privacy. When the shirt starts to come up over your stomach you startle.
“Uhm-”
Dana halts her movements, shirt held in place. Robby looks up then, trying to see what went wrong.
“Listen, just, please don’t say anything. Okay?”
Robby’s brows shoot up, confused by what you could mean as you let Dana slide the shirt the rest of the way off. From her place slightly behind you, she doesn’t have the same view as Robby.
Robby who takes in the sight in front of him and mutters out, “Fuckin’- what the hell?” Voice full of concern and disbelief.
Dana comes around to see what Robby’s reacting to and instead of shock gracing her face, it hardens. After a moment she tilts her head down to force you to meet her eyes. “Park do this to you?”
You say nothing, just place your head in your right hand with a pathetic whimper of embarrassment. The sound must’ve come across wounded because Dana pushes on, “Someone you love shouldn’t do that to you, sweetie. We can help.”
Robby finally finds his voice. “There is zero tolerance for domestic assault in this hospital. We have people in the building right now who can handle this in minutes.”
Your head shoots up, “No! God, no, it’s not what it looks like.” You try and explain, but how the hell do you explain the situation without telling your dirty, kinky secrets to your partner’s coworkers.
“It looks like someone’s been hurting you.” Robby says flatly.
“I wanted it.” Dana’s brows shoot up at that. You struggle for the words to continue.
“Listen we,” you sigh, “Brendon and I are-”. Your voice breaks off in an insanity fueled laugh, “I mean have you seen him?”
Robby is clearly not following what you’re saying.
“Neither of us are exactly, gentle lovers. Last night was just a little intense. It wasn’t anything I didn’t want though, I asked for it.” You explain. Voice speeding up as you ramble, “Please don’t think Brendon would ever hurt me like that. Fuck no. He’s the most caring, loving man I’ve ever met. Really.”
Dana just started shaking her head with a small laugh, smirk tugging on her lips. “Alright then. Whatever floats your boat.”
Robby still looks like he’s trying to compute the information he’s gained in the last forty seconds. Dana starts attaching leads to you to get a vitals check and by the time she’s done, Robby is still just standing there.
“Dr. Robby! Would you please assess our patient?” As if broken from a trance, Robby’s eyes meet yours and quickly flit to Dana.
“Yes, of course.”
Robby is barely looking at the injury for three minutes when the curtain is dragged open. The space wide enough to expose you to the nurse’s station, leaving your secret vulnerable to anyone nearby. Well, at least it would be if it weren’t for the 6’2”, hulking man standing in its gap.
The same man whose teeth had sunken into your flesh over and over and over again last night, making you cry out noises you didn’t even know you were capable of. His eyes dark as he drank down every sound were now filled with concern.
“What happened?” He’s quickly closing the curtain behind him, not a single inch of your skin being exposed to the curious and prying eyes of a certain pair of nurses with an R2 behind them. His tone is sharp, quick and to the point. Like it always is whenever he’s worried about you.
“Nothing, baby. I’m fine I promise. I just wanted to be safe and get it checked out.” You try and soothe him, his hands immediately coming to rest over your collarbone.
The warmth of his skin is the only thing you feel, or maybe it’s the only thing you let yourself focus on. “When did this happen?”
You quickly drop eye contact with him. “Early this morning. ‘Bout an hour or so after you left.”
“Sweetheart, I left at 5am this morning. It’s past 1pm.” His hand finds your chin, making you look at him. All you give him is a small smile.
“Oops?”
“Why didn’t you call me.” He removes his hands, done with his assessment.
“I didn’t want to worry you. Figured it would go away within a few hours, but it just kept getting worse.”
“The clavicle dislocation is anterior. I want to get an x-ray on the ribs just to be safe but I think it’s just pinching a nerve this time.” Brendon explains, looking over at Robby who nods and places the order.
Brendon sits down on the bed next to you, hand stroking over your cheek lovingly. “We’re done here.” He doesn’t even glance over his shoulder towards the other people in the room as he dismisses them.
“I’ll be back to take her up for imaging myself.” Dana calls as she and Robby slide out from the curtain.
“I’m so getting you back for this later.” You tell Brendon and he only smirks as he lets his eyes fall to appreciate his handiwork.
“I hope you do.”
_
“Looks like Shark was a more accurate nickname than we thought, huh, Robinavitch?”
Robby doesn’t dignify Dana with a response.
He’d like a moment of silence to try and remove the intricate knowledge of his coworker’s sex life from his mind.
clearly I really liked this idea as I wrote this in less than two hours :) shoutout to anon🦷 for this!!!
Description: After a terrifying slip from a stepladder in their nursery leaves her with a severely sprained ankle, an eight-month-pregnant Y/N is forced to dial 911 when she can't reach her husband. At the hospital, Dr. Jack Abbott is completely locked into a high-stakes emergency, fighting against the odds to save a critically injured child. The second the child is stabilized, Jack finally checks his phone only to discover frantic alerts from his own ER. Shedding his calm, professional composure, he rushes into Bay 3 in a blind panic, completely unraveled by the sight of his shaken wife and desperate to protect both her and their unborn baby.
---
The house was unusually quiet, a stark contrast to the chaotic, fast-paced hallways of the hospital where you usually spent your days as lead legal counsel. Being on maternity leave was supposed to mean resting, but your lawyer brain didn't know how to turn off, and your nesting instinct had officially kicked into overdrive.
You sat on the plush glider in the center of the half-finished nursery, your hand resting on the high, heavy curve of your eight-month-pregnant belly. You and Jack were expecting your first child—a little miracle you both were already desperately in love with—and the empty walls of the room were starting to drive you crazy. Jack had strictly forbidden you from doing anything strenuous, promising he’d handle the heavy lifting after his shift, but he was currently at the hospital trying to save a critically injured child, and you felt completely fine.
Just a few pictures, you reasoned with yourself, looking at the stack of framed prints leaning against the baseboard. It’ll take five minutes.
Smoothing down your comfortable workout set, you carefully pushed yourself up from the glider, your lower back aching slightly from the weight of the baby. You grabbed the small wooden stepladder from the closet, setting it up securely beneath the main wall.
With one hand bracing your bump and the other holding a framed picture, you took a slow, deliberate step up onto the ladder, completely focused on making this room perfect for your little family.
"Okay, picture number one is done," you murmured to yourself, a satisfied smile brushing your lips as you leveled the first frame against the wall. It looked perfect.
But looking at the empty space right next to it, the urge to finish the set was too strong to ignore. You couldn't just leave it halfway done. Your hand instinctively went back to your heavy, eight-month bump, comforting the little kick that stirred inside.
"Just one more, little one," you whispered, carefully stepping down the ladder to grab the second frame from the floor. "We have to get to number two, and then mommy promise she'll sit back down."
Holding the second frame securely, you aligned your feet and prepared to climb back up the small steps.
You aligned your foot and carefully climbed up to the second step, reaching out to level the second frame right beside the first. But as you leaned a fraction too far to the left, your center of gravity—completely shifted by your eight-month bump—betrayed you.
The small wooden ladder wobbled.
Before you could grab onto the wall, your footing slipped. In a split second of pure panic, your lawyer instincts instantly shifted to primal motherly protection. As you went down, you violently twisted your upper body, throwing your arms completely around your stomach to shield your belly from the impact.
You crashed hard onto the carpeted floor, the ladder clattering down right beside you.
For a terrifying, breathless second, the world went dead silent. Your hands pressed desperately against your bump, searching for any sign of trauma. Right on cue, a strong, indignant little kick thudded against your palm. A massive sob of pure relief tore from your throat—the baby was perfectly okay. Your stomach hadn't hit a thing.
But the moment the panic for your baby subsided, a white-hot, blinding agony exploded in your right leg. Your ankle had twisted completely outward under your weight as you fell, accompanied by a sickening, sharp pop. Gasping for air, tears instantly flooded your eyes as a ruthless, throbbing pain began to radiate all the way up to your knee.
Furious with herself and trembling from the pain, you force yourself to take a jagged breath. Panic won't fix this, you tell yourself, desperately trying to channel the cool, level-headed attorney you are at work. Be calm. Just call Jack. He’ll know what to do.
Wiping the hot tears from your face, you refuse to even look at your right leg, knowing you can't put a single ounce of weight on that ankle. You look wildly around the room for your phone, only to see it sitting mocks-pointingly out of reach on top of the high nursery nightstand. There is no way you can stand up to get it.
Then you remember your wrist.
Thanking God you wore your Apple Watch today, you raise your trembling left arm and frantically tap Jack’s contact. Your heart hammers against your ribs as the watch face displays Calling Jack...
It rings. And rings. Then, his familiar voicemail recording cuts in.
"Damn it, Jack, pick up," you sob aloud, your thumb instantly hitting the red button and smashing the call icon again. You know he's in surgery, you know he's trying to save a child's life right now, but the pain in your leg is making you desperate.
You call a second time. Voicemail.
A third time. Straight to voicemail again.
On the fourth try, as his voice recording plays mockingly in the quiet room, reality sinks in with a terrifying thud. He is completely locked in the OR. He cannot answer.
Swallowing down a fresh wave of panic, you don't waste another second. Your fingers swipe frantically over the small watch screen, hitting the emergency dial, and you call 911. You press the watch close to your face, rocking slightly on the carpeted floor as you wait for the dispatcher to pick up.
---
The back of the ambulance hummed, the siren wailing loudly overhead as the paramedic carefully elevated your leg and began wrapping it in a splint.
"Alright, honey, what exactly happened here?" the paramedic asked gently, looking up from his work.
Wiping a fresh tear from your cheek, you let out a bitter, self-deprecating laugh. "I was being a dumb bitch and fell," you muttered, the pain making you brutally honest. "Nesting instincts got the better of me."
The paramedic chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Hey, it happens to the best of us, especially at eight months. Don't beat yourself up." He tapped the partition to the driver. "We're going to head to the community hospital over on the East Side. It's the closest one with an open bed right now."
Hearing those words, something inside you snapped. The cocktail of intense physical pain, fear for your baby, and sheer third-trimester pregnancy hormones completely flooded your system. The cool, collected lawyer persona vanished, replaced by pure, weeping desperation.
Fresh tears overflowed, spilling down your cheeks as you gripped the edge of the gurney. "No!" you sobbed, your voice cracking with thick, emotional tears. "No, please, I want my husband! I need Dr. Jack Abbott! He's at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center!"
The paramedic blinked, caught off guard by the sudden burst of emotion, but you weren't finished. You wiped your eyes frantically, staring him down with all the fierce, tearful authority you could muster. "I'm also the lead legal counsel for Pittsburgh Trauma. I know the bylaws, and I know you can bypass proximity if my specialist and my entire medical history are there. Please... just take me to Jack."
The paramedic’s soft chuckle instantly melted away, his face softening with deep empathy as he looked at your tear-stained face and your trembling hands resting protectively over your eight-month bump. He could see how terrified you were, and the sheer desperation in your voice was enough to pull at any doctor's or first responder's heartstrings.
He leaned forward, gently patting your shoulder. "Hey, hey, breathe. It's okay," he said softly, his voice full of warmth and reassurance.
Turning around, he knocked hard on the small sliding glass window that separated the back of the ambulance from the driver's cabin.
"Change of plans, Marcus!" the paramedic called out to his partner. "Reroute us. We're bypassing the East Side. Take us to Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center instead. We've got VIP cargo back here, and her husband is waiting."
The ambulance took a sharp, smooth turn as the driver switched routes, the sirens wailing with a renewed sense of urgency. The paramedic turned back to you with a comforting smile, adjusting the ice pack on your heavily wrapped ankle. "Hang in there, counselor. We're taking you home to your husband."
---
The ambulance doors hissed open as you arrived at the ambulance bay of Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center—familiarly known to everyone as The Pitt. The paramedic carefully shifted your leg, grimacing slightly as he noticed just how rapidly your ankle was ballooning, the swelling already distorting the shape of your foot beneath the splint.
"Alright, let's move," he muttered, smoothly transferring you to the wheeled gurney.
The automatic doors slid apart, and the familiar, chaotic roar of the ER rushed to meet you. The two paramedics pushed your gurney through the sliding doors, navigating the busy hallway until Charge Nurse Dana and Dr. Cassie McKay spotted you. Recognizing the hospital's lead attorney—and a heavily pregnant one at that—their eyes widened in immediate concern, and both women came running straight to your side.
"Y/N? Oh my god, what happened?" Cassie asked, her medical instincts kicking in as she immediately fell into step beside the moving gurney, taking your hand.
With tears freshly spilling over your eyelashes and blurring your vision, your voice trembled as you squeezed Dana's hand. "I was... I was on a small ladder in the nursery," you choked out, a sob catching in your throat. "I fell. I twisted my ankle. The baby is okay, I swear the baby is kicking, but my leg... I just want my husband. Where is Jack? Please, I want Jack."
Dana immediately took charge of getting you into an open bay, while Cassie’s face tightened with urgency. "I'm going to find out where he is right now. Hang tight, Y/N."
Cassie sprinted down the corridor toward the central desk, looking for anyone who could page surgery, when she ran straight into Dr. Robby Robinavitch.
"Robby! Where is Abbott?" Cassie breathed, catching her breath. "Is he still upstairs?"
Robby looked up from a chart, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Yeah, Abbott's deep in an emergency pediatric cardio case in room 8. He's trying to save a kid's life right now. Why?"
"Because Y/N was just rolled in on a gurney!" Cassie blurted out, her voice tight. "She fell from a ladder at home. She's eight months pregnant, Robby. She's in pain and she's crying for him."
The second the words left Cassie's mouth, Robby didn't even wait for a further explanation. As Chief Attending, he was fiercely protective of his staff, and Y/N wasn't just their lead council—she was family. Dropping the chart completely, Robby took off in a dead sprint down the ER hallway, his scrubs billowing behind him as he raced straight toward Bay 3 to get to you.
The curtain to Bay 3 tore open with a sharp snap, and Robby practically skidded into the room. His chest was heaving as his sharp eyes instantly scanned you from head to toe. The moment his gaze dropped to your right leg, his medical composure fractured—even through the temporary splint, your ankle was terrifyingly swollen, the skin already turning a deep, angry purple.
You looked up through a blur of hot tears, your heart sinking when you saw Robby's face instead of your husband's. "Robby..." you sobbed, your voice breaking as you frantically reached out.
In an instant, Robby was at your bedside. He didn't hesitate, letting you grab his hand in a tight, desperate grip. His massive hand completely enveloped yours, providing a steady, solid anchor as you squeezed through a sharp spike of pain.
"I'm here, Y/N. I've got you," Robby said, his usual gruff, commanding voice completely softening with raw concern as he squeezed back. He placed his free hand gently on top of yours, leaning in close.
"Where is Jack?" you wept, looking at him with desperate, pleading eyes, your knuckles turning white as you held onto him. "Robby, please, where is he? Is he okay? Why isn't he here?"
Robby squeezed your hand tighter, his thumb rubbing over your knuckles to ground you. "Hey, look at me," he said softly but firmly, keeping his voice steady despite the chaos of the ER around you. "Jack is upstairs in the OR. He's still fighting to save that little kid's life, sweetheart. You know he'd be down here in a heartbeat if he could."
The words hit you, and a sudden wave of memory crashed through the pain.
Jack had called you. An hour before he scrubbed in, his voice tight with that quiet, intense focus he got before a massive trauma, he had called just to check on you and tell you he was going under. And you had completely forgotten.
Normally, you were the most understanding wife in the world. As the hospital's lead attorney, you spent your entire professional life entrenched in the reality of medical emergencies. You knew the protocols, you knew the stakes, and you never, ever begrudged him for putting a patient first.
But right now? Being eight months pregnant, completely overwhelmed by a terrifying surge of third-trimester hormones, and in absolute agony on an ER gurney—none of that professional logic mattered. The fierce, rational lawyer was completely gone. You were just a scared, hurt mother-to-be who wanted her husband.
"I forgot," you sobbed, a fresh wave of thick tears spilling over your eyelashes as you rocked your head back against the pillow. Your left hand clutched your round, heavy bump as the baby kicked again. "I forgot, Robby... I know he's saving that boy, I know it, but it hurts so bad. I just want Jack. I just want him here."
"I know, sweetheart, I know," Robby murmured, his heart breaking a little for you as he witnessed the rare sight of the hospital's sharpest legal mind completely undone by fear and pain. "The second he steps out of that OR, I will personally drag him down here myself. I promise you."
He gently patted your hand before carefully stepping toward the foot of the gurney. "But right now, I need to take a look at this ankle, okay? We need to get this splint off so I can see what we're dealing with."
The mere thought of anyone touching or moving your leg made a fresh jolt of panic shoot through you. Gasping through your tears, you frantically looked toward the other side of the bed and reached out with a trembling hand. "Dana..." you choked out.
Dana didn't hesitate for a fraction of a second. The seasoned charge nurse immediately stepped into your space, catching your hand in both of hers and leaning over the guardrail to bring herself closer to you.
"I've got you, Y/N. Look right at me," Dana said softly, her voice an absolute anchor of calm as she used her thumb to wipe the hot tears from your temples. She squeezed your hand tightly, letting you anchor yourself to her strength. "Don't look down there. Just look at me and breathe through it. I'm not going anywhere."
With Dana holding you tight and providing that desperate comfort you needed, Robby gave you a sympathetic nod, exhaled a quiet breath, and carefully reached for the shears to cut away the paramedic's temporary wrapping.
---
Around the corner the heavy double doors of the ER clicked shut behind Jack. He pulled down his mask, his chest releasing a long, weary breath—the pediatric surgery had been a grueling battle, but the boy was stable. He reached into his scrub pocket and pulled out his phone to check the time.
His breath caught in his throat.
Three missed calls from Y/N.
An icy dread instantly flooded his veins. You knew his schedule inside and out; you never called repeatedly while he was in the ER unless it was an absolute emergency. His heart hammered violently against his ribs as he hit her contact, dialing back immediately. He paced the hallway, pressing the phone to his ear, praying to hear your voice.
“Hi, you’ve reached Y/N—”
"Damn it," Jack hissed, cutting off the voicemail and redialing instantly. It went straight to voicemail again. Pure panic took over. He dropped his clipboard on the nurse’s station and took off in a dead sprint toward the elevators.
Down in Bay 3, the tension was thick. Robby was gently palpating around your swollen, bruised ankle, his touch as light as possible, but every micro-movement sent a searing flash of white-hot pain up your leg. You gasped, squeezing Dana’s hand with everything you had, your knuckles turning white as fresh tears streamed down your face. Dana stayed right over you, murmuring gentle words of comfort and stroking your hair.
Suddenly, a loud, familiar chime shattered the clinical quiet of the room. Your wrist began to vibrate violently.
Still clutching Dana’s hand, you frantically flipped your wrist over, your tear-blurred eyes locking onto the glowing screen of your Apple Watch. The flashing caller ID read: Jack ❤️.
A massive, breathless sob of pure relief tore from your throat. "Jack!" you cried out loud, your voice cracking with thick tears as you looked at Robby and Dana. "Jack is calling! It's him!"
With trembling fingers, you frantically tap the green button on your watch screen, not even waiting to pull the wrist close to your face before the tears spill over again.
"Jack, finally!" you sob into the microphone, your voice cracking with a mix of raw relief and agonizing pain.
Jack is practically slamming his hand against the the doors, his heart in his throat as he hears the desperate, weeping tone of your voice. "Y/N! Oh my god, what's wrong? Are you okay? Where are you?" his voice explodes through the watch speaker, thick with a terror you’ve never heard from him before. "Is it the baby?"
"The baby is okay, Jack, the baby is fine," you gasp out quickly, trying to reassure him even as another sharp throb shoots up your leg from Robby examining your foot. You squeeze Dana's hand like a lifeline, looking down at your wrist. " I'm in Trauma Bay 3. Please, just get get over here."
Jack didn't even wait for the elevator. He threw open the heavy door to the stairwell and took the steps three at a time, his heart hammering against his ribs in sheer terror. He burst through the ER doors, his eyes wildly scanning the chaotic department until he spotted the curtain to Bay 3.
He threw the curtain back so hard the rings rattled against the metal track.
His breath hitched at the sight. There you were, eight months pregnant, sitting up on the gurney with fresh tears tracking down your pale cheeks. Your right leg was bare, and even from across the room, Jack could see the terrifying, basketball-sized swelling stretching the purple skin around your ankle.
Seeing the sheer panic and love in Jack's eyes, Dana gave you a reassuring squeeze. She looked up at Jack, offering a warm, understanding smile as she smoothly stepped back from the bedside. "I'll let you two be," she murmured softly.
The moment Dana walked out, Jack was across the room in a single, massive stride. He didn't care about Robby standing at the foot of the bed or the medical equipment surrounding you. He climbed right onto the edge of the gurney, gathering you gently but fiercely into his arms.
"Y/N," he choked out, burying his face in your hair as his large hands cupped the back of your head, pulling you flush against his chest. He was trembling violently. "Oh my god, sweetheart, I'm here. I'm right here."
You let out a broken sob, burying your face in the crook of his neck, the familiar scent of his cologne instantly acting like medicine to your frayed nerves. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, holding onto him like a lifeline.
Jack pulled back just enough to frame your face with his hands, his thumbs gently wiping away your tears, his eyes dark with frantic worry. "What happened? Talk to me, please. Is the baby okay? Are you bleeding? Are you having contractions?"
Before you could even swallow down your tears to answer, Robby stepped in, his voice a calm, steady anchor at the foot of the bed. "Jack, look at me. Breathe," the other Chief Attending commanded gently. "The baby is all good. Heart rate is steady, no trauma to the abdomen, and no signs of labor. She took a fall from a small ladder in the nursery and severely inverted her ankle. It's a bad sprain, possibly a fracture, but your kid is perfectly fine."
Right on cue, as if confirming Robby's words, a strong, rhythmic thud rolled across the high curve of your belly. The baby gave a massive, indignant kick right against Jack's hand, which was resting protectively over your bump.
You let out a watery, breathless laugh through your tears, placing your hand over his. "See?" you whispered, looking up into his worried eyes. "He's okay, Jack. Our little boy is just fine."
Robby watched the two of you for a quiet second, a rare, soft smile breaking through his usually gruff demeanor. He patted Jack’s shoulder and gave your uninjured leg a gentle tap.
"I'm going to go order the X-rays and get some pain meds approved," Robby said smoothly, stepping back toward the curtain. "Take a breath, Abbott. I’ll give you two a minute."
With a quick flick of his wrist, Robby pulled the curtain shut, sealing the two of you into your own quiet little world away from the chaotic hum of the ER.
The silence stretched for a beat, filled only by the sound of your shaky breathing and the steady beep of the monitor. Jack didn't move an inch. He stayed wrapped tightly around you, one hand still pressed flat against your heavy bump where your little boy was currently settling back down, while his other hand gently stroked your hair.
Slowly, Jack pulled back just enough to look down into your eyes. The blinding panic in his face had faded into a mix of deep exhaustion and intense, lingering worry. He looked at your puffy, red-rimmed eyes, and then down at the angry, purple swelling of your ankle.
"Okay," Jack said softly, his voice low and rasped with emotion as he rubbed his thumb over your cheekbone. "Now that I know my son is practicing his soccer kicks and my wife is breathing... how exactly did this happen, sweetheart? What were you doing?"
A wave of classic, legal guilt washed over you. You knew exactly what he had told you before his shift—do not touch anything, do not lift anything, just rest.
You offered him a sheepish, incredibly guilty little smile, your eyelashes still wet with tears as you looked up at him from the pillow.
"Welll..." you started, your voice trailing off in a small, defensive whine.
Jack let out a long, slow sigh, a knowing but completely fond look taking over his face as he shook his head. He leaned in a little closer, his brow arching up.
"Y/N, come on," he murmured, his voice a mix of a gentle lecture and pure relief. "Give it to me straight, counselor. What did you do?"
You swallowed hard, your guilty smile widening just a bit as you clutched his shirt. "Okay, so... you know how you told me to just sit on the glider and relax? Well, I was sitting there, looking at the empty walls, and my nesting instincts just totally took over. The frames for the nursery were just sitting on the floor, Jack. They looked so sad."
Jack closed his eyes for a brief second, already piecing it together. "Please tell me you didn't."
"I used the small wooden step stool!" you confessed quickly, the words tumbling out of your mouth in a rush. "I only got one picture up! It looks really good, by the way. But then I went to step up to hang number two, and my balance was just... totally off because of the bump. The ladder wobbled, I lost my footing, and I fell. But I swear, the second I felt myself going down, I twisted my body and landed completely on my side to protect the baby. I guarded him the whole time. My ankle just took all the weight."
You looked up at him through your eyelashes, your voice dropping to a small, pleading whisper. "Don't be mad at me. I just wanted the room to be perfect for him."
Jack’s jaw clenched, and his eyes flared with that fierce, protective anger. His chest puffed up, and for a split second, he looked like he was absolutely going to blow a gasket. You could practically see the lecture forming in his throat—the standard, panicked doctor-husband speech about safety, gravity, and the fact that you are eight months pregnant.
But before a single furious word could leave his mouth, your eyes welled right back up.
The sheer stress of the fall, the throbbing pain in your leg, and the terrifying image of him looking angry at you completely broke your defenses. Your third-trimester hormones slammed into the driver's seat. Your bottom lip trembled, a pathetic little whimper escaped your throat, and a fresh, heavy wave of tears instantly spilled over your cheeks.
Jack’s entire demeanor dissolved in less than a millisecond.
The anger vanished from his face so fast it was almost comical, replaced by pure, desperate panic. "Oh—hey, no, no, no," he stammered, his voice instantly dropping all its edge as he scrambled closer to you on the gurney. "Sweetheart, don't cry. Please don't cry. I'm not mad."
He brought both of his large hands back to your face, gently wiping away the hot tears with his thumbs as you let out a ragged, hiccuping sob.
"I'm sorry," you wept into his palms, your voice completely muffled and heartbroken. "I know it was stupid! I just wanted the nursery done!"
"Shh, it's okay, it's not stupid," Jack murmured frantically, completely defeated by your tears. He leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours, his heart aching at how fragile you looked right now. "The nursery can wait. I'll hang a hundred pictures for you. Just please don't cry, baby. You're safe, the baby is safe, and I'm right here."
You wrapped your arms tightly around Jack’s neck, burying your face into the crook of his shoulder as you held onto him with everything you had. The solid, steady warmth of his chest against yours was the only thing that mattered, instantly calming the storm of hormones and pain.
"I love you so much, Jack," you whispered, your voice thick and muffled against his medical scrubs.
Jack closed his eyes, his arms locking around your waist and holding your pregnant frame securely against him. He pressed a long, deeply relieved kiss into your hair, his hands gently rubbing your back as he finally let out the breath he’d been holding since he left the OR.
"I love you too, sweetheart," he murmured softly into your ear, his voice rough with emotion. "More than anything. We're going to get that ankle fixed up, and then I'm taking you home."
summary : a few posts of being samira's soon to be wife.
all pictures are from pinterest <3 likes and comments are appreciated. please request, if you like, for any other character or actors of the pitt.
note : It's a short one but i really wanted to publish this since a lot of people liked the first one <33 plus i'm still sad about supriya not returning to the pitt for season 3.
masterlist /part one
♫ SO EASY (TO FALL IN LOVE) - OLIVIA DEAN
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samiramohan the rest of our lives!💍🥂✨
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yourinstagram i love you so much, future wifee
samiramohan mrs. mohan ❤️❤️❤️
danaevans you are glowing ❤️
liked by samiramohan
kimmytate i need more pictures of the gorgeous diamond ring 😉
princessdela i second this!!
perlahalawi i need you to be flaunting that thing, samira
samiramohan 😈
langdon.f happy for the two of you
liked by samiramohan
cassiemckay this is what dream are made of
yourinstagram it truly is
samiramohan 🥰
melking congratulations again! 🥳
liked by samiramohan
baranalhashimi aw congratulations, samira!
liked by samiramohan
johnshen can you save me a piece of that cake?
jackabbot congratulations !
yourinstagram tone it down 🤨
trinitysantos 😭😭
♫ LADY LADY - OLIVIA DEAN
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yourinstagram the art of changing, loving and finding peace. 🤍
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samiramohan passionately in love with your eyes and smile 🤍🥺
liked by yourinstagram
vic.javadi white looks good on the two of you😉
yourinstagram 😉😉
danaevans you can tell by the way you smile ♥️
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cassiemckay your smile is the cutest thing
liked by samiramohan
yourinstagram 🥺
emmynolan bride eraaa 💍🕊️𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒
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kimmytate i love when two hot people are going to get married
liked by yourinstagram and samiramohan
baranalhashimi 🥂💍❤️
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samiramohan wedding prep 💐🤍🫧
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yourinstagram you're that girl, you've been it. 🫦
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yourinstagram my wife is so HOT
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samiramohan ❤️🔥❤️🔥❤️🔥
baranalhashimi THE RING 😍
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samiramohan never getting over it !!!!
kimmytate i can't wait to see your wedding dress <3
samiramohan i cry every time i put it on
kimmytate awww
princessdela obsessed with your ring!!
liked by samiramohan and yourinstagram
yourinstagram hehe 🥰
samiramohan thank you to my wife
all pictures are from pinterest <3 likes and comments are appreciated.
please request, if you like, for any other character or actors of the pitt or a part two.
♫ WHERE IS MY HUSBAND - RAYE
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samiramohan 🍂
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yourinstagram 🤎🤎🤎
liked by samiramohan
trinitysantos get it girl
samiramohan 😉
vic.javadi your cat is the cutest!!!
liked by samiramohan
samiramohan THE CUTEST
emmynolan i see what you are doing 🤭
samiramohan hehe
noitsjoy thank you for the cat pictures 😸
samiramohan doing my duties <3
cassiemckay yeah, i need to get laid too.
samiramohan that's NOT what i meant😭
danaevans good luck, kid! 😉
liked by samiramohan
kimmytate i would like a DIAMOND RING on my wedding finger 🙂↕️
liked by samiramohan
langdon.f i don't think she will get the hint
liked by samiramohan, trinitysantos and others
yourinstagram 𑣲𝒮
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samiramohan MY girl
liked by yourinstagram
trinitysantos don't worry, no one is taking her away from you 😭
yourinstagram yours forever <3
samiramohan 🫦👀!!!!!
vic.javadi wedding when??
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emmynolan cuties 🤎
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♫ PAPER RINGS - TAYLOR SWIFT
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samiramohan what the song says. 🩷
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trinitysantos LOUD AND CLEAR
vic.javadi i think she will understand 😂
langdon.f i don't think you are being clear enough
emmynolan mom and mom 🙂↕️
cassiemckay 😉
yourinstagram good to know 🤭
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yourinstagram happy anniversary to my lifeline. i guess we're stuck with each other until forever and always 💗💗
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trinitysantos DOES THIS MEAN WHAT I THINK IT MEANS?!
cassiemckay DID YOU FINALLY DO IT??
vic.javadi you two look hot 🔥
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emmynolan mrs and mrs mohan 👀
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samiramohan gorgeous talented amazing stunning outstanding woman i know <3
samiramohan happy to be stuck with you for another lifetime.
yourinstagram to many and many more 💗
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samiramohan no words can describe how i'm feeling!!! happy 7th anniversary, future mrs. mohan. 🥂🤍
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yourinstagram i got the hint everyone!!!
yourinstagram i love you so much!! i can't wait to be mrs. mohan ˚˖𓍢ִ໋🦢🤍˚
trinitysantos congratulations !!! 🕊️
cassiemckay i'm so emotional right now!!
danaevans congratulations!! she had that ring for a whole month and i've been waiting for her to ask you. 😉
vic.javadi happy for the two of you 🤍🤍
emmynolan I KNEW IT!!!
langdon.f finally!! 🍾
m.r.robinavitch congratulations to the two of you
melking this is so exciting! congratulations!! 💐
denniswhit congratulations!!
────────────────────
note : I feel unsure how to feel about this one because it's been in the drafts for a bit.
'He imagined they'd be a little different from the yelps that escape you when it's a slow shift, and he decides to scare you.'
crash jack having fun with sleepy during shift???? can we see this pls???
When the shift is slow enough, Jack's tension has loosened enough to want to scare the shit out of you. You've been floating around the ED with the bright energy you get when you're not stimulated enough. That's all he's doing. Stimulating you.
You're the one who keeps sneaking up on him, and hey, maybe he wants to see what you do when you're startled and not hurt by him. Is that too much to ask?
For once, he just actually wants to play. Jack can, believe it or not, kiddo.
"Why are all of you in the dumbest place possible?"
You're in the overstocked supply closet, muttering to yourself bout something. Jack pauses just outside the doorway.
You're very concentrated on being annoyed. He's annoyed at how he's smiling already.
"C'mon, where are my tube guys?"
He gets close enough to hear your breathing before he leans in to grab and shake you by the biceps.
"Gotcha!"
You yelp. It's very shrill and panicked, and loud enough that it might be bouncing off the shelves as you jump hard enough to drop your box of whatever.
You pull yourself out of his hold, turning around with a hand pressed to your chest.
"You asshole! You're so...that was mean!"
Jack laughs harder than he means to, but he couldn't give a shit. That was funny. He just likes to get noises out of you.
"You’re in an ED, kid. Situational awareness should be better."
You harshen your stare into a glare at him, but it’s already weak because you're not...you're not really prepared for how boyish his smarmy grin makes him look.
His laughter strips ten years off Jackie, you think. But it adds ten points to the team "you want Jack Abbot inside you to give you babies and a home before you've even asked him out on a date".
Awful, awful man.
"You're so meannnnn."
"Don't be like that. You started it. Sneaking up on me. Saying my name like you want me to jump.”
You cross your arms. "What are you talking about---"
"Just relax with me, c'mon. Let's go have a Twinkie."
Jack nudges your shoulder. You can still feel the nerves in your veins. You roll your eyes.
"So this is what you do when you’re having fun? You terrorize women and bribe them with dessert?"
Jack pats you on the small on your back.
"Just you."
You feel your cheeks warm at that. Damn it. Damn him. Damn the way he begins to guide you out of the supply closet like he's herding sheep.
"I know you, out of all people, can't deny a Twinkie when offered."
See? Jack knows how to have fun as well as he knows to manipulate.
Dr Brendon Park x Wife!Baker!Reader, Dana Evans x Daughter!Reader
Find My Pitt Masterlist here
Read Previous Here!
With the rain, it brings cherished memories to the forefront.
The memory of sweet pastries.
Of cobbled streets.
Of endless surprises.
Of your hand intertwined with Brendon's.
And the promise to always be each other's home.
And with the rain brings forth a new moment to cherish.
Notes: some strong language, established relationship. Brendon being so sweet for you and your babies💗 tooth rotting fluff!! just absolute sweetness.
Word Count: ~2.9k
The rain fell in steady sheets beyond the windows, drumming softly against the roof.
Not loud enough to interrupt the morning.
But just enough to become part of it.
A quiet rhythm that settled over the house like a lullaby.
The sky outside remained wrapped in gentle shades of grey, the storm having lingered since sometime in the early hours. Raindrops clung to the garden roses, each bloom heavy with crystal droplets that caught what little morning light filtered through the clouds.
When you had first woken, you'd cracked the kitchen window open just enough to let the cool air drift inside.
Now the earthy scent of rain mingled with the rich aroma of butter and warm pastry as fresh croissants baked in the oven.
It was a scent that instantly made the house feel lived in.
Loved.
Home.
You inhaled deeply as you worked, unable to stop the small smile that found your lips.
Your hands moved almost instinctively.
Measuring.
Folding.
Brushing each croissant with egg wash before sliding another tray into the oven.
Years of practice had woven the movements into muscle memory. You scarcely had to think anymore. Every motion was smooth, precise and unhurried, as though your body already knew the dance by heart.
Beyond the kitchen island, the living room was awash in soft morning light.
And in the middle of it–
Brendon sat cross-legged on the rug. Still dressed in a pair of worn grey track pants and an old university hoodie, his dark hair adorably messy from sleep.
The sight alone was enough to make your heart ache.
Surrounding him was an explosion of toys.
Soft blocks.
Books.
Tiny plush animals.
A wooden stacking tower someone had already attempted to dismantle.
Your husband looked entirely at home amongst the chaos. Whilst Rosie had abandoned every toy in favour of climbing him instead.
Her tiny fingers curled around his knee as she used him like the world's safest piece of furniture. One determined little grunt escaped her as she hauled herself upright.
She wobbled dramatically.
Her chubby legs still uncertain beneath her.
Brendon instinctively held one hand close behind her without actually touching.
Ready.
Always ready.
Close enough to catch her if she fell.
Far enough away to let her discover she could do it herself.
"There you go, sweetheart," he murmured, "So strong."
Rosie beamed as though she'd just conquered Mount Everest. A triumphant squeal echoed through the room.
Nearby, Finnick was entirely absorbed in a stuffed Nemo almost half his own size.
His tiny fingers squeezed the plush fish before he promptly attempted to introduce it to his mouth, "Dadadadada…” He giggled to himself.
Completely delighted. Whilst tiny bubbles of drool escaped with every happy laugh.
No matter how many times you witnessed moments like these...
They never stopped feeling miraculous.
This...
This was your life.
The life you had built with Brendon and you were so grateful for it.
Not perfect.
Not spotless.
Certainly not quiet.
But beautiful.
A home filled with laughter.
Fresh bread.
Rain against the windows.
Children learning something new every single day.
And Brendon.
Always Brendon.
He looked up then, almost as though he'd felt your eyes resting on him. His gaze found yours across the room.
Instantly, he smiled.
It wasn't the polite smile he wore at work.
Nor the amused grin reserved for family dinners.
This one belonged only to you.
Soft.
Unhurried.
Overflowing with the kind of love that had only grown deeper with every passing year.
You smiled back without even realising it. It had become as instinctive as breathing.
Outside, the rain continued its gentle percussion.
Inside, the smell of buttery croissants filled every corner of the house.
The warmth.
The quiet.
Your children laughing.
You smiling at him across the room.
It all wrapped around Brendon until, before he even realised it...
He was somewhere else entirely.
Brendon is brought back into a memory…
The memory of your honeymoon.
…
The memory arrived so vividly he could almost smell the city again.
Your hand fit perfectly inside his as you practically dragged him through winding cobblestone streets with endless enthusiasm.
The way you beamed as you shared all your old haunts. Whilst you rambled on and on about what certain places meant to you.
"Oh!" You'd gasped every few minutes, "You have to see this."
Or–
"I forgot to show you this place!"
Or–
"Wait, wait! We have to go this way."
The way you’d simply pull him to a bakery or a cafe or restaurant insisting that he had to try something. You insisted he try everything.
And it never failed to be the most delicious thing he had ever eaten.
Flaky croissants so buttery they shattered into delicate layers at the slightest touch.
Warm pain au chocolat.
Perfectly caramelised crème brûlée whose crisp sugar shell cracked beneath his spoon with a satisfying snap.
Rich beef bourguignon that melted apart before he even needed a knife.
Then–
"The Paris-Brest," you smiled up at him, waiting in line to order.
He blinked, "The...what?"
"The Paris-Brest, this place is meant to have the best one,” you said, eyes glancing over the delicate sweets on display, rows of macarons, beautifully glazed cakes.
He looked at you.
Then at the menu.
Then back again, "...You're serious?" He raised a brow.
You burst into laughter, shaking your head, "It isn't what you're thinking."
"I don't know..."
"You absolutely are thinking exactly what everyone thinks."
He couldn't stop laughing, "You've brought me all the way to France..."
"...Yes?" You grinned.
"...to order something called a Paris Breast,” he said finally, looking at you completely.
"It's Brest!" You dissolved into helpless giggles, "It's named after a bicycle race!"
He wiped tears from laughing, "I cannot possibly order that with a straight face."
"You have to!"
"I can't!"
"You absolutely have to,” you say while your smile split across your face, trying your best to hide your snickers while you force Brendon to order.
Naturally...
He loved it.
"Okay,” He admitted after his second bite, "You win."
"I know,” you remark.
"It's incredible."
"I also know that,” You wore the most smug little smile he'd ever seen.
Days blurred beautifully together.
Museums where you wandered hand in hand, pausing to admire paintings you'd loved since your university days.
Bookshops where you disappeared between shelves for far longer than either of you intended.
Afternoons spent lingering beneath leafy trees with pastries balanced between you.
Evenings watching the city glow beneath golden lights.
Sometimes you'd simply sit together beside the Seine, saying very little.
Just...
Existing together.
Taking him to all the hidden places, all the tucked away little secrets that the city had to offer.
Showing him where you used to live, study, work.
And all the stories that came with it.
Walking side by side through the parks. Simply basking in the simple joy it brought you. Pointing out the sweet older couples, saying to Brendon that that would be you and him one day.
He couldn’t help but fall deeper and deeper in love with you.
So grateful to you.
Grateful that he was your husband.
That you wanted to share your life with him…
You explored the city from top to bottom, creating new memories you’d cherish with him.
One of which had led to you both being caught in the rain.
One afternoon, while wandering through the Jardin du Luxembourg, sunlight filtered through the leaves overhead.
The gardens glowed.
Children sailed little wooden boats across the fountain.
Everything felt impossibly peaceful.
Until–
The heavens opened up from above.
Rain crashed down without warning.
And in the next moment, you were both caught beneath the sudden rain.
Your hair clung to your cheeks. His shirt stuck to his back. Water dripped from both your noses.
Around you, everyone scattered. Umbrellas opened. People sprinted towards cafés. Parents hurried children beneath trees.
Meanwhile–
You laughed.
Not politely.
Not quietly.
The kind of laughter that bubbled up from somewhere deep inside you.
Head tipped back. Eyes closed. Face lifted towards the rain.
Completely, wonderfully alive.
Brendon stopped walking.
Simply watching you.
You looked...
Radiant.
He honestly didn't think he'd ever seen you happier.
Rainwater streamed down your face.
Your dress clung to your legs.
Yet somehow...
You looked like sunshine.
And the smile.
God, that smile…
How it warmed his chest, how it made his heart race. Even as he’s soaked to the core, your smile makes it all so worth it.
You reached for his hand, "C'mon!"
Pulling him beneath the nearest covered pavilion. Rain continued hammering down just beyond its roof.
The gardens had emptied.
Leaving only the two of you.
The city somehow quieter than before.
Your laughter still ringing out, while you try to wring out your hair and clothes as best you can.
Smile still beaming, you meet his eyes.
Then you noticed how his hair clung to his forehead. Reaching up you gently sweep the hair from his eyes, combing it back.
A smile tugged at your lips.
“You look like you’re about to go into surgery,” you giggle, noticing how his wet hair mimics his usual gelled back look for work.
He chuckles softly, “I don’t think they’d be pleased if their surgeon showed up drenched”
“You have to admit, that this is pretty fun–you can’t help but laugh about it,” you say, whilst the rain only pelts down harder.
"I don't even know where this came from,” He looked towards the grey sky, "It wasn't supposed to rain today."
You followed his gaze.
Watching tiny ripples dance across puddles forming along the pathways, you shrug, “I’ve always thought Paris looked prettiest in the rain,” you say, admiring the view before you, “There’s something peaceful about it”
He smiled, "Of course you do."
You glanced back, "What does that mean?"
"It means..." He chuckled,"...Leave it to you to find something beautiful about getting caught in a storm on your honeymoon."
You laughed. Elbowing him playfully, "So what? I'm a glass-half-full kind of girl. I'm pretty sure that's why you married me.”
He looked at you for a long moment, "It's one reason."
"Only one?" you teased.
“It’s one of many reasons,” he replied softly. Eyes shifting to settle back onto you.
He truly loved you.
He stepped closer, "There are hundreds."
He could list all the reasons why, and he’d still come up with new reasons with each passing day by your side.
His fingers slipped naturally between yours. His free hand settled against the small of your back.
"What are you doing?" you asked, smiling already.
"You'll see,” he said and then without another word...
He began to sway.
Slowly.
Almost imperceptibly.
Your eyebrows lifted.
"Brendon..." You laughed, "...Are you trying to dance with me?"
"No,” he shook his head.
"No?"
"I'm succeeding,” he replied smoothly. Sweetly.
A grin broke across your face.
No music necessary, just the steady rhythm of your heartbeats, accompanied by the rainfall.
Your feet found his effortlessly.
Swaying together beneath the shelter while the storm raged around you.
“Who would’ve thought that Park the Shark was a romantic?” you teased.
“Only ever for you,” he says sweetly. “I know how much you love to dance, so what better time than now. In Paris, on our honeymoon, while the rain falls.”
You rested your forehead against his, "Who would’ve thought that Park the Shark was a romantic,” his little nickname amusing you.
He smiled, "I'm only romantic for one person."
"And who's that?" You lifted a brow, with a knowing glint in your eye.
"You,” His voice was so gentle it almost disappeared beneath the rain, “I know how much you love to dance, so…”
He shrugged one shoulder, "We're in Paris. It's our honeymoon. It's raining. I figured..."
He smiled that soft smile reserved only for you, "...What better time?"
Emotion welled unexpectedly in your chest.
You leaned up.
Capturing his lips in a slow, lingering kiss.
Rain surrounded you.
Neither of you noticed.
You only noticed him.
His warmth.
The way he always met you where you were.
The way he indulged every whim, every dream, every silly tradition because seeing you happy somehow made him happier.
You often thought about your parents.
How they'd loved each other.
How they'd quietly set impossibly high expectations for what marriage should feel like. You'd worried no relationship could ever live up to theirs.
Then you had met Brendon.
He hadn't just met those expectations.
He'd quietly rewritten them.
Because love wasn't measured in grand declarations.
It lived in moments like this.
In dancing beneath unexpected rain. In listening to stories he'd already heard simply because you loved telling them. In making room for every version of you.
When you'd first met him, he'd been guarded.
Careful.
Keeping pieces of himself tucked safely behind practiced professionalism and dry humour.
You hadn't forced those walls down.
You'd simply waited.
Loved him anyway.
Until one day...
He'd realised he felt safe enough to open the door himself. Piece by piece. Truth by truth.
Until every part of him belonged beside every part of you.
And somehow...
He'd become softer.
Lighter.
Happier.
Holding you now beneath that tiny shelter, Brendon rested his forehead against yours and silently wished for a lifetime filled with moments exactly like this.
Ordinary moments.
Unexpected moments.
The beautiful ones.
Even the difficult ones.
As long as they were with you.
And truly.
Brendon was happier for it…
Holding you closely now, swaying gently. Eyes drifted close, relishing in this moment, holding you now.
Excited for many more moments like these in your future together.
Both the good and the bad.
He couldn’t wait to experience it all by your side.
…
“Brendon!”
The memory fades in an instant at the sound of your voice pulling you back to the present.
The kitchen came back into focus. The scent of warm croissants. Rain against the windows.
Your excited voice, "Oh my goodness–Brendon, look!"
You hurried from the oven, setting the tray onto the cooling rack with a clatter before dropping into a crouch.
Both hands stretched out.
Your entire face lit up, "Rosie!"
Brendon turned, with his breath caught in his throat.
Rosie was no longer holding onto his knee.
There she stood all by herself.
Tiny feet planted uncertainly against the rug.
Her little body swayed from side to side.
Balancing.
Thinking.
Realising.
With a slight wobble, teetering between standing and falling.
Her mouth opened, eyes wide, looking all around her. A slight bubbling laugh spills from her lips when she sees you, “Mama!” she squeals.
Your eyes instantly filled, "You're standing!"
You laughed through happy tears, "Brendon, she's standing!" Your hands clapped together excitedly.
"That's it, sweetheart. Mama's right here. You can do it,” you gently cooed in encouragement, "Come to Mama."
Brendon scrambled for his phone so quickly he nearly dropped it, he laughed breathlessly, "I am not missing this."
The camera began recording just as Rosie looked towards him, "C'mon, Rosie-girl."
Eyes crinkling at the corners, smile spreading across his lips. His voice was impossibly soft, "Daddy's watching."
She grinned.
Then...
One tiny foot lifted.
A step.
Tiny.
Wobbly.
Another.
Her arms pinwheeled dramatically for balance.
A third.
Until she’s stumbling over to you, hands grabbing at you.
Until gravity finally won.
Not by sending her to the floor–
But straight into your waiting arms.
You scoop her into your arms, showering her with kisses, “Wow! Mama is so proud of you Rosie, aren’t you clever–” You caught her against your chest.
Beaming so brightly, pride spreads across your features. A warmth curling in your chest.
You peppered kisses all over her rosy cheeks, "So clever! Our clever girl."
Rosie squealed, giggling uncontrollably as your kisses tickled.
Then–
"Achoo!"
As if knowing what you meant, Finnick sneezed from his place on the floor, where he now sits. Stuffed Nemo abandoned beside him.
His lower lip had begun to wobble ever so slightly.
His big eyes moved between you cuddling Rosie...
...and his own empty arms.
The pout arrived with heartbreaking speed.
Brendon chuckled knowingly, "Oh, buddy.”
He crossed the room and scooped Finnick effortlessly into his arms, “You’ll get there soon Finn, it’s ok,” he reassured gently.
Soothing Finnick, who in an instant, melted against his father's shoulder with a tiny sigh.
Brendon rubbed slow circles across his little back, "Your turn will come."
He kissed the top of his son's head, murmuring softly, "I promise. You'll be running circles around us before we know it."
Finnick blinked sleepily up at him.
Then smiled.
One tiny hand reaching up to pat Brendon's cheek.
As rain continued to fall outside...
The smell of warm croissants filled your home...
And Brendon couldn't help but think that, somehow, every dream he'd ever dared to have had quietly come true.
And in this moment now. With little Rosie in your arms, Finnick in Brendon’s, your heart swelled with warmth. Overflowing with love.
Love for your family.
For the family you had created with Brendon.
For the love he always carried for you. For always indulging in your whimsy.
Together you had made a home.
And whether you were in Paris.
Or at the bakery.
The hospital.
Or anywhere else for that matter.
Your home would always be with Brendon. Just as you were his home.
Always his safe space. Where his walls could come down. Revealing the deepest secrets of his heart.
Only ever for you.
Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed this little story ♥️ I loved exploring snippets of their honeymoon moments, even if Paris is a little on the nose, it holds a special meaning for you and Brendon just loves hearing all that you have to share and say. Pushing his boundaries in the best ways! and just loved exploring a little more of Rosie and Finnick ugh, so so cute to write - next part I'm thinking of exploring a little of when they were trying to get pregnant (possible miscarriage exploration) maybe a tinge of angst. Let me know what you thought and if you'd like to be tagged for future parts of this series✨
Read Part 7: here!
Comments, Reblogs and Likes are welcomed and appreciated 💕
Help yourself and check out my other Pitt Works on My Masterlist Here!
Every goal is for you | Isa Briones x USWNT!Reader
Where Isa and some of The Pitt cast surprise you at your match
The Pitt masterlist | Words: 2k
-----
The room was still pitch black when Isa’s alarm sounded across it. Isa quickly turned it off, hoping it wouldn’t wake you. She wouldn’t wish 5am wake up calls upon anyone besides her fellow cast mates that had to arrive on set at the same time as she did.
You were in the middle of international break and had flown into LA with the team last night. Instead of staying in the hotel with the team, you had opted to sleep at home, like your fellow LA based teammates had done as well. It wasn’t often that your international schedule and Isa’s filming schedule allowed you to be in the same place at the same time.
But here you were, peacefully asleep with your arm draped over Isa’s stomach. Your girlfriend smiled at how peaceful you looked, she loves waking up beside you, but hated having to leave you there.
She carefully lifted your arm, so she would be able to slip out of the bed, but you instantly tightened your hold on her. "Hm, don't go.” You mumbled, your eyes still closed. “Baby, I have to.”
“No.” You said right away and snuggled into her side. Isa chuckled, “No?”
“Call in sick.” You said with a certainty no half asleep person should have. “Sadly that’s not how it works.” Her response was met with a huff, “It should.”
"Fine," Isa sighed dramatically. "I'll stay." The smile of your face grew, your eyes still closed and already half preparing to fall back asleep. “Yeah?”
“No.” Your eyes flew open. “Rude.” You playfully shove her away, a moment Isa used to slip out of your hold and out of bed. She leaned back down to kiss your lips softly. “I wish I could be there tonight.” You fell back into the bed with a deep sigh, “Yeah, me too.”
Isa went to the bathroom for a quick shower. She brushed her teeth and quickly put her hair up, knowing hair and make-up would be waiting for her when she arrived.
When she walked back into the bedroom to grab her phone, you were already fast asleep again, this time lying on Isa’s side of the bed. She gently moved some hair out of your face and placed a long kiss onto your forehead. “I love you.” She whispered before leaving the room.
Just as she was about to leave the apartment, she saw you match day back ready at the door. She smiled to herself as she got an idea. She quickly walked into the kitchen and grabbed a piece of paper and a pen, writing you a quick note.
She folds the note carefully and places it between your shin pads, where she knows you will find them.
---
It wasn't until hours later, in the chaos of the locker room, that the note finally slipped free. Music filled the room, along with a lot of singing and talking from your teammates. The average locker room experience with your team before a match. Caught up in the whirlwind around you, you didn’t even notice the folded piece of paper falling to the ground as you reached into your bag for your shin pads.
However, your locker room buddy Emily noticed it instantly and picked it up before you even noticed. “Ooh what do we have here, a note from your secret admirer?” Your cheeks turned red instantly, it was no secret you and Isa were dating, still you weren’t a fan of every head in the locker room turning your way. You’d much rather have the spotlight on anyone but you.
"Foxy, please, give it back." You begged as she was making a scene of slowly unfolding the piece of paper. “Come on, Foxy, that's private.”
Emily just smirked, seemingly feeling very accomplished. “Ah so it is from Isa!”
“Like it would ever be a question who left a note in my bag.” You said with a fake annoyed roll of your eyes. "True," Emily shrugged. "But now I've got confirmation." You reached for the note, only for Emily to hold it just out of reach with a grin.
"Relax," she laughed. "I'm not going to read your girlfriend's love letter." The room filled with oo’s and aw’s like you were back in high school. She hands you back the folded note and pats your shoulder, “Seriously, that’s between you two.” She says to just you and not the room when she sits back down beside you.
Once everyone turned their attention away from you, you opened the note. The familiar handwriting instantly makes you smile.
Good luck today, baby!
And remember, just because I can’t be there doesn’t mean I won’t be cheering for you.
Score one for me?
Love you,
Your number one fan ♡
You smile while reading the sweet message Isa had left you. When she had mentioned that she wouldn’t be able to make it to your game, you had been disappointed, but this note made you remember that wherever Isa was, she would always be supporting you.
Emily noticed your smile growing wider and wider the longer you looked at the note, and nudged your shoulder, “That good?”
You folded the note carefully, before slipping it into a pocket in your bag. “The best.” You answered, your heart warmed as you thought about the message again.
“You gonna score for her?” You smile knowing that even your teammates knew you loved to dedicate your goals to Isa. “I’m gonna try.” Emily smirked, “Good answer.” The rest of the conversation got cut short as the coach walked into the room.
---
Filming days always seemed to blend together. Early call times before the sun was even up somehow made the hours under the bright studio lights feel even longer. By the time lunch rolled around, Isa had already lost all sense of time.
Truthfully, she didn't mind. When she was on set, time rarely mattered anyway. Everything revolved around the schedule the crew had carefully put together, with each department working to keep the day moving.
Of course, no filming schedule ever went exactly as planned. Something could always go wrong that would impact the whole shoot. Needing more takes than planned, light issues, the need for more camera angles, you name it and it can delay the shoot day.
But by some miracle everything went great today. The scenes came together quicker than expected, there were no unexpected technical difficulties, and every department was able to stay on schedule. Before anyone had really noticed, production had managed to claw back nearly a whole hour.
For the first time in what felt like forever, they were actually ahead of schedule, and it didn't take long before the director called, “That's a wrap for today!”
Unlike usual, Isa headed for her trailer as quickly as she could. She wanted to get to her phone quickly, see how you were doing in your match, but before she could even reach her trailer, Taylor stopped her.
“Hey, where are you off to?” Isa liked to hang around with the cast and talk about the day, but all she wanted today was to catch whatever part of your match, whether that would be on her phone in the trailer or on the TV at home. “Sorry Tay, I am rushing to see how my girlfriend is doing with her match.”
“Yeah, we know.” Gerran added with a bunch of bags slung around his shoulders. “If we leave now we can catch the second half in the stadium.” Isa stood there dumbfounded as the group of people in front of her trailer grew. Taylor, Gerran, Epideh & Shabana were all ready to head to the stadium with her. “No way!” Isa said before rushing in to grab her stuff.
---
You walk out for the second half and look up to the family box like you always do before every warm-up, before kickoff, and again before the second half. It’s a tradition you started long ago, even when you knew there would be no one for you in the stands, those were the friends and family members that showed up to support you and the girls in person, and you were always grateful to whoever filled the box.
You knew you wouldn’t find Isa amongst the people sitting there, she was still on set, but you knew she was supporting you from there. The box was mostly filled with your team’s friends and family that was based in California. You spot a few of your friends that had already been there the first half as well, and send them a quick wave before making your way to your place on the pitch.
The whistle blew and you were fully locked back in game mode. The first half had ended in a 1-1 tie, and you had not yet been able to add your name onto the scoresheet, despite having a couple close shots. You and the team were determined to get a win out of today, so you gave it your all to get the upper hand.
After a couple of substitutions in the 65th minute, your team had two players with fresh legs on the wings, a change that instantly boosted your speed in attack. It took a couple tries but the third time the ball got crossed into the box, you were exactly where Emma had aimed her cross, all you had to do was flick your head correctly to get the ball past the keeper.
A powerful turn of your head made the ball soar in the far corner of the goal where the goalkeeper couldn’t reach. The ball hit the back of the net with the stadium erupting around you.
You run off in Emma’s direction and jump into her arms to celebrate. The rest of the team joined in on the team huddle. You give Emma a couple pats on the back for her perfect assist, before jogging back towards the halfway line.
You turn to the family area and blow a kiss in that direction. That’s when you notice her. Isa was up on her feet, cheering and celebrating your goal. Your smile grew and you quickly sent another kiss directly to her.
Isa was blushing from the teasing comments of her castmates, but she enjoyed every moment of getting to watch you score and watch you realise she had made it after all.
Emily falls into step with you. “Got your goal for your girl.” She pats you on the back before jogging further down the pitch, leaving you standing there with a dopey smile.
The rest of the match goes on, but the goal you scored ended up being the decider. It might not have been the most exciting win, but a win was a win and you were proud that you were able to add your name to the scoresheet after all.
---
You were the first to arrive at the family box after the game, rushing into Isa’s arms. “You made it!” She smiled, “You scored for me, but you didn’t even know I was there.”
You move back a little to admire her in her USA shirt, before you look back at her shining eyes. “Of course, every goal I score is for you. I always dedicate my goals to you even when you aren’t in the stadium.” Your cheeks turn a little pink at the confession, but Isa just puts her hands on your cheeks and brings you in for a kiss. “That is the cutest thing ever, please never stop doing that.” You smile big, “I promise.”
Then you turn to the rest of the cast she’d brought with her and give each of them a hug after thanking them for coming and getting Isa to your game.
-----
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synopsisrobby went away hoping to catch peace in his three months get away but he caught sight of something else instead. now he's coming back after watching you for months over a camera, desperate for the real thing but what you don't know won't hurt you, right? (7.5k words)
warningssmut MDNI, voyerism, phone sex, watching masturbation through cameras, mutual masturbation, dirty talk, praise kink, smell play if thats a thing, fingering, oral (f and m receiving) finger sucking, handjob, slight chocking? unprotected p in v
authornotesby popular demand a part two to camera on me baby! but it can also kind of be read as a standalone. on a side note, I hate the word 'panties' I don't know why. In britain i'm pretty sure we call them knickers but that also sounds way less sexy. and i know Noah said in an interview he doesn't have chest hair but Robby does, I don't make the rules. (gif credit to @emziess :)
pitt masterlist! part one 'camera on me baby'
It was Duke's fault, really. The reason why you found out about the camera's in the first place. Although the blame on Duke can be run back down to Robby again for asking his friend to help instal the damn things.
You'd got home after a typical gruelling day, dumping your bag at the kitchen counter and rolling out the tension in your shoulders. There wasn't even anything special about the day that made it feel so long. You'd all been so sure (well, almost everyone, you had not been sure) that the place could run without Robby, so much so many felt they needed to prove that fact.
The wrong blood was hooked up to a patient, realised in just a nick of time.
Two diagnosis were switched up so a poor old man thought he was dying a lot sooner than he was. Jack smoothed that one out.
And a man with heart palpations just couldn't leave his cat so had to bring him in and Gloria just had to come down at that same time.
So you were ready to crash when there was a knock on the door.
Something you learnt living in Robby's space was the lack of visitors he had. You'd bumped into Mrs Hathaway who lived two doors down and had a bad habit of smoking a pack a day and carried the smell with her and explained that Robby was away so you were looking after his one house plant and bringing in his male.
But Mrs Hathaway never came around.
You wondered if you'd been so tired you'd called yourself a take-away and forgot as you looked through the peep hole.
Long grey hair and stormy eyes looked back at you. A denim vest and tattoos standing out against the canvas of skin. Before you wouldn't have known the guy; would've debated crashing Robby's peace to ask who this guy was but now he was a frequent flyer at PTMC.
“Hey, Duke,” you greeted, holding the door open.
Duke grinned and went in for a hug. “Hey.”
He smelt like bike oil and leather but you patted his back. You didn't know if he was deep down an affectionate guy or if it was the diagnosis but every time he visited the hospital for check ups or meds for his pain who was asking for particular nurses and buying up their time with idle chatter.
Nobody seemed to mind.
“Robby's still not back,” you said, pulling away and following him into Robby's place.
“Oh yeah, I know, just needed to pick up some tools I left here,” he said.
You watched him move around, flicking on lights as he went that you hadn't had the chance to turn on yet. He moved around Robby's place like he knew every nook and cranny. Maybe he did. Slowly, you were learning Robby had a life outside of the Pitt.
“So, how's the bachelor pad treating you?” Duke called as he wondered around the space.
“It's nice, it's good,” you said, following behind a pace or two and just hoping the tools weren't in Robby's room. Then he might see your bag you'd slowly let spill out over the place and a coffee mug you'd left from this morning. He might see the rumpled sheets and thrown over cover and realise you were sleeping in your bosses bed and not the provided spare room.
The guest room bed hadn't been made and you'd been so tired coming back that you'd just crashed in his bed, for one night. You were going to clean the sheets but then his bed was so comfortable you struggled even getting up in the morning.
It felt like an embrace from him.
“The wi-fi playing up or anything?” he asked, searching through kitchen cupboards.
“No, it's been fine.”
“Been eating? Punk has a good kitchen.”
“Did Robby ask you to check on me, or something?” you asked, hoping Robby didn't think he'd made a mistake in asking you to house sit. His one plant was very well cared for and mail organised by what you think required his upmost attention first. You'd even kept a pile of junk mail just in case he was particular in the sort he got rid of.
“No,” Duke chuckled. “I just know I'll get bonus points if I check in on you.”
Before you could ask what he meant by that there was a triumphant cheer as he started to pull out so many tools and a tool box you wondered if he was robbing Robby.
“Did Robby tell you he has a parking spot reserved out front? Parking can be a bitch here.”
“Oh, I don't drive I catch the bus.”
“He tell you about the camera's.”
The sleep that had been invading your every sense ebbed away. “Cameras?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Around the place. Installed them a couple months back.”
Cameras. All around the place.
You searched high around in places you'd never thought to scrutinise before. There, looming like a bird of prey in the corner of the kitchen was what could be assumed a camera. It was just a black dot to you with the high ceilings but when you glanced over at the living area there was a better view of the camera sat in the corner, aimed right where you stood at the kitchen island.
Cameras. About the place. The place you'd been living for weeks.
You'd been sleeping in Robby's bed, you'd been flaunting around in your shirt and nothing else. You had Trinity around to eat pizza and drink wine in your bras. You'd looked through Robby's stuff, you'd-
You'd done un-speakable things to yourself in that bed.
Were they a security measure? Did the tapes end up anywhere? And if they did, could you find them and burn them.
“The camera's,” said Duke, standing with tool box full in hand. “He mentioned them right.”
No. Robby hadn't mentioned anything of the sort. Hadn't even let onto the fact you might want to be on your guard. He'd welcomed you into his place, told you to treat it like yours while he was gone.
“Oh, yeah, cameras. He-he told me about the camera's,” you lied, gulping down the truth.
What if you said no he hadn't and it was written all over your face that you were guilty of.... of something. What if Duke thought it was Robby's fault? He was probably just tired, or forgot they were even there.
“Yeah, took us ages to get up. We were no good at it, you know, old men and technology,” he said, heading toward the door already.
“Yeah, yeah... totally.”
“Okay, see ya soon, doc!”
“You too, Duke.” As distracted as you were, Duke let himself out. The door closed and you were left alone with the cameras.
Maybe they weren't working all the time. Maybe, since Robby knew it was just you and he could trust you he'd turned off the cameras. Maybe he really had just forgot they were there and no longer used them.
Maybe's chased you into Robby's ensuite, sat you down on the of the counter. You scanned the corners subtly in case you were being watched but found only clean tiles and sterile walls. Safe.
As for the rest of the place, you dreaded to think.
You had almost forgot all about the cameras again. The first night you slept stiff, still un-able to drag yourself from the comfort of Robby's bed but you found the camera, tucked away in a corner. You'd watched for a flashing light but found none, so did that not mean it was off?
You thought about texting Robby, asking him about the cameras but you looked back at the last texts. He'd sent you a picture of a lake he was at, said it was peaceful, said he was enjoying his time. You didn't want to freak him out or accuse him of anything.
You knew the kind of guy Robby was. If he remembered the cameras, he'd tell you.
Moving on from that catastrophe was easy when you worked in the ED. Disasters came in and managed your time. You'd thought about asking Jack when you saw him at hand off but smiled him off.
Days later you were forgetting all about it.
“I mean, I've heard some pretty crazy stories before but a carrot, up the butt,” Trinity chuckled down the phone.
“Is it bad it's not even the first I've seen,” you said. “I had someone with a cucumber up there once.”
Santos hummed on the other end of the phone. “I get it, longer, smoother.”
You had been chopping up a carrot to make a ragu and thought different of it, putting it aside and forging any vegetable that could be seen as phallic. “You're disgusting.”
“Say that to the patient with half a carrot stuck up there.”
A quick sear of pain made you jump as beads of blood found its way down to Robby's chopping board and the onion you'd been slicing.
“Oh shit-”
“What happened? Found Robby's Viagra?” she said down the other line.
“Hilarious,” you grit out. Without thinking you grabbed the tea towel and wrapped it around your hand, holding it up high. You cursed quietly again when you realised you'd just ruined one of his. “I just, er, dropped one of Robby's glasses, I gotta go, I'll call you back.”
You wedged your wrapped up hand into your chest and ended the call.
Being a doctor yourself you knew you could handle a cut, blood, a gash. Peeling it away and dabbing at the edges you found the wound, a clean cut, not too deep. Stitches, maybe.
If you kept it wrapped up you could just leave it till the morning for your shift-
Your phone rang again and you answered without looking. Most calls logged in your phone were Trinity anyway. “No, I have not seen a banana in a vagina.”
“Well hello to you too,” said a striking and familiar deep rumble of a voice.
“Robby. Hey, sorry I-I thought you were Santos.”
He chuckled but it was curt. “Exciting day in work?”
“Yeah-yeah, you could say that,” you put down your phone on speaker and re-wrapped your hand. “So what's up? What's with the call?”
“I just wanted to... check in, it's been a while.”
You squeezed your hand, trying to stop the bleeding. “Everything's fine. All fine. Place is still standing.”
“Yeah, yeah, that's good, that's good,” he said with hesitation. “How are you? Staying safe, no-no accidents around the place I hope. Sometimes that place is a death trap. Door can stick... and- and my knives can be... sharp.”
Suddenly you realised.
The camera's.
Robby hadn't called you while he'd been away. He'd text only oddly to see how things were or send pictures of where he was- that was a new development.
He'd texted you about the temp playing up in his shower after you made one too hot and had to lie bare on is bed with his fan on you.
He'd texted that he had extra blankets if you were cold when you were wrapped up in his dressing gown.
He knew about the camera's.
Robby had seen. Everything.
“Still there?” he asked.
“Yeah, yeah, sorry just- funny you should bring up the knives, I just had a little accident.”
“Are you okay? Did you cut yourself?”
You tried not to eye the camera's. “Just a small cut.”
“You wouldn't lie to me would you?” he asked, a dark tint to his voice.
You didn't know what worried you more. The fact he was watching you close enough to see and call you, or the fact the thought didn't creep you out as you supposed it should. “How would you feel if I bloodied one of your tea towels.”
“Relieved, as long as you get your cut looked at.”
“And if I got blood on a chopping board.”
“Chopping board- bit of wood, I can get some more wood up here.”
“And how is your trip?”
Robby chuckled. “Oh no, no, no you're not distracting me from this. Got to the ER.”
“It's not that deep.”
“It loo-”
For a moment you were both silent, knowing what he was going to say. It looks bad. You felt burning in the back of your skull as you felt the camera's around you like his own gaze when he was watching your procedures in the ED.
“Better safe than sorry,” he said with a clear of his throat.
“I'll be fine.”
“Yeah, well, I've already texted Jack letting him know you're on your way in so you don't want to disappoint him do you. Or me. Do you, huh?”
You hoped the camera's didn't pick up on the blush rising to your cheeks. “No, I do not, Doctor Robby.”
He hummed. “Good girl.”
Your breath caught in your throat and the sudden thump of pain in your hand moved somewhere lower. Was it normal to feel aroused by the idea of being watched, with a cut bloody hand and your boss down the line.
“I guess I better get going, I don't want to disappoint.”
“No you don't.”
“So, I should go.”
“You should.”
He did not hang up and neither did you. At least you had the excuse of doing it all one handed.
“Okay, bye then,” you said, biting down on your lip to hide your smile.
“Bye.”
“Speak soon?”
“Yeah, I'll call you.”
Finally you pulled the phone back and declined. You wondered if you could hide away in the bathroom but the camera...
How much time did he spend watching you? Did he just so happen to check in at the same time the knife sliced your palm? Was he watching and had been watching since he left?
Had he watched when you plunged your fingers into your own pussy, spreading your need around... and called his name?
What kind of person did it make you if you wanted him to see that?
You got your hand sorted, stropping into the ED like you were a petulant child. Jack had only laughed at you, all but waiting in a swivel stool and turning around like a James Bond villain just to say: “I've been expecting you.”
However, your hand did need stitches and as the slice was along your palm it made trauma procedures difficult. You were stuck ordering around Ogilvie which was about as fun as it sounded and charting.
There was only small reliefs.
Practically as soon as you got back to Robby's he was dropping you a text or calling you. Usually it was under the pretence of checking on your hand or that he was waiting on an important letter but you knew it wasn't that. He knew exactly when you were home, whether it was overtime or not.
The camera's became hard to ignore but you tried to. You didn't want to freak Robby out by telling him you know about them. You didn't want to scare him off from watching you. Shouldn't it have been the other way around? Shouldn't he know that what he was doing was wrong on so many levels? Borderline, stalker-ish.
Still, one night, one lonely night you were in his bed unable to sleep. You were too busy thinking about Robby and the cameras.
It was hard being single and lonely. You had your own devices but toys were back at yours (Trinity brought you them as a joke birthday present and it turned into an even bigger joke when you opened them up in front of Denis) and you didn't want to bring toys into Robby's room.
Porn videos could get you going. Maybe a smutty book.
But knowing the camera's were there made it all the more easier to slide your fingers in your panties and find your arousal pooling.
Maybe Robby wasn't watching. Maybe he could tell this was a private moment and he shouldn't have been watching. The thought had your fingers stilling over your clit, your mind racing ahead of you. Maybe he didn't look at the camera's... maybe this was you over thinking it all...
Your phone rang on the bedside table and you reached over to get it.
There was a flash of Robby's name so familiar to you know it was like your own phone background.
Your other hand was still down your panties when you answered.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” his voice was gruff, low in his throat like he'd just woken up. “What are you up to?”
So, he was watching.
You smirked to yourself, trying desperately not to look at the camera. “Whyyyy are you asking?”
You heard him shuffle around on the other end. “Dunno, was just bored. Was thinking about you.”
“Oh, really?” trying not to sound too delighted was not your specialty.
“Yeah... seem to be doing that a lot these days.”
“You must miss me, huh?”
“Yeah. I must,” he hummed. “You know, I think you'd like it up here. Heck, I actually think I could've used the company, too.”
You slid a finger through your entrance. You were wet before just thinking about him, his voice low and gruff, the way it fell when talking through a serious procedure made it so you were clenching with every rise and fall of his voice. “If I was there with you who'd look after your place?”
“Hmm, you make a good point,” he said, a small tick to his words. “Speaking of my place, which bed you sleeping in?”
You felt your cheeks tint red as you pushed in another finger, pushing in and out slowly. Did he want to hear you were in his bed, even though he could see that you were? You toyed with him a little. It seemed only fair. “Why? Didn't you say I could pick either?”
“I'm just curious. Tell me.”
You closed your eyes and inhaled the smell of him that still lingered around his bed, clouding the edges of your mind in desire. “Yours.”
He chuckled. “Mine, huh?”
“Yeah. It's got the ensuite. It's bigger. It's comfy,” you said. You moved your fingers around your clit, drawing small circles and stretching your legs wider. You had some decency, let it be known, you were under the covers with an old and tattered T-shirt but you were sure it wasn't hard to tell what you were getting up to under there.
“Comfy, you think so?”
“Yeah,” you said. “Smells like you too.”
A breath caught down the line. “Do you like that it smells like me?”
You nodded, growing wetter as your eyes closed. “I do. I can wash it before you get back so it doesn't smell like me.”
“No,” he said, an un-mistakable sound of a zipper being pulled down sat behind his words. “Don't wash them. Don't.”
You smirked to yourself, the circles you were drawing over your nerves growing lazy. “What are you doing, Robby?”
“Nothing,” he said, a teasing lift to his voice and a rustle of clothes. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing,” you said, sliding your fingers into yourself and out, spreading your arousal as your hole clenched around nothing. You shuffled, getting your shirt to ride higher, but not enough for him to tell.
“Are you doing nothing in my bed?”
“Do you want me to be?”
There was a small but shark intake of breath on the other end. “Yeah. Yeah I do.”
You pictured Robby spread out on a sofa in a log cabin somewhere far away. His legs would be spread wide, jeans and boxers pulled down till his cock, hard, was against his stomach. His laptop out at the coffee table, phone to his ear. You wondered if he took things slow? You'd always pictured him the hot and heavy type. His fist wrapped around his cock and pumping, tickling the dark hairs you imagined lived at the base of him.
Your hips jutted up as you pictured him. Hot and heavy. You imagined him next to you in his bed, his coarse hand tracing up your body, finger pinching your nipple.
“What have you been doing... at my place?” he asked, a sudden breathless tone to him. “In my bed.”
You bit back your lip. “Sleeping,” you teased.
Robby groaned, almost a growl. “What-what else?”
“Is there supposed to be something else?”
“Fuck, yes.”
Fuck yes. You pictured him spreading your legs, rubbing his mouth against you with the burn of his beard. Fuck yes. You imagined his cock heavy on your tongue, needy and groaning. Fuck yes. You pumped your fingers in and out and circled your clit imagining the plumpness of his fingers.
“Whatever- whatever you want me to be doing in your bed.” It was a dangerous sort of game you were playing, balancing over the line you weren't crossing with the cameras like it was a tightrope.
“Well... you know what a lonely, old man like me does in that bed, huh?” he said. “You wanna know?”
You nodded and without asking for words he started to tell you, because of course he didn't have to hear your confirmation to see you it.
“After long and hard days, just come home, put the tv on low, maybe some music... drink a beer,” he listed as you impatiently waited for him to get to the exciting parts. Still, his voice was enough to have your legs stretched open, your fingers working yourself open. “Sometimes it's tough to stop thinking about my pretty resident...”
“Hope you're not talking about Whitaker,” you joked.
“You know I'm not, baby,” said Robby with a shaky exhale. “You know I go home... get so hard thinking about you...”
You moaned out a gasp.
“You like me thinking about you?” he asked.
You thought of him spitting down on his cock, slowly rubbing it up and down. Or maybe he had pre-cum enough to lubricate it for him. “I do, I do.”
There was a puff of air on the other side. “You ever think about me?”
Your back arched off the bed as you curled your fingers inside of you. “Yes.”
“You ever think about me in that big lonely bed, my cock hard for you. God, can you picture me and my hands running all over you. Would start at the bottom. Would you be wet for me, babygirl?”
“Yes, Robby, yes, I am,” you gasped out.
There was a light chuckle.
“Oh, you are?” he said with a seethe. Was he teasing the tip of himself? squeezing and thinking about your hand there instead? “You thinking about me, baby?”
“You know I am.”
Robby laughed, the sort one laughed when they knew something you didn't. It was cruel. It was mean. But was it worse you knew and liked it? “Yeahhh, I know you are.”
You tilted your head into his pillow, shifting till you could breathe him in and careful not to drool. “Thinking about- about your tongue,” you said, rubbing your clit with hard pressure, trembling with need.
“My tongue, huh?” he said, a jangle of a belt. Was he pushing away his jeans and spreading his legs further? Were you framed on the counter, between his legs how he wanted you to be? “Are you thinking about my tongue in your needy pussy? Is it making you wet?”
“Yes, yes, Robby. I really want you.”
“Spread your legs for me.”
“They are.”
He grunted. “Wider.”
Almost irritated that he wasn't here, you pushed the cover down till you knew the camera could see all of you. Still clothed. Still clad. But Robby would be able to see your hand down your black panties and how far your legs fell open.
He pretended like he heard the covers move instead of saw it happen. “Fuck... yes, baby.”
“I wish you were here,” you said, eyes kept close to imagine him and to not give the camera a devilish wink. “Wish I- your cock-”
“What about my cock?” he asked, voice strained. “You want it? You want my cock? How'd you want it?”
You circled your fingers around you, jerking at every touch, desperate to come but even more desperate to keep it going. “Want to taste it. Lick it. I- I want to know what you taste like.”
Robby shuddered. It was like you could feel it through the phone and through you. “Shit, you-you can't say things like that, baby.”
“But really want it,” you moaned. “Always wanted it down my throat.”
“Oh fuck, always huh?”
“Always.”
“Well... you've been such a good girl looking after my place for me, haven't you?” he teased. Listening closely, you thought you could hear the sound of skin on skin, the slick squelch of it. His hand working himself, maybe he was even sweating with desire. “Sleeping in my bed, just like I wanted. Living in my space. Bathing in my shower. Maybe I should thank you...”
“Please, please Robby.”
“Ah, oh god,” he strained. “Would lay you out on my bed, clean up all your mess with my tongue. Think you'd have to suck on my fingers to stop all the moaning, I have neighbours, baby-”
You didn't care as you moaned out at that.
“- god I want to fuck you. Oh, I want to fuck you so bad.”
You put your phone on speaker, set it aside and worked your hand under your shirt to grope your breast, moving from one to the other.
“Keep playing with yourself, baby, keep playing with yourself,” he groaned.
“Robby, are you- are you close?” you asked. Every circle of your clit had you closer and closer to the edge, had your legs trembling and heart pounding. You could hear Robby mumbling to himself.
“Shit- god- you're always so beautiful. Spread out, god I can picture you. Your skin so smooth, pussy so sweet. Want to bury myself in there, yeah, fuck, baby-”
“Robby-”
“-Yes baby! I'm close- I'm close, I wont last.”
“Wanna hear you come,” you whined.
“You first,” he said. “Think of me there. Press you into my bed, have you on your stomach, press allll of me into you. Cock just- just buried inside you there. Could just watch your ass go, shit, get it red.... you know how. Oh my god baby, please come for me.”
You pressed down with circles on your clit and came around your fingers, whining, moaning and you heard Robby over the phone groaning, heard his small exclamations as he came around his hand.
“Oh baby, you did so good for me, so good,” he uttered as the both of you caught your breath.
You took your phone off speakerphone and placed it back to your ear. It was small but you felt closer to him with his voice deep down your ear.
“Now clean yourself up on my bed. When I come back, wanna smell yourself there with me.”
The Pitt swallowed you up the rest of the days that followed. As if it knew you had something to go home to, as if it knew you wanted to do nothing more than talk to Robby, think about Robby, dream about Robby, it kept you so busy with late nights and six am wake up calls you had little time to live in this new found lust.
Robby didn't push. You didn't speak about that night because you didn't have to. He still texted with regular check ups when you got home. Still send random pictures of lakes or trees but he knew the demands of work and he didn't prod.
“Have we got labs back on our guy in seven?” you asked Dana.
“Not yet, want me to chase them up?” she asked.
“Please. I'm already behind on discharging two patients,” you muttered to her as Al-Hishimi walked by, head held high as she over saw the place. “But all caught up on my charting!” you said loudly to assure her.
You got a nod back and that was enough for you.
“How's Robby?”
You looked back to Dana, lips pursed, brows raised in question. “What?”
“You heard from him? I guess you had, you stayin' in his place and all,” she said, looking at you through her glasses.
You checked down to your tablet and the patients in three and twelve you needed to discharge, hoping the glow of the screen wouldn't blow up your blush. “Er, yeah, he's doing good, I-I think. We don't talk... all the time.”
“Yeah?” Dana smirked.
You glanced back up at her, catching the knowing glint in her eyes. You looked back down. “Yeah.”
“Okay then.”
Dana moved around you from the counter, patting your hand lovingly before she stopped in her tracks. “Oh. Looks like I can ask him myself.”
“What?”
There were already crowding voices, people calling out his name and nurses going in for fist bumps and high fives. There were questions about what he was doing back earlier than he said, if he'd brought back any gifts. You even heard Garcia who was passing about that promised butchers knife.
Robby stood in the middle of the group like he was some celebrity but his eyes found yours over all of them.
“He returns!” cheered Dana, bringing her arms around him.
One of Robby's own arms snuck around her back. “And in one piece.”
She pulled away and slapped him in the chest. “Hey, don't joke about that.”
Slowly, with Dana's coaching everyone moved back, got back to their jobs and their life. And slowly, Robby sauntered over to you.
You tried to look busy. Tried to wet your mouth that had run dry at the sight of him. A hip bumped into yours as Santos- an all too giddy Santos- slid up next to you.
“Looks like we're back to being room-mates, roomie,” she teased with a grin.
“If I didn't know any better I'd say you'd missed me?”
Santos tried to brush it off but you saw the way she shifted her weight from foot to foot in discomfort. She usually only got so discomforted when emotions like love was involved. “Please. Just want to out-weigh Denis with gender again.”
You smelt Robby before you heard him. He said Santo's name, then yours.
Trinity welcomed him back before she left just as quick as she'd arrived.
Robby let on the counter next to you. He was in jeans and the same coat he'd left it, his bag slung on his back with a helmet dangling off the side. He wasn't working, but he'd came by anyway.
“You're back early,” you said, flicking between patient charts.
“Surprised?”
“Very,” you said, realising you weren't as confident as you'd been nights ago. “I can get my stuff out tonight.”
“I don't want you out,” he said, dropping his voice low. “You know why I came here early, don't go shy on me now.”
“I'm not going shy,” you said, though you were.
“Are you blushing?” he teased, the graze of his knuckle brushing your neck and sending tingels over your body.
“No.”
“You are.”
You batted him away and turned to consider him. “Why'd you come back early?”
Robby wet his lips, eyes casting over you. “Because I had something to come back for.”
You eyes averted to his hands, reverting back to thinking of the coarse skin and imagining him dragging his fingers over you. “I don't get off my shift for another two hours.”
“I can wait.”
Waited he did and the two of you barley made it past his front door before he was grasping you and kissing you. There was no hesitation in his hands or your lips. He gripped and squeezed your hips as the door slammed shut behind you. Robby didn't waste a second in pulling off his jacket and grabbing you again, as if scared you'd disappear in the wind.
He didn't even glance around his place. The only thing he was honed in on was you.
Your lips worked against his furiously, hands gripping his shoulders. “How was your trip?” you were breathless, pulling away to un-button his shirt.
Robby chased your lips, eyes closed, lips curling up into a drunken smile. “Fine.” He kissed you again, mint on his tongue. His hands were warm as they traced up your scrub top, un-tucking your vest from your pants.
His rough hands on your skin woke something else in you. A need you thought you'd made friends with but clearly didn't even know. He kneaded the skin at your hips, working hard to leave red marks.
“Dreamt about you,” he said, lips trailing down your jaw to your neck, nose nudging a path. “Every night.”
“Every night?” you gasped as he bit and licked up your neck.
“Mornings. Afternoons. All the time.”
Your smiled to yourself, pushing off his shirt. “It was supposed to be a relaxing break.”
“It wasn't.”
The two of you had stumbled to his room and pulled off clothes. The both of you knew the way well. By the time you'd pushed the door open Robby's belt was discarded as well as your shirt.
With firm hands Robby turned you around till you were facing the headboard, till his hips flushed against your ass and the rough denim of his jeans rubbed against your ass.
Your head lulled back onto his shoulder and he licked up your skin.
“This where you slept?” he muttered, nipping at your ear. “This where you touched yourself, thinking 'bout me?”
“Y-yes.”
You felt the scratch of his beard as he turned his head. You noticed, from the corner of his eyes that he looked up to the corner where the camera sat. He was delighting in this.
“Show me,” he demanded.
You wriggled against him, trying to turn and set yourself on the bed.
His hands gripped your hips. “No, show me here... now.”
All you could do was shuffle down your scrub pants and panties while Robby un-clasped your bra, messaging your breasts. You groaned at the feel of him working at you while you slid a finger over your folds.
“There we go, that's my girl,” he encouraged, chin resting on your shoulder and watching. “Another finger, another finger.”
You slid two in just as you had the other night, imagining his weight on you, his hands. You thought you were wet then but now your need spread down you.
Robby made out with the skin of your neck, stretching his arm out to hold yours that worked inside of you. “God, you're so beautiful. Could watch you like this all night.”
You whined, tilting your head back to give him more access. “Robby.” You thrust your ass back into his crotch and you could feel the hard outline of his cock.
“You come in this bed, huh?” he uttered.
“Y-yes.”
He hummed into your skin. “More than once I bet.”
“Yes, Robby!”
His hand snaked down to yours, helping move your fingers in and out of you. “God, you're so wet, so wet for me.”
Your hand flew up, grasping the back of his neck. “Robby, please... can I have your fingers inside of me?”
Robby smiled against you. “You asked so nicely. Such a good girl,” he said. His fingers wrapped around your wrist and brought out your fingers, leading your hand up to his mouth. “Bet you're not always though, huh?”
Two of his thick fingers pushed into your easily and he moaned.
“Fuck baby, you're warm... tight-”
You groaned at the feel of his fingers working inside of you and his tongue licking up the mess of your on his fingers. He brought your fingers into his mouth, groaning.
In moments you were withering, a moaning mess and grinding down on his hand while his tongue swirled around your fingers, sucking and nipping at your finger pads while his beard scraped your hand.
If those cameras kept a log somewhere, you were dying to see Robby. The feel of his hips rocking into you, him moaning around your fingers.
“Can you come on my fingers?” he asked, voice muffled by where he wouldn't release you in his mouth.
You shook your head in defiance. “I want- I want more.”
“You can have more, you can have more,” he said, finally taking your fingers from his mouth and licking up them. “But you have to come first.”
His thumb pressed down on your clit in small circles and your caved into his body, coming over his hand. Robby helped you ride against his hand.
Only when your body stopped moving and your chest calmed its heaving did Robby pull away from you.
He pushed you down on the bed, ass up and dropped to his knees, shoving his face between your folds.
You cried out at the feel of his tongue splitting your fold and soaking up your arousal and orgasm. His hands spread your thighs, pulling at the skin till you were spread, till his nose ran up and down. “Oh fuck, Robby!”
“Hold onto the sheets, baby,” he said, muffled inside of you.
There was little anything else for you to do. Your hands curled around the sheets, pulling. You thrust your ass up into his face but Robby welcomed it, chuckling into you. His beard scratched between your legs, deliciously.
He slurped once before pulling back, crowding over you till all of him was pressed against you. “Kiss me.”
And you did. You tasted yourself on his tongue, on his lips. He turned you down over onto your back and you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into you till his weight was crushing you.
It could have been hours of breathing in each other, of licking into each others mouths, of sucking on each others bottom lips, of feeling each other up and mapping what made each other tingle and shake.
Robby stepped back and made a slow show of popping the button on his jeans and pushing them down slow with his boxers.
You crawled over the bed till you were at the edge, staring at his cock. There was dark hair over his chest, leading down to himself where he curved, hard up to his stomach.
Robby stared down at you, staring at him. “You want it? You want my cock?”
“Yeah... please...”
Robby stroked back your hair. “Did you think about my cock, in my bed?”
You looked up to him and smirked. “All the time.”
You took him into your mouth, slow and watched as Robby threw his head back. You could feel him tense before letting go, shoulders sagging, body melting as you slowly worked up and down his length, savouring the taste of him.
Robby kept on hand stroking back your hair tenderly but didn't push you down to his cock. He let you set the pace. “Oh my god,” he groaned as you licked the tip, circling it.
You learnt every tell of him. The tick of his jaw when you licked over him, the small pressure from his finger tips, his groans about how good you were doing that all went straight down to your core.
Whatever you'd imagined, this was better than any dream.
“Deeper... deeper.... there we go, baby, there we go... take me so good.”
You moaned around him and Robby chocked on a moan before pulling you off.
You knelt on the bed, hands running over the plumpness of his stomach. You peppered kisses along his chest as his hands pushed back your hair.
You glanced up at him, something wicked curling in your stomach as you saw him eye the camera again. “Robby...”
“Yeah, baby?”
“Were you ever gonna tell me about the cameras?”
He froze. You felt his heart pound under your hand, his eyes levelled on you. “You knew?”
“Duke told me.”
Robby scoffed, leaving you to figure Duke's visit did not capture Robby's attention over the camera's. “Duke.”
“He didn't mean to tell me... like you didn't.”
His breath stuttered, eyes peering at you like he was trying to read you. “I forgot.”
“Forgot?” your fingers curled around his cock.
He seethed in a breath. “You set the fire alarm off, fuck I saw you. Couldn't stop, but you knew didn't you?”
Your hand may have been wrapped around his cock but you didn't have the upper hand. He looked down at you with a knowing glint, his hand cupping your chin and forcing you to look up at him as you slowly stroked him.
“You got yourself off on it, put on a show for me,” he said, his fingers slowly stroking your chin. “Wanted this dirty old man to watch, didn't you?”
You swiped your thumb over the tip of his cock.
Robby seethed. “Yeah you did.”
A couple strokes later and Robby was moving away from you, leaving you to watch with wide eyes.
You watched as he pulled his phone out and set it in front of you before he climbed up on his bed behind you. Steadying himself on his arms he braced and slowly sank on top of you, the tip of himself rubbing between your folds.
The app.
The screen lit up with a HD video of you lying on the bed, Robby's body curving over you. You could see himself lowering himself into your folds.
“Fuck,” you moaned, eyeing the camera.
Robby kissed down your neck, bruises forming there. “You wanna watch yourself? You wanna watch yourself come on my cock, baby?”
You looked back at his phone. “Yes.”
“Dirty girl.”
Slowly, Robby pushed himself. He pushed in and pushed in and pushed in till he was groaning and his hips flushed yours. In the camera, you had become one.
“Ro-Robby,” you mewled.
His head comes down to your shoulder, kissing it gently as he looked down at the camera too. “Look at us, baby, look at us.”
Slowly Robby started to rock his hips, enough to set a tortuous pace.
“I watched you moan my name, while you pumped your fingers inside of you, you wanted me, didn't you?”
“Y-yes!”
Your body slowly moved with his thrusts, his arms tensing at your sides as he tried, desperately, to not give in. To not bite down on your shoulder and thrust harder. To not have his bedroom echoing with the thump of the bed and skin on skin.
“Please, please go harder,” you begged, reaching around to claw at his ass.
“Can't,” he grunted.
“Please!”
Robby's hand was firm around your neck as he leant over you. “I'll come baby, I'll come.” He thrust in deep, till you could feel the slap of his balls against your ass.
“Fuck!”
“Yeah, yeah,” he moaned, drawing the camera in closer. “You're so tight baby, taking it so well... just like I wanted you to.”
His thrusts grew faster, harder, his body plopping on yours leaving you a moaning mess. His hands couldn't settle, running over your hips, gripping and spreading the skin of your ass. He grunted and groaned and the two of you started to bounce on his bed.
“Tell me you liked me watching you,” he moaned.
“I- I liked you watching me come.”
“I heard you moan for me, in my bed.... breathing me in... you wanted me so bad.”
“Y-yes, Robby, so bad- so bad!”
Robby groaned and slid out of you, leaving you empty. He spared a minute to licking up the mess from the both of your arousal between your thighs before he turned you over, lying you flat and chucking his phone aside. He guided himself back into you and gripped your hips hard as he thrusted in.
He kept his lips close to you, brushing your lips against yours, taking your tongue as his.
“Thought of you every day,” he said, nose nudging yours. “I missed you so much.”
“I-I missed you too,” you moaned, holding his shoulders.
Your walls clamped around him.
“Arg, baby-baby-baby,” he babbled, lying his mouth flat open on yours, his tongue tasting yours and swapping spit.
A hand trailed between your bodies and ran over your clit.
“S'too-too much,” you cried.
“No it's not.”
“I can't, I can't,” you moaned, your walls tighter around him. “I'm gonna come, I'm gonna come-”
Robby bit down on the sweet spot around your ear and you released around him, back arching into him and leaving him moaning into your neck. “There we go, there we go- squeeze me, squeeze me!”
In one powerful thrust you felt his release shooting up your walls, painting you in him. His body sagged with stuttering thrusts as he spent himself.
Only once the both of you had calmed down did you catch your breath, sweaty skin on sweaty skin and lips swollen and red, bruises littering your neck.
Still inside of you, Robby reaches over and tilts your head back, the two of you grinning like love sick idiots.
“Smile for the camera, baby.”
taglist: @oldbaddies, @mafercita101, @florenceandthemechanism, (I thought you'd like to be tagged for this one!)
Younger reader sitting on Jack’s lap and shaving his face for him on a slow sunday morning 🥺 your thoughts pls!!!
thank you for this request!! i kinda changed it up a bit and didn’t have her exactly shave him.. but you’ll see!
jack x reader | mdni
—
the bedroom was cool and bright as the sunday sunlight spilled through the curtains from the open window across the room.
it warmed the rumpled sheets where she'd fallen asleep curled against his muscled body, only a few hours earlier.
her freshly manicured fingers instinctively reached across the mattress as she stored awake. looking for him. it was warm and inviting as she trailed her fingers across the emptiness which caused her to blink her pretty eyes awake, a sleepy frown crossing her face.
"jack?" her voice rasped causing her to clear her throat.
there wasn’t an answer and she furrowed her brow in confusion, sitting up and tugging the oversized t-shirt he gave her last night over herself before padding barefoot across the hall.
she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, yawning while she heard him shuffle around his bathroom quietly. the bathroom door was open and she smiled bashfully as she watched him smirk at himself through the mirror.
“yeah, yeah— you like that baby?”
she shivered at the thought of his drippy words, honey and sweet as they made her succumb into his arms as he splayed her across his mattress.
she shook her head, shaking her out of last night’s memory.
he stood at the sink in a pair of gray sweatpants slung low on his hips, his v-line on full display making her cheeks burn hot. he had one hand against the counter while the other splashed cool water over his face.
his salt and pepper hair was sticking up in every direction, and he looked far less like the cool and composed man he always is.. now, he looked like man in love.
jack caught her reflection in the mirror and his smile immediately spread across his handsome face.
"there she is." he beamed, “how’d my girl sleep?” he cooed making her core tighten at his morning voice.
her sleepy expression melted, "good.” she hummed timidly, “but, when i woke up..." she trailed as she leaned against the doorframe.
"you thought i disappeared?" he chuckled.
she nodded. "you left." she tutted, crossing one leg over the other causing the shirt to ride up her thigh.
"baby, i was gone for like, five minutes."
"felt longer." she pouted.
jack chuckled quietly, drying his face with a towel before opening his arms, wide and welcoming.
"c'mere."
she didn't hesitate for even a split second.
she padded over to him until she was standing between his knees as he leaned back against the vanity.
his hands found her waist, squeezing her in his large palms— his lips found hers causing her to whimper immediately into him while she wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers dancing in his curls.
"someone is very clingy this morning," he teased, pulling away from her lips with a loud pop.
"i think i’m allowed." she blushed.
"you absolutely are." he smiled, rubbing his nose against her cheek— she giggled before she rested her forehead against his, smiling.
for a minute they stood there in purse bliss. silently playing over everything that had happened— it was the kind of silence that only existed between two people who completely gave themselves to each other.
they smiled warmly, eyes burning bright, and hearts fluttering with excitement as she reached up and rubbed his jaw.
"hmm." her fingers brushed over the rough scruff that had already grown back overnight.
he watched her curiously.
"what?" he asked making her giggle.
"you really tickled me." she said bashfully, rubbing her index finger against the stubble.
"when?" he cocked a brow.
"last night."
his eyebrows lifted. "my stubble?” he laughed, craning his head back to look at her more seriously as she placed her hands atop his naked chest.
she nodded, cheeks warming, "it kept ticking my face.. and my— well you know, every time you kissed me."
they both laughed— warm and light as it filled the tiny bathroom.
"oh, did it?" he looked at her quizzically.
"mhm."
"baby, i’m sorry. i really had no idea i was such a menace."
"oh, you were."
"i owe you an apology." he pretended to look horrified.
"you do." she giggled.
he looked at her thoughtfully for a second before suddenly slipping his hands beneath her thighs. she squealed, jumping back but he was quick to pull her back so that she was closer than before.
"j—jack!" she gasped.
effortlessly, he moved her with him as he perched himself on the closed toilet lid and settled her sideways across his lap.
"comfy?”
she laughed, instinctively wrapping an arm around his shoulders as his hands caressed the small of her back.
"for what?"
he looked up at her with the most shameless grin.
"well, we can’t have the scruff offending you when i make love to you.” he tipped his chin toward her dramatically making her groan in playful disdain. "c'mon, baby." he gently took her hand and placed it against his jaw.
"wanna shave me?"
she burst into a fit of giggles, covering her hands over her face, "jack, i’m not shaving your face!"
"why not?"
“i can get used to it, i was just making an observation! and i've never shaved anyone!"
"you've got steady hands."
"are you kidding me?" she scoffed, “no!”
"c’mon, i trust you." he nodded as she shook her head quickly trying to get up from his lap but he held her down.
"jack."
"i’m serious."
"no, you're not." she squealed, “you can’t be serious, like you really can’t trust me!”
"it’s hair, it will grow back." he shrugged, reaching for the razor that he keeps under the sink.
she shook her head, “what happens i— if i cut you?"
"i'll survive." he deadpanned, “i’ve been hurt far more than you realize.”
she frowned at him, resting her forehead against his again, "you’re impossible. and bossy!"
"i know."
his hands settled comfortably around her waist again as she absentmindedly ran her fingertips over the stubble again.
he leaned into it immediately, humming happily making her press her lips together, "there you go." he said lowly making her squirm in his lap.
"you really like this, don't you?"
he closed his eyes with an exaggerated sigh, "you have no idea." he chucked while she scratched lightly beneath his jaw and his shoulders visibly relaxed.
"o— oh that's dangerous." he moaned making her gape at him.
"what is?"
"my sweet spot." he chuckled as she smiled, her heart swelling.
"good." she smirked. he opened his eyes again, looking at her with so much warmth it made her breath catch.
"w—what?"
"i was just thinking."
"about?"
"how nice it is waking up with you next to me."
her smile softened as he reached up, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
"you know.." he trailed.
"what?"
"i’ve had a lot of good sundays." he said, pressing his lips against her hit making her tilt her head. "but i think this one's my favorite."
she leaned into him and hummed, "i really like sundays with you." as he pressed a kiss against her ear.
"i like everything with you."
jack smiled against her temple.
"so."
"so?"
"you're really not gonna shave me?"
she laughed, nudging his shoulder. "not a chance, dr. abbot."
he sighed dramatically, "guess you'll just have to keep petting me instead."
"i can live with that."
"so can i.”
and with that, he wrapped his arms around her a little tighter before lifting her up and walking them back towards the bedroom.
trinity santos is sarcastic, defensive, and determined. but around you, trinity can always let her walls down
wc: 1.2k
cw: making out, smoking/weed, fluff, suggestive content
Trinity Santos has a reputation to uphold.
She’s a woman in the medical field, a person-of-color, and a lesbian.
She needed to constantly prove herself.
At work, she has a persona. It’s easier to be confident and sarcastic when dealing with the craziness of the E.R.
Not many people know about her secret side outside of work.
There’s only two people in the world Trinity can safely say have seen her for who she is.
One was Whitaker. It was hard not to when you lived and worked with the same person.
Besides, one of their first nights living together after Whitaker had moved in the pair had devoted to setting roommate boundaries. That combo’d with far too many glasses of wine had Trinity spilling her guts about her sexuality and defensiveness.
And the other was you.
You fit in Trinity’s life like a puzzle piece.
You broke down her persona at work and created a space where she could be herself. You were her perfect other half.
Whitaker himself saw the transformation in Trinity. He saw how she worked so incredibly hard to prove herself at work contrasted to the way she can finally let her guard down when you’re around.
But truthfully, Whitaker loved living with lesbians.
While his and Trinity’s apartment was very evident of what they could afford as residents, it felt like such a home.
You were bright and eccentric and filled the apartment with feelings reminiscent of growing up with his older brothers.
You decorated their apartment to make sure they had somewhere nice to come home to after their grueling shifts and meal prepped so they always had lunch to bring.
Whitaker even started receiving the same sticky notes with doodles that Trinity does.
It was safe to say you completely transformed the roommates lives.
Trinity had two whole days off for what felt like the first time in forever.
Whitaker was spending the weekend at Amy’s and she had already asked if you wanted to spend the weekend at hers.
You would be waiting for her when she got home from work. Unfortunately, that made the day feel 10x slower and the cases were 10x worse.
She gets off late because of course charting took forever.
When Trinity finally walks through the apartment door, her shoulders sag as she drops her bag.
She could faintly hear your Tame Impala vinyl spinning on the record player you insisted on setting up in the living room.
Dressed in just a big t-shirt and lacy panties, you nod your head to the beat of the song as you stir dinner.
It was already driving Trinity crazy.
Trinity’s eyes fall to the kitchen table where a vase of fresh lilies sit. Her favorite. And they were certainly not here this morning.
“Hi babe!” you greet once you spot your girlfriend.
Exhaustion is written all over her face.
“How was your day?”
Trinity sighs. “Long. Glad it’s over. How was yours?”
You grin before turning back to continue cooking dinner.
“It was so good! I got out of work early and Dennis brought me fresh eggs from the farm,” you pause your ramble to turn around. You bring a spoon of the sauce up to Trinity’s lips. “Need anything?”
“Maybe a little salt?”
And then you’re back to talking about your day, voice loud enough for Trinity to hear with your back turned. “I found a recipe for protein banana chocolate chip muffins that I wanna try for you guys next week. Oh! Remind me to text Amy about seeing If I can get some milk because-“
You’re stop talking when you feel Trinity press against your back and wrap her arms around your stomach.
“Missed you pretty girl,” Trinity mumbles against your shoulder.
You relax in her hold, bringing your hands down to rest on top of hers.
“If you wanted me to stop talking you could’ve just said do,” you muse.
“Never. Just missed you.”
You turn around in her hold and wrap your arms around her neck. Trinity squeezes your hip.
“Two whole days of just us, babe.”
Trinity smiles. “Can’t wait.”
You lean your head into her touch. You feel her lips press gently against your neck. A dangerous game.
“Trin,” you mumble. “Kiss me properly, please.”
“Only because you asked so nicely.”
Her lips press against yours with a certain kind of desperation. Warmth floods your body as Trinity nudges you until your back hits the counter. She ducks down to kiss your jawline.
“Up,” she commands softly.
The counters are cold and when your bare legs hit the surface, you shiver.
But then Trinity’s smooth hands are gripping your ass to pull you flush against her. Her lips find yours immediately.
She kisses you deeply, soft hands digging into the plush of your skin.
Before Trinity can make any further move, you place your hands on your shoulders to gently push her away.
“I’m not having sex with you before you shower,” you start. “You smell like hospital.”
“How romantic,” Trinity sighs.
You slide off the counter. “I gotta finish up dessert anyway.”
Trinity’s heart swells. Of course you wanted to make desert.
She kisses you one final time. “Be back soon.”
True to her word, Trinity appears a short time later. Her hairs wet and she’s changed her hospital scrubs for linen shorts and a tank top.
You loved when she dressed like this. Her full tattoos were on display. You would be able to spend as much time exploring and kissing the ink that danced across her skin.
“Dinners ready,” you inform her as she towel dries her hair.
“You wanna smoke before?”
You grin. “That’s my favorite question.”
Trinity goes ahead to open one of the windows that leads out to the fire escape. You grab your lighter and pre-roll before following her out.
The sun is just setting over their city apartment.
Trinity’s beer opens up with a satisfying hiss. You spark your lighter twice before the flame finally appears.
A friday night always brought plenty of people out. It was great people watching as you smoked.
You stretch your legs out to rest on Trinity’s lap.
She can’t help herself and wraps her cold hands around your ankles. You squeal.
“You’re evil,” you roll your eyes.
You take a few hits of your joint as you listen to the noises below: a car horn, a loud laugh emitting from a group walking by, and one of their neighbors dog barking.
Trinity doesn’t say anything but shoots you a smile as she rubs her thumb against the bare skin.
“You know this might be the perfect night,” you giggle as your hooded eyes meet Trinity’s stormy ones. “Love when we get to do this.”
Trinity shakes her head with a small smile. “You’re just too good for me.”
You frown. She was using her defense mechanisms.
“Not at all. You deserve nothing but love Trinity,” you spoke.
You sit up and scooch forward, scrunching your body to sit parallel to her. Your blunt is still emitting smoke and you’re careful to keep Trinity out of the haze. You nudge her shoulder.
“I mean it Trin,” you start. “You don’t gotta hide around me.”
Trinity takes a long drink of her beer. You want to give her space but at the same time your high is making you feel incredibly physically needy.
Finally, she’s putting her bottle down to interlock her arms with yours. You match it but leaning your head on her shoulder, smiling when Trinity places a long kiss on your forehead.
Summary: Your daughter fakes a stomachache to surprise her parents at work on Take Your Kid to Work Day, never realizing the panic it would cause.
Word count: 4.2k+
Warnings: fluff, tiny angst
A/N:
this was co-written with my friend Nora! We actually wrote some other stuff together too, but this is the first fic where she wrote the most of it. She also wants to write fanfics but is a little hesitant. Can’t wait for you to open your own blog and share your talent with tumblr Nora, this one’s you!!!💓
English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.
Happy reading xxx
I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.
When your daughter Lucy heard about Take Your Kid to Work Day, she came home convinced it was going to be the greatest day of her entire six-year-old life.
Her class had spent nearly a week talking about it. Every morning another child had a new story, another exciting detail to add. Emma was going to help frost cupcakes at her mother's bakery. Noah couldn't stop talking about riding in his dad's garbage truck, proudly announcing to anyone who would listen that he was going to press the "real buttons." Olivia was getting a behind-the-scenes tour of the aquarium where her mom worked. Even little Ben, whose father worked at a bank, marched around the classroom with a paper tie taped around his neck, declaring he would be "approving loans all day." By Thursday afternoon Lucy had listened to enough stories that she'd begun planning her own. She was absolutely certain she would wear one of those little white doctor coats she'd seen in toy stores. She'd carry a clipboard. Maybe even a stethoscope. Everyone would finally get to see how cool her parents' jobs were.
So when you and Jack walked through the front door that evening after a twelve-hour shift, you barely had time to take your shoes off before Lucy came barreling across the living room like an excited puppy.
"Mama!"
She wrapped herself around your legs so tightly you had to catch yourself against the wall to stay upright.
"Daddy!"
Jack wasn't spared either. She launched herself at him next, nearly knocking the backpack from his shoulder.
"Whoa, easy, bug," he laughed, catching her under the arms before she could accidentally headbutt him. "Someone's excited. Where's your grandma?"
"In the kitchen. I have something important to say."
You and Jack exchanged an amused look over the top of her head. Important announcements from Lucy ranged anywhere from losing a tooth to discovering worms in the garden.
"Oh?" Jack asked, setting his bag down.
Lucy nodded so enthusiastically that her ponytail bounced. "It's Take Your Kid to Work Day next Friday."
Her grin stretched so wide it nearly split her face.
"And I get to come with you."
The silence that followed was tiny.
Barely a second.
But it was enough.
Jack's smile faltered first. You watched it happen almost imperceptibly, the corners of his mouth relaxing as his eyes drifted toward yours. The excitement on Lucy's face hadn't dimmed yet. She was already imagining hallways and stethoscopes and showing all her friends pictures afterward.
You felt your heart sink before either of you had even opened your mouths.
Lucy noticed immediately.
Her smile wavered.
"...What's wrong?"
You crouched until you were eye level with her, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear while you searched desperately for words that wouldn't break her heart.
"Oh, sweetheart..."
Jack carefully lowered himself beside you, adjusting his balance before slipping an arm around Lucy's shoulders.
"Our jobs are a little different from everyone else's."
She frowned in confusion.
"But I can still come, right?"
Jack let out the smallest sigh.
"The emergency department isn't really a place for kids."
Her forehead wrinkled.
"Why?"
You looked at Jack for half a second before answering.
"Because the people who come to see us aren't coming for fun." You spoke gently, carefully choosing every word. "They're usually having one of the worst days of their lives. They're very, very sick..."
"Or hurt," Jack added quietly.
"They can look scary sometimes," you continued. "There can be blood. People cry. Sometimes they're frightened, sometimes they're angry, and sometimes they need every doctor and nurse in the room paying attention to them."
Jack nodded. "Our job is making sure they get help as quickly as possible. We can't always stop to explain what's happening, and there are things no six-year-old should have to see."
Lucy listened with surprising seriousness, though it was obvious she still didn't understand.
"But..." she said softly, "I'll be quiet."
Your chest tightened.
"I know you would."
"I could sit in the corner and color."
Jack smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes.
"You probably could."
"I wouldn't touch anything."
"We know, sweetheart."
"I wouldn't even talk."
Jack smiled sadly. "You'd probably be the quietest kid in the whole hospital."
For the briefest moment, hope flickered across Lucy's face before reality settled back in. She looked between the two of you, swallowing hard.
"So..." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "...I can't?"
The words were so small they made your chest ache. You reached for her little hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.
"No, sweetie. I'm sorry."
Her eyes filled almost instantly.
"But everyone else gets to go to their parents' work."
Jack closed his eyes for a fraction of a second. Every parent hated hearing those words because sometimes there simply wasn't a fair answer. He rubbed his thumb absentmindedly over the back of her tiny hand.
"I know."
"I wanna see where you guys work."
"I know."
"I wanna wear one of those little doctor coats."
Despite the ache in your chest, a smile tugged at your lips. "You would look absolutely adorable."
"I could help."
Jack let out a quiet snort, his expression turning dramatically serious.
"Oh, that's exactly the part I'm worried about."
Lucy blinked. "...Really?"
"Oh, absolutely," he said with a solemn nod. "I think you'd spend the whole day walking around the department telling everyone what to do."
"I would not."
"You absolutely would."
She crossed her arms.
"No."
"No?"
She puffed out her chest, planting both hands on her hips as she deepened her voice into what she apparently believed sounded very authoritative.
"'Okay everybody, one at a time! No pushing! You have to wait your turn!'"
Jack laughed so suddenly and genuinely that it echoed through the house.
"There it is."
You couldn't help laughing too.
"Our little charge nurse."
Lucy dissolved into giggles, pleased she'd made both of you laugh.
The moment was warm.
Light.
Comfortable.
Until it wasn't.
Her smile slowly faded as she remembered why she'd started the conversation in the first place.
"...But I still don't get to come."
Jack's laughter disappeared just as quickly. He opened his arms without saying a word, and Lucy climbed into his lap as naturally as breathing. She tucked her face into the crook of his neck, wrapping her little arms around him with a sigh that sounded much older than six years old.
"No," he admitted quietly, kissing the top of her head. "Not to work."
The room fell silent.
You watched Jack gently rub circles over Lucy's back while she sat curled against him, neither of them speaking. The disappointment in the room was almost tangible. You knew Jack was feeling it just as sharply as you were. Both of you spent your careers taking care of other people's children, yet this was one of those moments where your own daughter simply had to accept that your jobs came with doors she couldn't walk through.
Finally, you leaned over and kissed the top of her head.
"How about this?"
She peeked up hopefully.
"When we're both off next weekend, we'll take you to the hospital."
Jack immediately caught on.
"We'll show you the cafeteria."
"My locker."
"The ambulance bay."
"If there aren't any helicopters flying, maybe we can see the helipad from outside."
"The empty waiting room."
"My office."
Lucy sniffled, considering the offer with all the seriousness of someone negotiating an international treaty.
"...Can I push a wheelchair?"
Jack looked over at you.
You shrugged.
"If nobody's using it, sure."
She thought for another long moment before giving a tiny nod.
"...Okay."
It wasn't the answer she'd wanted.
It wasn't even close.
But she accepted it with the quiet resilience children somehow managed to find after their hearts had been disappointed. Before long she was asking what was for dinner and whether Grandma was still making pancakes the next morning, and by bedtime she seemed perfectly content again.
You smiled to yourself as you tucked her in that night, smoothing the blankets over her little shoulders.
Children had an incredible ability to move on.
Or so you thought.
Lucy had absolutely no intention of moving on.
She smiled when you tucked her into bed that night. She happily ate pancakes with Grandma the next morning. She colored pictures at the kitchen table, watched cartoons, and talked excitedly about the hospital tour you had promised for the following weekend. If anyone had asked, she seemed to have accepted your answer completely.
She hadn't.
To a six-year-old, "next weekend" felt impossibly far away. Everyone else would get to visit their parents' jobs on Friday. Everyone else would come back to school Monday with stories to tell. Emma would talk about frosting cupcakes. Noah would probably tell everyone he got to honk the garbage truck horn. Olivia would have pictures of fish. And Lucy... Lucy would have to say she stayed home because her mommy and daddy worked somewhere she wasn't allowed to go.
That simply didn't seem fair.
By Wednesday she had the beginning of a plan.
By Thursday she had improved it.
By Friday morning, she was convinced it was foolproof.
Your mother had barely finished pouring herself a cup of coffee when she heard small footsteps padding down the hallway. Lucy appeared in the kitchen doorway still wearing her pajamas, her favorite stuffed rabbit dangling from one hand while the other pressed dramatically against her stomach.
"Grandma..."
Your mother looked up immediately.
"Morning, sweetheart."
Lucy took two slow steps into the kitchen, making sure not to walk too quickly. Sick people probably didn't move very fast.
"I don't feel good."
The smile disappeared from your mother's face at once.
"Oh, sweetheart."
She set her mug down without taking a sip and crouched in front of her granddaughter, brushing a hand over Lucy's messy bed hair.
"What's wrong?"
"My tummy hurts."
"Oh no."
Lucy gave a pitiful little nod.
"It hurts a lot."
Your mother frowned with concern.
"Can you show me where?"
Lucy froze.
That...
She hadn't prepared for.
She looked down at herself, suddenly realizing stomachs had different parts. She'd heard you and Jack ask patients that question before. Daddy always wanted to know exactly where it hurt.
Panic fluttered in her chest for half a second.
"...Everywhere."
Your mother's eyebrows lifted ever so slightly.
"Everywhere?"
Another solemn nod.
"Mhm."
She gently rested both hands on Lucy's shoulders.
"Did you throw up?"
"No."
"Do you feel like you have to?"
Lucy pretended to think about it before giving a hesitant little shrug.
"...Maybe."
"Do you have a fever?"
"I don't know."
"Hmm..."
Your mother pressed the back of her hand against Lucy's forehead before checking again with her palm, the way mothers and grandmothers always seemed to do. Her skin felt perfectly cool.
No fever.
That was reassuring. Still, children didn't always spike a temperature right away. Maybe she'd eaten something that hadn't agreed with her. Maybe a little stomach bug was just beginning.
Lucy watched every expression that crossed her grandmother's face. She could tell she wasn't entirely convinced.
She needed to make it more believable.
So she let out the tiniest little whimper she could manage. Not loud enough to sound dramatic, just enough to make it seem like the pain had returned.
Your mother's face softened immediately.
"Oh, you poor thing."
Lucy leaned instinctively into the comforting touch, a small stab of guilt twisting in her chest before she quickly pushed it aside. She wasn't trying to be naughty. She just wanted to see Mama and Daddy at work like everyone else got to.
After a long pause, she lowered her voice to an almost frightened whisper.
"I think..." She looked up through her lashes with the biggest, saddest eyes she could manage. "...I need the hospital."
Your mother smiled gently as she tucked a strand of hair behind Lucy's ear.
"Oh, honey. I don't think we're there just yet."
Lucy's heart sank.
"...But my tummy really, really hurts."
"I know it does."
"We should go."
Your mother hesitated. Normally she would've waited an hour or two, called you first, given Lucy some water, and seen whether she felt any better after breakfast before rushing to the emergency department.
But abdominal pain in children was one of those things she'd learned never to dismiss completely after watching both you and Jack work in emergency medicine for years. You had both told stories about children who seemed perfectly fine until they suddenly weren't. Appendicitis. Intussusception. Things she'd never heard of before you became a doctor and Jack became a nurse.
She didn't want to overreact.
She also didn't want to ignore something important.
Her eyes lingered on Lucy's face. The little girl looked uncomfortable enough to be believable, even if she wasn't crying. Some children tolerated pain differently.
Your mother sighed softly as she stood.
"Alright."
Lucy's eyes widened before she could stop herself.
Really?
It worked?
Excitement rushed through her so suddenly she almost smiled.
Almost.
She bit the inside of her cheek just in time, quickly lowering her head and pressing a hand dramatically back against her stomach.
"I'll get dressed," your mother said. "Then we'll have one of Mommy's friends take a quick look at you, okay?"
Lucy nodded with all the seriousness she could muster.
"...Okay."
As your mother disappeared upstairs to change, Lucy remained standing in the middle of the kitchen, hugging her stuffed rabbit tightly against her chest.
Her plan had worked.
In just a little while, she'd finally get to see where her mom and dad spent all day.
She had no idea that before the morning was over, two people who had faced mass casualty incidents, violent trauma, and countless life-or-death emergencies would see her name on the emergency department tracking board and experience a kind of fear neither of them had ever learned to prepare for.
The emergency department had been in controlled chaos since seven that morning.
Every room was occupied. Hallway beds had filled before breakfast. Monitors chimed from every direction, phones rang almost constantly, stretchers rolled past one another with practiced precision, and conversations overlapped until they became little more than background noise. Jack had barely stopped moving since clocking in. He had just finished helping stabilize an elderly patient in respiratory distress and was updating the tracking board when a new name appeared among the incoming pediatric triage patients.
His own last name.
At first his brain didn't process it.
He frowned automatically, assuming it was another family with the same surname. It wasn't uncommon.
Then his eyes shifted to the details beneath it.
Accompanied by: Lucy.
The world seemed to narrow into a single point.
His stomach dropped so violently it almost hurt.
No.
No, no, no.
His mind filled the blanks long before reason had a chance to intervene.
Car accident on the way to school.
She'd fallen from the playground.
An allergic reaction.
A seizure.
Appendicitis.
A ruptured appendix.
Internal bleeding.
She'd stopped breathing.
His chest tightened so sharply that, for one terrifying second, it felt impossible to draw in air.
He was already moving before he'd consciously made the decision.
"Jack?"
Dana looked up from her workstation as he hurried past.
"You okay?"
He didn't answer.
Couldn't.
His prosthetic clicked faster against the floor as he rounded the nurses' station, weaving through stretchers and staff with an urgency that made several people instinctively step aside. Every extra second felt unbearable. His heartbeat pounded so loudly in his ears that he barely registered the voices around him.
Across the department, you were finishing charting after discharging a patient when your own eyes drifted toward the tracking board.
Your last name.
Pediatric triage.
Lucy.
Everything inside you went cold.
"No..."
The word escaped before you realized you'd spoken aloud.
Your pen slipped from your fingers onto the counter.
You didn't bother picking it up.
Someone behind you asked a question you never heard. You abandoned your chart mid-sentence and hurried out of the trauma bay, every rational thought dissolving beneath one singular, suffocating fear.
Not my baby.
Please not my baby.
You'd both spent years watching parents run into emergency departments wearing that exact expression.
The look that silently begged someone to tell them their child was okay.
Now you understood it from the inside.
Jack reached pediatric triage first.
He rounded the corner so quickly he nearly lost his footing, instinctively compensating before his prosthetic could catch awkwardly beneath him.
Then he stopped.
Lucy sat on one of the triage beds beside your mother, happily swinging her legs back and forth as she hugged her stuffed rabbit. She looked perfectly content, completely fascinated by everything happening around her.
The moment she saw him, her entire face lit up.
"Hi, Daddy!"
Jack didn't answer immediately.
He couldn't.
His breathing still hadn't caught up with him. His pulse hammered painfully against his ribs as his eyes swept over her with clinical precision born from years in emergency medicine.
Skin color okay.
Breathing normal.
Alert.
Talking.
No blood.
No bruising.
No obvious deformities.
No signs of respiratory distress.
No altered mental status.
Nothing.
Nothing.
Relief crashed into him so suddenly his knees threatened to buckle.
He had to grip the back of a nearby chair to steady himself.
"Jack?"
Your mother stood immediately, guilt already written across her face.
"I am so, so sorry. I should’ve called."
You arrived only seconds later, breathing almost as hard as Jack.
"Lucy!"
Your daughter beamed.
"Hi, Mama!"
You dropped to your knees in front of her without hesitation, your hands automatically moving through the familiar sequence every parent in emergency medicine knew by instinct. Forehead. Neck. Arms. Wrists. Face.
"What happened?"
Your mother looked apologetic.
"She was perfectly fine this morning. She'd been playing, and then all of a sudden she started holding her stomach and said she was in terrible pain. I didn't know if I should wait or..."
"You absolutely did the right thing," you assured her automatically, even as your attention remained fixed entirely on Lucy.
"Honey?"
Lucy nodded solemnly.
"It hurt."
"Where does it hurt, bug?" Jack asked.
She pointed vaguely toward the center of her stomach.
"...Here."
"How bad?"
She held up eight fingers.
"On a scale of ten..."
"...Eight."
"When did it start?"
"This morning."
"Did you throw up?"
"No."
"Feel sick?"
She hesitated.
"...Maybe."
Jack exchanged the briefest glance with you.
Neither of you relaxed.
Because children lied about vegetables.
They didn't usually lie about pain.
And even when they weren't lying, they were notoriously bad at describing it. Jack had treated smiling children with ruptured appendixes, kids who laughed while walking on fractured ankles, toddlers quietly coloring despite severe dehydration. Looking well meant almost nothing in pediatrics.
You rested a reassuring hand against Lucy's abdomen.
"I'm just going to press a little, okay?"
She nodded.
You gently palpated one quadrant.
"Does this hurt?"
"No."
You moved to another.
"How about here?"
"No."
Lower right.
"No."
Lower left.
"No."
Jack watched every tiny flicker of her expression. Or rather, the complete lack of one. She wasn't tensing beneath your touch. She wasn't guarding her stomach or curling inward instinctively. If anything, she seemed far more interested in everything happening around her than in the examination itself.
Her eyes wandered constantly around the department, following nurses rushing past, patients being wheeled down the hallway, monitors chiming, stretchers rolling by, the ambulance doors sliding open every few minutes. She wasn't frightened by any of it. She looked fascinated.
You noticed it too.
Before either of you could ask another question, Lucy turned back toward Jack, wearing the brightest smile she'd had all morning.
"So..." She tilted her head innocently. "...Can I see where Daddy works now?"
Silence settled over the four of you.
Jack closed his eyes.
Very.
Very slowly.
Your mother frowned, looking between the three of you.
"...Lucy?"
Your daughter's grin only widened.
"It worked."
Jack opened one eye.
"...What worked?"
"My tummy."
Neither you nor Jack said a word.
"It wasn't really hurting." She paused, as though she'd only just realized you weren't reacting the way she'd expected. "I just wanted to come."
For several long seconds, nobody moved.
Jack slowly lowered himself onto the chair beside her, more because his legs suddenly felt weak than because he'd intended to sit.
Because his prosthetic leg suddenly felt unsteady beneath him.
He rubbed both hands over his face, forcing out a long, shaky breath before looking back at his daughter.
"You..." His voice was rougher than he intended. "...You faked it?"
Lucy nodded proudly, completely oblivious to the emotional hurricane she'd just unleashed.
"That was the only way Grandma would bring me."
Your mother's mouth fell open.
"Oh my goodness..."
Lucy looked between the two of you with complete sincerity.
"I wanted to see where you work."
Jack let out another slow breath that sounded dangerously close to becoming a laugh. Not because anything about this was funny, but because relief had nowhere else to go.
"You scared ten years off my life."
Her smile faltered.
"...I did?"
Jack swallowed, the image of her name on the tracking board still burned into his mind.
"When I saw your name pop up..." His voice caught unexpectedly, forcing him to pause. He looked away for a moment before gathering himself enough to continue. "I thought something terrible had happened."
You nodded quietly beside him.
"I thought my little girl was hurt."
Lucy's face crumpled almost instantly. The excitement disappeared, replaced by confusion and guilt.
"I..." Her shoulders curled inward. "...I didn't know."
Of course she hadn't.
She was six years old. In her mind, she'd come up with the smartest plan imaginable. Pretend to have a stomachache. Go to the hospital. Surprise Mommy and Daddy. She'd never stopped to think about what it would feel like for two emergency clinicians to suddenly see their own child's name appear on the tracking board.
She looked down at her sneakers, twisting one toe against the floor.
"I'm sorry."
Jack watched her quietly for a long moment. Every ounce of frustration he'd felt dissolved beneath the sight of her trying so hard not to cry. Without another word, he opened his arms.
Lucy climbed into them immediately.
He wrapped her tightly against his chest, closing his eyes as he rested his cheek against her hair.
"I'm not mad."
She looked up uncertainly.
"...You're not?"
He shook his head.
"I'm relieved."
His voice was barely above a whisper.
"So unbelievably relieved."
He held her for another moment before leaning back just enough to meet her eyes.
"But you cannot ever pretend to be sick like this again."
She nodded immediately.
"Okay."
"I need a real promise."
"I promise."
You moved closer until your shoulder rested against Jack's, wrapping an arm around both of them. Almost instinctively, Lucy reached for your hand with her free one.
"I'm sorry, Mama."
You squeezed her little fingers.
"I know."
"I just wanted everyone at school to know my mommy and daddy have cool jobs."
Your heart ached.
"We know, sweetheart."
"They all got to go."
You met Jack's eyes for a brief second. Sometimes the hardest part of parenting wasn't saying no. It was understanding exactly why your child wanted something so badly and still knowing the answer couldn't change.
Jack kissed the top of Lucy's head.
Jack was quiet for a moment before a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"You know what?"
"What?"
"Since you're already here..." He glanced at you, silently asking the question before either of you spoke.
You smiled back.
"I think our patient has been thoroughly examined."
Jack nodded solemnly.
"I agree."
He looked back at Lucy.
"So I'm officially discharging you."
Her eyes widened.
"You are?"
"Mhm." He reached over and gently tapped the tip of her nose. "No tummy ache. Cleared to go home with Grandma."
She giggled.
"But..." He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Before you go home, I think we can spare five minutes."
Lucy's mouth fell open.
"Really?"
"We can show you the nurses' station." He pointed toward the center of the department. "My locker. Maybe the ambulance bay if there isn't anything coming in."
"And the cafeteria," you added with a smile.
Jack nodded.
"But that's it."
"No treatment rooms."
"No sick patients," you said gently.
"And you stay with one of us the entire time."
Lucy threw her arms around his neck so quickly he almost laughed.
"I promise!"
"I know you do." He hugged her back before pulling away just enough to look at her seriously. "But that doesn't change one thing."
"What?"
"If you ever feel left out again, you tell Mommy or me."
She nodded.
"You don't have to scare us to spend time with us."
The smile slipped from her face.
"...Okay."
"I mean it, bug."
"I know."
She leaned forward to hug him again, then reached for you too, nearly pulling the three of you together on the waiting room chair.
Jack caught your eye over the top of Lucy's head.
"I think she inherited our problem-solving skills."
You laughed.
"No."
"Our stubbornness."
Lucy looked up immediately.
"I heard that."
"Oh, we know," Jack said with a grin. "Trust me, we know exactly who you got it from."
"I did not fake being stubborn."
"You absolutely did."
That earned another burst of laughter, loud enough that even your mother laughed through the tears she'd been quietly wiping away.
As Lucy happily slid off Jack's lap, already asking a hundred questions about ambulances and whether nurses really kept candy in the break room, the knot in his chest finally began to loosen. The fear hadn't disappeared entirely. He wasn't sure it ever would. Seeing her name on that tracking board had unlocked a terror he hoped never to feel again.
But as he watched her bounce happily between you, clutching one of your hands and one of his as though the last twenty minutes had never happened, he found himself smiling despite everything.
He would take fake stomachaches, dramatic plans, and six-year-old schemes over seeing his daughter in one of those treatment rooms for real every single day.
Summary: You surprise Jack in a soft baby blue number.
Words: 2780
Warning: Age Gap (Mid 30s/Early 50s), Sensual and Sexual Themes/Suggestive Tone
Authors Note: *NAWING AT THE BARS OF MY ENCLOSURE* Buckle up because this one is steamy!!! 🤪🫣 I’ve had this written so so so long ago. When I saw the gif and saw the look he gave (THE UP DOWN STARE GAHHH), the idea came about. I've had this written and saved in the dafts since october of last year GAHHHH. Those of you wondering what was in the black paper bag from Black Friday part…here ya go LOL. Enjoy - Ryn
SOL | MASTERLIST
You catch your reflection in the mirror, cheeks warm, pulse hammering in your ears. Nervous doesn’t even begin to cover it, you’re terrified. The light baby blue babydoll lingerie feels impossibly soft against your skin, unfamiliar in a way that makes your stomach flutter. It’s Jack’s favorite color, and somehow knowing that only makes your nerves spike higher.
You’ve taken the time to doll yourself up, hair softly curled, makeup just enough to make your eyes stand out, lips slightly glossy.
You shift slightly, tugging at the delicate fabric as if trying to make it feel more like armor than vulnerability. The reflection staring back at you is a mix of confidence and uncertainty, and you wonder, when he sees you, will he see both?
You smooth your hands down the sheer fabric, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Okay,” you whisper to yourself, “you can do this! It’s just Jack. Jack who makes you laugh. Jack who loves you. Jack who looks at you like you hung the moon.”
But your pulse won’t slow. You’ve never done anything like this before. You’ve never worn something so intimate, so revealing, so deliberately sexy. The thought of stepping out, seeing his face when he looks at you, makes your heart pound against your ribs.
You take one more breath, fingers tightening around the door handle. “Okay,” you murmur again. “Here goes nothing.”
You exhale, open the door, and pad softly down the hallway toward the garage. The faint scent of oil and metal grows stronger with each step, mixing with the steady rhythm of classic rock humming low from the radio.
Through the open door, you see Jack, bent over the hood of his truck, sleeves pushed up, forearms streaked with grease. The late afternoon Sun spills across his shoulders, catching in his hair as he works.
You hover just inside the doorway, out of sight from the street. The garage door is open, but from where you’re standing, no one passing by could see you, not with the truck angled the way it is. It’s your small bubble of privacy hidden in plain view.
He doesn’t notice you at first, too lost in the task in front of him. The clink of a wrench, the soft scrape of metal, the quiet hum under his breath. Then he hears the soft creak of the door.
“Beautiful, can you pass me the—”
He looks, mid-sentence.
The rest of the words die on his lips as his eyes land on you. For a long, silent heartbeat, he just stares, lingering over you as if memorizing every detail.
Jack doesn’t say anything at first. He straightens slowly, eyes never leaving you, and reaches for the rag on the workbench. The movement is almost mechanical, wiping his grease-stained hands one slow drag at a time like he needs to make sure this is real before he dares to speak.
He lets out a slow breath, the kind that seems to steady him against a force he didn’t expect.
“God…” His voice is low, almost a whisper. His eyes widen, flicking down and back up in a slow, stunned sweep that makes your skin hum. His breath catches faintly, like he wasn’t prepared for you to look like that, like he’s not entirely sure he’s awake.
Jack blinks, swallows hard, but doesn’t look away. His jaw tightens, the muscle ticking as if he’s fighting the urge to say or do something he might not be able to take back.
“H-hi,” you stutter out.
“Hey,” he says quietly, still wiping his hands with the rag, his movements slower now. He doesn’t step closer, doesn’t say anything else, just watches you, waiting. It’s like he knows you need to make the first move.
You shift under his gaze, heart pounding, suddenly aware of every inch of sheer fabric clinging to your skin. The confidence you had in front of the mirror starts to crumble.
His silence only makes you second-guess yourself further, twisting your confidence into something fragile and uncertain. The quiet between you feels heavier than words, and suddenly you wonder if what seemed daring in the mirror now looks… wrong to him.
“This was a dumb idea,” you mumble, crossing your arms instinctively over your chest as heat floods your cheeks. “I feel absolutely ridiculous… in this.”
The baby-blue babydoll that had seemed flirty and playful before now feels far too revealing, thin straps slipping off your shoulders, the hem brushing high against your thighs, and the sheer fabric doing little to hide the rapid rise and fall of your breathing.
Jack’s brow furrows, just slightly. He drops the rag on the workbench and takes a slow step toward you, careful, like he’s afraid to spook you.
This was new territory for both of you. You and Jack had been intimate before, closely, physically, but lingerie had never been part of your dynamic. Never something you’d worn just for him, just the two of you. The thought of exposing this side of yourself, letting him see you like this, made your pulse spike, and yet there was a strange thrill in the vulnerability, the trust in uncharted territory.
“Hey,” he says softly, stepping closer but not too close, like he knows you might bolt if he does. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” you mutter, still avoiding his eyes, arms hugging yourself tighter.
He gestures vaguely toward you, to the way you’re folding in on yourself. “That. Acting like you’ve got something to be embarrassed about.”
He chuckles softly, a low, warm sound. “Why are you hiding? It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”
“I… I don’t know,” you whisper, voice shaky. “It’s… different. Wearing this for you.”
He exhales softly and takes another small step, slow enough for you to stop him if you want. “Let me see you.”
Your fingers hesitate at your elbows, unsure, trembling just a little. But the way he’s looking at you steady, patient, almost aching, pulls something loose inside your chest.
You uncross your arms slowly.
His breath leaves him in a quiet, stunned rush. He doesn’t touch you, doesn’t even try, but his hands flex at his sides like he’s fighting the instinct to reach for you.
“Jesus…” he murmurs, the word barely audible, almost reverent. His gaze sweeps over you again, slower this time, lingering on the curve of the lace, the dip of the straps, the exposed skin underneath, the parts of you you’re trying, and failing, not to shy away from.
His voice gentles even more, the teasing stripped away. “You look… incredible.”
He tilts his head, studying you like he’s memorizing every line and curve.
“When did you get this?”
“Black Friday shopping…”
He lets out a low sound half laugh, half ache. “So this is why you told me to stay put?” His eyes flick to you, then back again, wide with disbelief and something brighter. “This is what was in that black bag?”
You nod.
He shakes his head slowly, a breathless, almost disbelieving smile tugging at his mouth. “You’re kidding…” His eyes lift to yours and then drift back down again “You’ve had this the whole time, and now you decide to—” He breaks off, swallowing hard, his voice rough with a mix of awe and want. “—wear it?”
You nod, cheeks warm. “I just thought it might be nice. Something different. For me… and for you.”
You nod, still not looking up, heat creeping into your cheeks. “ I bought it,” you admit softly, fingers fidgeting with the fabric. “Because I wanted to feel good in my own skin.” You hesitate, then add, quieter, “But… also for you. I thought maybe it would be something you’d like.”
You shake your head, embarrassed, wishing you could disappear for a second. “It’s silly, I know.”
He swallows, his gaze never leaving yours. “It’s not silly,” he says softly, voice low but steady, like he’s trying to anchor you. “Not even a little.”
“I wasn’t expecting—” He stops himself, clears his throat. “I mean, damn, you knocked the wind out of me.”
He steps closer, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from him. His hand hovers near your arm, not quite touching, giving you just enough space to breathe while still making you acutely aware of him. “Thank you,” he murmurs, almost reverently. “For thinking of me. I appreciate it…”
Your heart hammers in your chest. “Do… Do you like it?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.
He blinks, genuinely caught off guard that you’d even ask. “Do I—” He cuts himself off, a soft huff of a laugh leaving him. A faint smile curves at the corner of his mouth as his eyes drift over you again, gentler now. “Yeah. Yeah, I do…more than you can imagine.”
His voice drops, warmer, almost reverent. “And blue,” he murmurs, almost to himself, “my favorite color. You could’ve worn anything—hell, you could’ve worn one of my old shirts and I’d still be standing here thinking the same thing.”
You feel your chest tighten at that, warmth flooding through you. “What’s that?” you ask, voice barely a whisper.
“That I’m completely gone for you,” he says simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
He steps a fraction closer, and the air between you seems to pulse. “That you… look incredible. Just… you. Every part of you,” he says, voice low, reverent, a quiet intensity behind every word.
Jack’s voice drops low, almost tentative. “Can I… touch you?” he asks, like he’s afraid the question itself might scare you off.
Your breath catches. You look up at him, his hand hovering midair, his expression careful, waiting. He isn’t assuming, isn’t pushing, just asking.
You nod once, slow. “Y-yes,” you whisper.
He starts to move, then hesitates, glancing down at his hands, still faintly streaked with grease despite the rag. A quiet, sheepish smile tugs at his mouth. “I should probably wash up first,” he murmurs.
You shake your head before he can step back. “N-no. It’s okay,” you say softly, your voice steady now, sure. “I don’t care.”
For a moment, he just looks at you, eyes searching, like he’s trying to decide if you really mean it. The tension in his shoulders eases just a fraction. His fingertips brush against your arm first, feather-light like he’s giving you a chance to change your mind. Then a little firmer, tracing down until his hand settles against your skin, grounding you both.
His thumb grazes the edge of your strap, which has slipped off your shoulder, and he fixes it gently, an excuse, maybe, or just something to do with his hands while the air hums quietly between you.
You exhale, a soft sound that feels more like release than words.
His hands find your hips, warm and steady, grounding you when everything inside feels unsteady. He pulls you a little closer, not demanding, just waiting, giving you the space to pull away if you need to.
“Okay?” he asks quietly, his breath brushing against your temple.
You nod, the word catching in your throat before it can form. “Yes,” you whisper, though your heart is beating so fast you’re sure he can feel it.
Jack studies you for a long moment, his eyes searching your face, making sure. When he finally speaks again, his voice is even softer. “You’re sure?”
You nod again, this time a little firmer. “I’m sure.”
Something in his shoulders eases at that, the faint tension melting away. He lets out a quiet breath, thumb brushing along your hip bone like he’s memorizing the shape of you.
Then, without a word, he leans in closer. His lips press softly to the side of your neck, a gentle, lingering kiss that sends a shiver through you. You sigh, breathless, tilting your head slightly, caught between surprise and desire, heart hammering as the warmth of him presses closer, slow and deliberate.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, almost to himself, his voice low and reverent. “God… you’ve got no idea what this does to me,” he murmurs, voice thick, almost a whisper. “You, here, like this…”
The words make your pulse skip, the nerves still there but dulled by the warmth in his voice, the care. You tilt your chin up slightly, meeting his gaze at last.
“Show me,” you whisper.
He exhales, a low, almost frustrated sound. “I… need to wash up first,” he says, voice rough, as if reluctant to break the moment.
“Jack,” you whine softly, tugging at his shirt, the heat and frustration coiling in your chest. “Don’t. Please… don’t.”
He groans, running a hand through his curls, shaking his head with a wry smile. “Beautiful… I’m not gonna be with you if I’m all greasy and sweaty from working on the truck” he says, voice low but teasing, the tension between you still humming in the air. His eyes softening just a fraction. “Come on… you deserve better than that.”
You pout, tugging at his shirt again, frustration and mischief in your eyes. “Jack… come on, not yet… Just for a minute? Please?”
He exhales, giving in with a slow, reluctant smirk. “Okay, fine. A minute—then we’re going inside. I’m gonna shower first… and then we’ll continue.”
Before you can react, he scoops you up effortlessly, and you squeal, the sudden movement sending a jolt straight through you. He carries you across the garage, swiping tools off the workbench in a careless clatter before setting you down gently on it, like you’re something precious despite the rough urgency in his movements.
He steps between your legs, close enough that you feel the heat of him, the air between you crackling. His hands settle at your waist, thumbs pressing in. Then his mouth is on yours fierce, hungry, unrelenting. The kiss steals your breath, leaves you dizzy, the world narrowing to nothing but him.
“Jack—” you gasp, pulling back just enough to breathe. “The garage door is open. Someone could see us—”
He pulls away just enough to grin, eyes dark and amused. “Relax. You really think anyone’s paying attention? Because I’m pretty sure the only one losing focus here is you.”
“You realize you’re sabotaging your minute of fun? You’re wasting time,” he teases, glancing exaggeratedly at his watch, clicking his tongue. “Your minute’s almost—”
You cut him off, grabbing the front of his shirt and kissing him again, messy and unapologetic. He laughs against your mouth, quickly turning into a low groan as his hands tighten at your waist. Your hands grip his shoulders, pulling him closer, the kiss deepening, urgent.
He breaks the kiss just for a moment, forehead resting against yours, breath mingling with yours. His eyes roam over your face, memorizing every expression. “God… you have no idea how much I want you right now,” he murmurs, voice low and rough.
A shiver runs through you. “Then don’t… don’t stop,” you whisper.
The straps of your lingerie slip again. You reach instinctively to take it off but his hands catch your wrists gently. “No,” he breathes, a little laugh tangled with a quiet groan. “Hey… don’t. I expect this to stay on. I want continue to admire you in it more later.”
You hesitate, breath catching, then nod. “Okay,” you whisper.
“yeah,” he murmurs, eyes dragging over you, unhurried and appreciative. “You got all dressed up for me. Leave it on.”
He grins against your lips before capturing your mouth again, hands roaming gently but insistently along your sides, each touch sending sparks through you.
His hand tightens slightly at your waist. “Okay… time’s up,” he murmurs, low and teasing. “I said a minute—now we go inside. Shower first, then we’ll finish this properly.”
“Jack…” you whisper, voice trembling.
“I’ll be quick, I promise,” he murmurs, pressing one last lingering kiss to your mouth. You sigh against him, breathless, heart hammering, fingers brushing lightly along his arms.
“Inside,” you say softly, eyes daring him. “And if you take your sweet time in that shower, I’m holding it against you.”
He laughs, smirking. “Don’t worry. I know better than to keep you waiting.”
Before you can react, he grabs your hand as you hop down from the workbench. Together, you rush inside, hearts racing, hands intertwined. The tension lingers, electric and promising, as the garage door closes behind you.
pairing: jack abbot x reader
rating: mature (18+)
word count: 5.1k
warnings: medical themes • trauma cases • grief • references to parental illness and death • trauma response/dissociation • emotional distress • slow burn
summary: a trauma activation pulls you back to a memory you thought you had buried. After a difficult shift and an even harder conversation with Dr. Abbot, the hospital roof becomes the last place either of you expected to have an honest conversation.
a/n: well… based on your comments on the last post, here is Part 2! 🫶
this story actually began as an OC fic on Wattpad/AO3! I've always loved reader inserts, but Wattpad always felt easier with an OC. That said, I love being able to put myself in the story a little too much, so turning this into a reader insert just felt right.
thank you for all the support on the first chapter. I hope you enjoy this one! 🤍
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Morning in the emergency department feels different than nights.
The pace isn't necessarily faster, just different. Families fill the waiting room, consults stack up faster than anyone can answer them, and the phones ring often enough to become part of the background noise. Night shift wears its exhaustion openly. Day shift hides it beneath constant movement.
You're halfway to the board before anyone notices you've arrived. The department is already in full motion around you—conversations overlapping at the nurses' station, someone calling out orders from down the hall, a monitor alarming somewhere in the background while another phone starts ringing.
You sign in quickly and scan the board. Your eyes move automatically across room numbers, updated notes, pending labs, and names changing before you've fully finished reading them. Most of it looks manageable. Enough of it doesn't.
The kind of board that doesn't give you much time to ease into the shift.
Your name pulls your attention away from the screen.
You look up just as Dr. Whitaker steps toward you with a chart already in hand, looking like he's been searching for you.
"Room nine," he says. "Twenty-six-year-old female. Abdominal pain since yesterday. Vitals are stable, labs aren't showing much. I gave Toradol, which helped a little. I was thinking imaging if it doesn't improve."
You take the chart from him, scanning the note as he talks. "Pain localized?"
"Lower abdomen. Mostly right-sided."
You nod once. "Okay. I'll take it."
Before you can step away, Victoria glances up from a notebook that's still somehow color-coded and perfectly organized despite the end of a shift. "She said it gets worse after eating," she adds. "And she's had similar pain before. Just not this bad."
You slow just long enough to nod. "Good to know."
Victoria gives a small nod of her own and goes back to her notes while, to your left, Dr. Santos leans against the counter with her arms crossed, watching the board like she's already anticipating the next problem.
"You're inheriting a decent spread," she says. "Could be worse."
You flip through the chart again. "It will be."
That earns a small smile. "Yeah," she says. "Probably."
Across the station, Samira finishes handing off another patient before passing the chart across the counter. "Vitals have held, but the trend's not obvious. I'd keep an eye on it."
"I will," you say, nodding once.
She studies you for another second, then offers a small, almost absent smile before turning back toward the board.
Dana is already moving through the department, checking in with nurses near triage, adjusting assignments on the board, and stepping in to address small problems before they have a chance to turn into bigger ones. The overlap between shifts is almost over, and she's making sure nothing gets left behind.
She passes you near the workstation without stopping, her eyes flicking over you briefly as she goes.
By the time the last of sign-out wraps up, the department has settled into a different rhythm. The overlapping conversations have faded, the phones have quieted, and the controlled chaos of shift change has finally given way to the work itself.
At the desk, Robby is finishing the last of his notes when Jack steps in beside him. Neither of them seems in any hurry. They exchange a few quiet words, falling into an easy rhythm that makes it obvious they've done this together hundreds of times before.
"How's she doing?" Robby asks, glancing toward the board.
Jack doesn't look up from the chart in front of him. "She's good."
Robby looks at him for another second. "That's all I've got?"
That finally earns him a glance from Jack. "She knows what she's doing."
The corner of Robby's mouth twitches. "Try to play nice."
Jack's attention has already returned to the chart, which earns another quiet laugh before Robby pushes away from the desk and heads back into the department.
A few feet away, you're already heading toward your next room. You don't catch the words themselves, only the sound of voices somewhere behind you. By the time you glance back toward the desk, Robby is gone, and Dr. Abbot is already looking at the board again.
You forget about it almost immediately.
You're halfway through updating a chart when Lena calls across the station.
"Room six is yours."
"Got it," you say, already pushing away from the computer and heading down the hall.
The patient is young, in her early twenties at most, curled slightly on the bed with one arm wrapped around her abdomen. She looks exhausted, like she's been dealing with the pain for longer than she wants to admit.
You pull on a pair of gloves as you step into the room, letting the door swing partially shut behind you.
"Hi," you say, stopping beside the bed. "I'm one of the doctors down here. Tell me what's going on."
"Stomach pain," she says immediately, her voice tight with exhaustion. "Since this morning. It just keeps getting worse."
"Where?" you ask, and she hesitates before moving her hand lower, toward the right side of her abdomen.
You keep going through the rest of the questions—nausea, vomiting, fever, appetite, when the pain started—letting the answers fill in the picture as you piece it together.
When you press on the right lower quadrant, the reaction is immediate. She flinches, her breath catching before she can stop it. You already have a pretty good idea of where this is headed.
"Alright," you say, pulling off your gloves as you step back from the bed. "I'm going to order some labs and get some imaging, okay? I just want to figure out exactly what's going on."
She nods quickly, looking relieved to finally have a plan.
You turn toward the door and nearly stop.
Dr. Abbot is standing just outside the room, slightly off to the side, his attention fixed on you in a way that makes you think he's been there longer than you realized.
"What are you thinking?" he asks.
The question is simple enough, but it still feels like being put on the spot.
"Appendicitis is highest on my differential. Pain started diffuse and localized to the right lower quadrant. Nausea, possible fever. Labs are pending, and I want a CT. If it's confirmed, I'd call surgery."
His gaze stays on you for another second before he asks, "What else?"
For half a second, you run through the differential again in your head, looking for the thing you might have missed.
"Could be ovarian. Less likely renal or GI based on how it progressed, but appendicitis fits best right now. I wouldn't wait too long on imaging."
His gaze flicks toward the patient before settling on you again. "CT ordered?"
"It's pending."
He nods once. "Alright."
The response tells you absolutely nothing. No correction, no approval, nothing to suggest whether your answer was enough or whether he's still turning it over in his head. Then he steps into the room, taking in the monitor, the orders, and the rest of the setup without saying a word.
You find yourself looking away first, turning back to the computer to finalize the imaging order and update the chart before you can think about it any longer. When you glance up again, he's already finished his silent assessment of the room and is stepping back into the hallway.
You don't follow right away. Instead, you take one last look at the patient, answer a few questions, and make sure she's at least comfortable enough to wait for imaging before stepping back into the department.
The noise meets you almost immediately.
Ellis is leaning against the counter outside the room with one glove still half-peeled off her hand, like she'd gotten distracted halfway through taking it off. She glances up as you approach.
"He do that thing where he just stands there and doesn't say anything?"
You pause. "What thing?"
She gives you a look. "That thing. Where you're explaining your differential and he's staring at you like you missed something obvious."
As she says it, she somehow manages to mimic the expression almost perfectly—blank enough to be mildly concerning.
A laugh slips out before you can stop it. "Yeah."
"Then you're probably fine," Ellis says, finally pulling off the other glove. "If he doesn't correct you, it's usually because there's nothing to correct."
Shen passes behind the two of you a second later, taking another sip of his iced Dunkin coffee as he glances between you.
"You talking about Abbot?"
"Always," Ellis answers immediately.
Shen takes another sip before looking at you. "If he's quiet, you're good. If he starts asking questions, then you should worry."
You glance back toward room six before looking at the board again. "That's a deeply unhelpful system."
"It's actually very helpful," Shen says easily. "You just don't like it."
Ellis snorts and pushes herself off the counter. "Room eight's yours, by the way."
"Of course it is," you mutter.
Room eight is older, confused, and medically complicated in the exhausting way that requires pulling information apart piece by piece just to figure out what actually matters. Nothing is straightforward. Every answer seems to lead somewhere different from what you expect, and by the time you finally untangle one issue, you've found two more.
You work through it anyway, patient as ever, taking it one step at a time. By the time you finally step back into the hallway, you've spent far longer in there than you meant to.
Lena is back at the desk, reorganizing the board as you walk up. Her eyes flick briefly toward you. "Six is covered?"
"CT's pending," you say. "Everything else is in."
"Good."
And just like that, her attention is somewhere else.
Around you, the department keeps moving. A paramedic wheels an empty stretcher past the station while someone calls for respiratory down the hall. Phones ring. A printer spits out labels no one's picked up yet, and somewhere behind you, Shen is trying to convince radiology to read a scan faster.
You take one last look around the department before heading for the next room.
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The department has settled into a steady rhythm by the time the overhead cuts through the noise.
"Trauma incoming. Multi-vehicle collision. Multiple patients. ETA two minutes."
The change is immediate.
Conversations end mid-sentence. People turn instinctively toward the trauma bays, half-finished tasks abandoned without a second thought as everyone shifts into place. There isn't any panic to it. If anything, the department gets quieter.
You turn with everyone else, pulling on gloves as you head toward the bay. Ellis falls into step beside you, tying the back of her gown without breaking stride, while Shen finally sets his iced coffee down on the counter. Across the room, Lena is already assigning roles, and by the time you reach the trauma bay, you're exactly where you're supposed to be.
The doors burst open seconds later.
The first patient comes in fast, blood matted through his hair, and one leg twisted at an angle that immediately suggests a severe fracture. Another stretcher follows close behind, carrying a second patient who looks more stable, though not by much. Information starts coming all at once—mechanism, vitals, visible injuries—pieces of the scene arriving faster than anyone can put them together.
You automatically move toward the second stretcher, hands already reaching for gloves as you start your assessment.
"BP?"
"Stable."
"Let's get another line in—"
You pull the hospital gown back slightly to check for additional injuries, and that's when you see it: bruising across the ribs, already darkening beneath the skin. Your hand pauses, and for a second it isn't the patient in front of you.
It's your mom.
Fluorescent lights. The sharp smell of antiseptic. Your mother lying too still in a hospital bed, bruises spread across pale skin, while you stood beside her pretending not to notice how much smaller she looked.
You take a step back before you realize you're doing it, not far, just enough to lose your place. Around you, the trauma bay keeps moving. Ellis is still working beside the stretcher, Shen is saying something from across the room, and Dr. Abbot's voice cuts through from somewhere to your left, calm and steady as he keeps everything moving.
Everything except you.
You don't look up immediately, but you know he's closer now. You can feel his attention settle on you before he asks, "What are you doing?"
The question cuts straight through the haze and pulls you back into the room.
You blink, and suddenly the trauma bay is there again—the patient on the stretcher, the monitor alarms, Ellis working beside you, the place in the assessment where you'd stopped.
"I've got it," you say quickly, already stepping forward again. You reach for the patient's arm, picking up where you left off and forcing yourself back into the rhythm of the room.
For a second, Dr. Abbot watches you instead of the patient. Not confused, but not entirely convinced, either, as though he's trying to decide whether you actually have the situation back under control or if he needs to pull you from the room.
Whatever he sees seems to make him pause.
The look on your face a second ago hadn't been hesitation. It had been something else entirely—farther away than that, briefly disconnected from the room in a way that doesn't belong in the middle of a trauma.
And he knows that look.
Not the reason for it. Not the specifics. Just the look itself.
He's seen it before—on soldiers overseas, on residents after bad codes, and in mirrors he stopped looking at too closely years ago. That split second where someone leaves the room before they realize they've done it.
His jaw tightens, whatever he'd originally been about to say shifting course before it reaches his voice.
"If your focus is somewhere else, you're no use to me here."
Your jaw tightens. "I said I've got it," you say, the words coming out flatter than you intend.
Dr. Abbot watches you for another second instead of the patient, his expression unreadable, as though he's deciding whether to push the issue. Then he gives a short nod and turns his attention back to the stretcher.
"Then stay with it."
The words are matter-of-fact, leaving no room for what just happened.
You let out a quiet breath through your nose and force yourself back into the assessment. "Let's get another line," you say, glancing toward the monitor. "Repeat vitals in five."
The nurse moves immediately. Across the room, Ellis is already calling for imaging while Shen adjusts fluids near the head of the bed, another monitor alarming before someone reaches over to silence it. The trauma bay doesn't pause for moments like this, and neither do you.
By the time Dr. Abbot glances back in your direction, you're already working through the assessment again, and this time you don't lose your place.
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By the time the shift ends, it doesn't really feel like it has. One minute you're finishing your last note, and the next, day shift is filtering back into the department, picking up conversations and patients as though the last twelve hours never happened at all.
You don't wait around to watch it happen.
You sign out quickly and head for the hallway, barely paying attention to who's still at the desk. The fluorescent lights feel too bright now, the noise of the department suddenly grating in a way it hadn't been an hour ago. You keep walking, only starting to slow once you've made it past the trauma bays and the sounds of the ER begin to fade behind you.
Your name carries down the hallway behind you, and you already know who's calling before you turn around.
Dr. Abbot is already walking toward you, stethoscope still hanging around his neck. He stops a few feet away—not close enough to block your path, but close enough to make it obvious this isn't a passing conversation.
For a moment, neither of you says anything. Then he says, "You stepped out of the room today."
It's not phrased like a question, and before you can stop yourself, your arms fold across your chest. "I handled it."
"That's not what I said."
Something shifts in your expression after that, small enough that you might not have noticed it yourself, but he does.
"If you need a minute," he says evenly, "you take it before you walk into a trauma bay. Not in the middle of one."
The correction hits differently out here, without monitor alarms and people moving around you.
Your jaw tightens. "It won't happen again."
"That's not the point either."
His voice never rises. If anything, it only makes the conversation feel more inescapable.
"You don't get to disappear in the middle of an assessment because something caught you off guard," he continues. "Not with patients depending on you to stay in the room."
You feel the irritation immediately. "I said I handled it."
"You recovered," he corrects. "There's a difference."
For a moment, neither of you says anything. The hallway suddenly feels too quiet, the hum of the fluorescent lights and the distant rhythm of monitors carrying from somewhere deeper in the department.
Dr. Abbot studies you for another second, his expression giving nothing away.
"If your focus is compromised," he says finally, "I need to know before you're standing in my trauma bay."
Not the trauma bay. My trauma bay. There's something strangely possessive about it, and the thought stays with you for a second longer than it should.
You straighten slightly despite the exhaustion dragging at your shoulders. "My focus isn't compromised."
Dr. Abbot studies you for another second, his expression giving nothing away, and you can't tell whether he's evaluating the answer or deciding how much further to push the conversation.
Eventually, he nods.
"Good. Because if it happens again, you step out before I have to tell you to."
The warning hangs between you for a moment before he moves past you without another word, already turning back toward the department like the conversation ended the second he decided it had.
You stay where you are, jaw tight, your pulse still refusing to settle. Part of you wants to be angry with him for calling you out in the middle of a trauma, then stopping you in the hallway afterward like the conversation wasn't over. For speaking to you like you'd become a liability the second you lost your footing.
Mostly, though, you're irritated because he noticed.
A few seconds pass before you start moving again. You push through the heavy metal door at the end of the hall and start up the stairs. With each landing, the sounds of the ER grow fainter until there's nothing left but the sound of your shoes against the concrete.
You don't think about where you're going until you reach the roof access door.
The handle is cold beneath your hand as you push it open and step outside. The air catches you off guard, sharp enough to clear your head for a moment, and you stop there, looking out over the city. Beyond the edge of the hospital, Pittsburgh is just starting to wake up.
A railing sits several feet back from the edge, and you find yourself walking toward it without really thinking about it. You lower yourself onto the concrete, the cold immediately seeping through your scrub pants, but you don't bother moving. Instead, you pull your knees closer to your chest and rest your forearms across them, listening to the wind sweep across the rooftop and the faint hum of traffic somewhere below.
For a little while, the cold helps.
Then it doesn't.
The memories come back the way they always do—pieces instead of full scenes. A phone ringing, someone speaking too carefully, and then the feeling of knowing something was wrong before anyone had actually said it. Your father's name. The word accident. Then another word you don't remember hearing, so much as feeling.
You remember sitting there afterward, waiting for the world to stop.
It never did.
That's the part you remember most. Not the phone call itself, but the way everything kept moving afterward. People went back to work, bills still had to be paid, and the sun still came up the next morning.
And somehow, you were expected to keep moving too.
The funeral comes back next in uneven pieces. A room full of people speaking too softly, offering condolences as though the right combination of words might somehow make any of it easier. You remember standing there in black clothes that suddenly felt too tight, nodding when people spoke because it seemed easier than saying anything at all.
More than anything, you remember the empty space beside you.
Your mom should have been there. She should have been standing next to you through the quiet conversations and unbearable stillness of it all instead of lying in another hospital room while doctors spoke in careful, measured voices and everyone around you kept saying she was stable.
As if that word meant anything anymore.
Your grip tightens around your arms as the memory shifts again, carrying you somewhere else entirely—the drive home afterward, the front door unlocking beneath unsteady hands, and the strange, immediate realization that home didn't feel like home anymore.
You lower your forehead to your knees and close your eyes, trying to push the memories back into the place you usually keep them.
Tonight, they won't go.
The grief stays exactly where it is, heavy and unmoving beneath your ribs.
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By the time Jack makes it back to the desk, the morning has fully taken over the department. Day shift is in motion, nurses moving between rooms, charts changing hands, and the overnight fatigue has settled into everyone in that particular way that comes right before people finally go home.
Robby is still at the workstation finishing the last of his handoff notes when Jack stops beside him. For a minute, they focus on the remaining trauma patient instead.
"CT confirmed splenic involvement," Jack says, eyes still on the chart in front of him. "They've already got him upstairs."
"Alright." Robby finishes typing, then leans back in his chair and gives Jack a look. "You wanna tell me what that was about?"
Jack's attention never leaves the screen. "What?"
Robby gives him a look. "Don't do that. You know exactly what."
Jack exhales through his nose, already sounding tired of the conversation. "She stepped out in the middle of a trauma."
"For half a second."
"That's all it takes."
"Yeah," Robby says, "and you still tore into her in the hallway like she killed somebody."
Jack's jaw shifts slightly. "I corrected her."
"Bullshit."
Robby watches him for another second before speaking again. "You've had residents freeze before. You don't usually corner them after shift change unless they actually endangered somebody."
Jack doesn't answer right away. The silence stretches long enough that Robby takes it as one anyway, and with a quiet sigh, he pushes his chair back from the desk.
"She's a good resident, Jack."
"I know." The answer comes immediately.
Robby studies him for another second. "Then why are you treating this like she just tanked her career?"
A beat passes before Jack says, "You didn't see her face in there."
"No," Robby says, reaching for his coffee. "I saw yours afterward."
A second later, he stands and grabs the cup from beside the keyboard. "Just… don't make her think she can't recover from one bad moment. That's not how you teach people to work trauma."
Jack doesn't answer.
Robby waits another beat, then heads back into the department. Once he's out of sight, Jack's attention drifts toward the now-empty hallway before dropping back to the chart in front of him.
A full thirty seconds pass before he realizes he hasn't read a single word.
Around him, the morning carries on—phones ringing, nurses trading updates, someone laughing somewhere down the hall. Most days, that's enough to drag his attention back to the job.
This morning, it isn't.
He exhales through his nose, pushes back from the desk, and heads for the stairwell.
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The door behind you opens with a soft metallic click.
You don't look up right away. You just listen to the footsteps crossing the roof—steady, unhurried—and by the time the voice comes, you already know who it is.
"You're farther back than Robby usually sits."
You lift your head. Dr. Abbot stands a few feet away with his hands in the pockets of his scrub pants, the light from the stairwell catching the tiredness in his face before the door swings shut behind him.
"Guess that means the night could've gone worse."
Your gaze flicks briefly to the railing beside you before returning to him. "Good to know."
For a moment, neither of you says anything. He looks out over the city instead, the first light of morning settling over the buildings below, and you find yourself looking away again, your arms tightening slightly around your knees. Whatever's sitting in your chest is still there. It's just easier to ignore.
Beside you, he lets out a slow breath. "Long night."
A tired breath slips out through your nose, close enough to a laugh that it surprises even you.
"Something like that."
You expect him to head back downstairs, but he stays where he is beside the railing for another moment before asking, "You gonna tell me what pulled you out of the room?"
You don't answer right away. The wind cuts across the rooftop hard enough to sting your face, and you watch your breath disappear into the cold air before finally saying, "Not quite yet."
Abbot studies you for another moment, then gives a small nod. "Alright."
The quiet that follows feels easier than the one downstairs. Eventually, you rest your chin against your knees and keep your eyes on the city. "It wasn't the patient."
"I figured," he says.
You glance at him at that. Something about the certainty of the answer catches your attention, but he's still looking out over the city, as though he never needed the explanation in the first place.
"Then why ask?"
Abbot exhales slowly. "Because it pulled you out of the room."
You look down for a moment, your grip tightening slightly around your arms. "For a second."
"That's all it takes," he says evenly, and then, after a beat, "Doesn't mean you didn't recover."
You let out a slow breath. "I'm not in the habit of stepping out."
"I didn't think you were."
Your gaze drops to the concrete for a moment before you look back out at the city. "Good," you say, and this time it almost sounds like a joke.
Abbot looks at you for a moment, like he's reassessing something, before saying, "You corrected it before it compromised patient care."
The words settle between you. You stay quiet for a moment, your gaze fixed somewhere over the slowly brightening city.
"Yeah," you say finally, your voice softer this time.
The rooftop falls quiet again, the wind moving across the concrete while the sounds of the hospital stay muffled behind the stairwell door. After a while, you shift against the railing, stretching your legs enough to ease some of the stiffness from them.
"You come up here after every shift?"
"Most," he says.
You glance over at him. "Why?"
One of his shoulders lifts slightly. "Quieter."
You nod, like you already knew the answer before you asked.
The sky is brighter now, the first real light of morning settling over the city. When you glance over, he's still watching you, but the sharpness from earlier is gone. He doesn't look like he's waiting for an explanation anymore.
For some reason, that makes it easier.
"It was a car accident."
Abbot goes still beside you. After a moment, he asks quietly, "That what it was?"
You nod, your gaze dropping back to the concrete. "Someone else caused it." The words catch briefly in your throat. "My dad died."
It still doesn't feel any easier to say, and you have to swallow once before adding, softer this time, "My mom didn't."
The rest doesn't need much explaining.
Abbot's jaw shifts as he looks out over the edge of the roof instead of at you. "Is she here?"
"No." You shake your head. "Different hospital. Closer to home." You hesitate, your gaze dropping back to the concrete. "She's still there."
He stays quiet for a moment, his eyes still on the city. "Got it."
The simple answer catches you off guard. No apology. No sympathy. Just an acknowledgment that lets the words sit where they are.
You let out a slow breath. "First time it's followed me into a room like that."
Abbot huffs something that almost sounds like a laugh. "Won't be the last time something hits like that."
"I figured."
For a moment, the two of you just watch the city wake up.
"Difference is," he says eventually, "you didn't stay there."
You glance over at him. "Didn't have much choice."
He gives a small nod. "Still matters."
You don't say anything to that. Instead, you lean back against the railing a little, the first real light of morning filling in the rooftops around you. You're not relaxed exactly, but you aren't holding yourself quite so tightly anymore.
After another minute, you finally push yourself to your feet. "Guess I should let you have your spot back."
Abbot's gaze flicks toward the place you've been sitting before returning to you. "There are worse places to end up after a shift."
The corner of your mouth tugs upward for a second. "I'll take your word for it."
He gives a small nod, hands still tucked into the pockets of his scrub pants.
You turn toward the stairwell a moment later. The adrenaline that carried you up here is finally wearing off, leaving exhaustion to settle heavily into your limbs. By the time you reach the door, you're moving more slowly than when you came up.
Your hand closes around the metal handle, but you don't open the door right away.
"Thanks," you say quietly, not quite looking back at him.
Abbot doesn't answer immediately. He stays where he is for another moment, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the edge of the roof before finally saying, "Yeah."
You give a small nod to yourself and push the door open. The familiar noise of the hospital rushes in around you, and a second later you're gone.
Abbot remains where he is after the door swings shut, the rooftop falling quiet again. After a while, he exhales through his nose and lowers himself onto the stretch of concrete you'd been sitting on only minutes earlier, looking out over the city as another shift slowly takes shape below.
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Series Navigation:
← Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 (coming soon)
taking my car to the mechanic cause it's making a weird noise and i'm thinking jack would sooooooo take care of this for me.
he'd do it before you even notice something's wrong, just quietly handling it. he doesn't even mention he took the car to the mechanic, much less talk about how much was it. because that's his job, as your partner, to take care of it. he's got the money, alright. he's an army vet, swat physician & attending physician at the ED. that man's bank account is filled. he gets more money than the he could ever spend on himself, so of course he's gonna spend it on you.
if you do insist on taking it to the mechanic yourself, he'll make sure to go with you and hover — yes, hover — while your car is being checked out. he's got trust issues. even so, he would not let you pay. nope, not on his watch.
