In which you jump out of a moving car to spite Boyfriend!Sukuna
“—because he was just making conversation!”
Sukuna scoffs, knuckles turning white as his grip tightens on the steering wheel. “Bullshit. That guy wanted to fuck you.”
“Oh my god. So what!” you yell. “It’s not like I was gonna fucking let him!”
“Coulda fooled me.”
Just like that, your angry face, which matches his, warps into one of calm decision. With speed he doesn’t see coming, you unbuckle your seatbelt, push open the passenger door and jump out of the moving car into the dead of night.
The car screeches to a halt not even a second later.
You’re pushing yourself up and testing the soreness in your ankle when a car door slams shut and Sukuna comes marching over to you. “You crazy, fucking bitch!” he snaps. Sukuna grabs your face, growling when you try to pull away. He inspects every inch of you, brows furrowed, and piercings glinting under the streetlights. “What the fuck is wrong with you!”
“I got a bitch ass boyfriend, that’s what’s wrong with me,” you grumble.
He ignores that. “You break anything? Wrist? Ankle? Dislocated your shoulder?” You shake your head. “Well, that’s a fucking shame.” Though as he says that, he can’t quite hide the tremors in his hands. Quieter now, he mutters with a tight frown, “Scratched your pretty face up. Fuck. Lost your one redeeming quality.”
“Okay, so I’m gonna walk home,” you say, deadpan. “I’ll see you around, asshole.”
Sukuna runs a hand through his hair with a frustrated noise. Then he smacks his lips against yours before you can actually start walking away (not that he’d let you get very far). “Alright, alright. You fucking win. Congrats. Christ. Get back in the car — we’re going to the hospital to get you checked out. Fucking dumbass.”
A hospital visit later, you’re in bed with him, cuddled up like nothing happened. It’s how arguments with him tend to go; neither of you really hold grudges against each other. Not when you’ve fucked any grievances out after. The last mention of today’s incident, however, comes in his sleepy mumble against the top of your head: “push me out instead.”
“Hmm?”
Sukuna’s hold around your body tightens, threatening to suffocate you with his hard chest. “Don’t jump out of the car. It’s stupid. Your body’s weak. Skin bruises easily. Cuts easily too. Just kick me out instead. I deserve it, I know... bonus points if it's into oncoming traffic.”
the sun pours over your body as you walk along empty handed with sukuna holding all the bags and beach equipment. baby!yuji patters along on the mildly hot sand, running on levels of adrenaline only a six year old could muster.
the beach is filled with families similar to yours, children playing in the water, people tanning in the deliciously hot sun and volleyballs being tossed around by large friend groups.
sukuna places down your lounging chairs with an attached shaded umbrella, and plops down with all the bags containing various miscellaneous things.
yuji sticks his tongue out slightly, eyes lighting up with mischief and tries to make a beeline for the water before you grab him by the collar.
“no one gets out there without sunscreen” you wave a finger at him, instructing him to settle down.
yuji pouts impatiently swinging his legs while you get out the bottle of kids sunscreen and rub it on every bit of his exposed skin.
your son wrinkles his nose when you reach for his face applying the lotion in soft rhythmic motions. you proceed to pinch his cheeks and give him a little kiss there while yuji giggles.
sukuna watches you fuss over the brat with mild amusement. his eyes squint under the sun, and drop to admire what you’ve got on.
a frilly little thing exposing your beautiful curves.
sukuna scans the area noting any men looking towards your general direction and stares them down with a cutting glare only he could manage. a look that screamed ‘look away before i come dislocate that head myself’ for good measure.
while yuji runs off to play in the sand, you turn to him with the sunscreen bottle in hand and a knowing smile.
“your turn”
sukuna scoffs from where he’s sprawled back in the beach chair, one arm lazily hanging off the side.
“i don’t burn”
“yes you do”
“i literally don’t”
“your nose got pink last time”
his eyes narrow immediately, “it did not.”
“you then complained that it itched and brooded about it the whole time”
“i don’t brood”
you hum ignoring his offense entirely and pat your thighs.
“c’mere”
he stares at you for a long second before clicking his tongue and leaning forward anyway because despite all his dramatics, sukuna has never once denied you when you used that tone on him.
you snort as sukuna settles in front of you. his massive frame blocks the sun completely and he smells like saltwater and heat already despite barely having stepped into the ocean.
you squeeze sunscreen into your palms and rub it across his shoulders.
his muscles flex beneath your hands while you smooth lotion over the dark markings curling along his skin, careful and thorough despite the way he eyes you.
you drag your fingers over his neck and jaw, rubbing sunscreen into the bridge of his nose while he looks deeply inconvenienced by affection.
“look down”
“this is humiliating.”
“look down, so i can get the back of your neck.”
he grumbles under his breath but tilts his chin downward anyway. his previously bored, half lidded eyes, dilate at the sight of your cleavage, right. in. his. face.
how blissful.
yuji bursts into giggles. you had spiked up sukuna’s hair to stand up in a funky way.
“you look funny papa”
sukuna grimaces.
“want me to throw you into the ocean?”
“yeah!”
“…”
you laugh so hard you nearly smear sunscreen into sukuna’s eye.
you take turns, with sukuna now applying sunscreen onto your back.
eventually yuji tears off toward the shoreline with a plastic bucket in hand, sandals abandoned somewhere behind him.
you lean back into your chair with a satisfied sigh while sukuna sits beside you, one arm draped lazily behind your head.
for a while the two of you simply watch.
yuji jumps over tiny waves, yelling triumphantly every single time he successfully crosses one.
he crouches to collect shells with complete seriousness only to abandon them three seconds later because another wave has appeared.
his little laugh carries over the water. your chest feels warm.
“he looks like you when he gets excited,” you murmur, nuzzling against the base of sukuna’s neck.
“poor kid”
you elbow him lightly, “it is cute sukuna, you are cute”
before sukuna can mull over your words, yuji suddenly turns around spotting the two of you immediately.
“papa!! come here!!”
sukuna pretends not to hear,
“papa!!”
you mouth a slight ‘go’ as your husband sighs dramatically before obliging as per usual.
the water reaches just beneath his knees when yuji grabs his hand excitedly and starts dragging him around with all the strength a six year old could possess.
you pad in after them enjoying the waves and the feel of soft sand beneath your bare feet.
you smile to yourself. it is almost absurd seeing sukuna getting ordered around by a child carrying a neon orange shovel.
yuji points toward a lopsided sandcastle near the shore, “help me make it BIGGER” he sticks his arms out to act out how big he wanted it to be.
sitting back down on your chair you try not to look too amused as sukuna crouches down into the sand.
his large hands awkwardly shape wet sand while yuji gives deeply unnecessary instructions beside him.
“more tower”
sukuna looks over at you, pleading for an escape. you wave him off.
“it’s a sandcastle not a fortress” he mutters back.
“more tower” yuji runs about, sometimes gathering sand and sometimes water. most of the time being largely unhelpful.
sukuna clicks his tongue and adds another tower.
hours later the sky begins softening into gold.
yuji’s exhausted enough now to become clingy, dragging his feet through the sand while holding onto sukuna’s hand.
“i need to wash my feet” you brush sand off your legs with a tired groan.
before you can even move, sukuna bends down and scoops you into his arms effortlessly.
you yelp, “kuna—”
he pats you lower thigh, “stop squirming”
people nearby glance over briefly before immediately looking away once sukuna glares in their direction.
you hide your snicker against his shoulder while he carries you toward the rinse station near the boardwalk.
the water runs cool over your feet as he holds you securely against his chest, an arm around your waist like you weigh nothing at all.
yuji stands beside him sleepily rubbing his eyes.
once your feet are clean, sukuna sets you carefully onto the bench.
then without a word, he crouches down.
you blink.
“..what’re you doing?”
he grabs your sandals from beside the bench.
“your feet’ll get dirty again.”
years of loving him and your heart still stutters stupidly.
sukuna slides the sandals onto your feet one by one with mild annoyance etched across his face, but you know better. his love language when it came to you, was acts of service.
meanwhile yuji watches with narrowed eyes, “papa..?”
“what.”
“that’s sooo romantic” he smiles ear to ear.
sukuna immediately flicks water at his forehead.
yuji screeches dramatically while you laugh loud enough that people turn to look again.
“where did he even learn that?” sukuna asks, a mild smile overtaking his usual harsh features.
you shrug, in a dream-like trance, the domesticity of this moment making your heart soar.
and for once, sukuna doesn’t care at all.
firefly; you guys wanted longer fics so hehe i hope this was good ❀ུ͏
summary: there are two things that everyone in the ER knows about you—you're incredible at your job and extremely hot. the thing that they don't know is that you're dating one of their newest residents and have been for years.
MASTERLIST
pairings: dennis whitaker x RT!reader (respiratory therapist)
cw/tags: female reader (she/her pronouns used), described as having breasts and wearing a thong and bralette, mentions of cleavage and nipples, hair long enough for the top half to be tied back in a nondescript way. established relationship, typical pitt warnings (hospitals, intubations, chest compressions, sedation drugs, etc etc), swearing, ogilvie being a freak lowkey, very very minor and casual inappropriate conduct i guess (everyone wants you badly okay is it such a crime??), garcia calls you 'hot shot,' HPV in this context stands for 'hot potato voice,' not human papillomavirus lmfao, no smut but a few sexually explicit references
takes place on the fourth of july but absolutely zero reference to any real events of season 2 so no spoilers!
the pitt needs to introduce some respiratory therapists okay or else
OTHER PARTS HERE :)
Dennis knows you’re hot, obviously. Everyone with eyes knows that you’re hot. He still sometimes can’t believe the fact that he gets to date someone like you, even though you’ve been together for years at this point. You were working in a clinic that he did one of his first medical school rotations at, and for whatever reason, you had liked him.
You got a job at PTMC a year later, and you absolutely loved the fast-paced chaos that was the ER and ICU.
When it came time for Dennis to spend a few months at the trauma centre he decided to set some ground rules, not wanting anyone to give him special treatment because they knew he was dating one of their best respiratory therapists. No, he wanted to establish himself as a good student on his own, and he didn’t want to risk anyone making fun of you for being with him, not that he told you about that reason.
You had agreed, hesitantly, but ultimately thought that it made sense to keep things at work strictly professional.
At first, that had been fine. You actually spent the vast majority of your time in the ICU, since the patients up there typically needed more oversight regarding ventilation settings, and most of the doctors in the ER were more than capable of handling emergent intubations on their own. The two of you didn’t even cross paths for the first couple weeks that he was working in the ER, which was different from when he was doing internal medicine and admitting patients to the ICU frequently.
October 30th, 2024
“Fifty-eight year old male, severe SOB and throat swelling, sats eighty-eight on non-rebreather,” The paramedic says, wheeling a gurney through the ambulance bay doors.
“Whitaker!” Samira calls, and he races over, holding his stethoscope so it doesn’t fall as he moves.
“Temp thirty-nine, difficulty swallowing, HPV,” The paramedic continues. “History of type two diabetes, hypertension, and obstructive sleep apnea.”
The patient is propped up on the gurney, not laying fully back, likely because he wouldn’t be able to breathe if he did so. Samira counts down when they make it to the trauma room, hands moving the patient onto the hospital bed. She asks the patient for his name as Whitaker starts his exam, shifting between nurses as they try to figure out what’s going on. He shines his penlight into the man’s mouth, swallows some mild panic, then speaks.
“Drooling, significant submandibular swelling, limited mouth opening,” He says. “Unable to visualize the posterior pharynx, reduced neck extension.”
Mel has her stethoscope to the man’s back, listening carefully. “Lungs sound clear, but we’ve got significant stridor.”
Dennis takes a piece of gauze to wipe away some drool from the patient’s mouth. “Unable to handle secretions.”
“Sats decreasing,” Princess says. “Down to eighty-two.”
“Okay, we’re gonna’ need to intubate, and fast,” Samira says. “Mel, you’re up.”
Mel orders ketamine and rocuronium, then positions herself by the patient’s head. It becomes extremely obvious that this intubation won’t be easy, but Mel attempts it anyway.
“There’s a lot of swelling,” She says.
“Where’s Robby?” Samira asks, and one of the nurses leaves to go find him. The video laryngoscope is inserted, but Mel genuinely can’t see anything on the screen. Sedation starts to kick in, and the patient goes limp.
“I can’t visualize the epiglottis,” Mel says, her voice still calm, but Dennis can see a small amount of panic in her expression as she attempts to insert the tube. “I can’t get it in.”
“Okay, first pass failed,” Samira adds, keeping everyone in the room up to speed. She takes a closer look at the screen, shaking her head. “Page respiratory and surgery, stat.”
Samira gives the intubation a try, but she can’t pass the tube either, and the patient is desatting quickly. “Where the hell is Robby?”
“Stuck with another patient,” Mateo says, replacing the bag over the patient’s face, squeezing it every few seconds.
Rushed footsteps echo across the linoleum floors from outside, and Dennis looks up just in time to see you push the door to the room open, the badge that reads your name and ‘RT’ over a purple background swinging back and forth from your sprint to the department. Dennis sees the way the room relaxes, thanking god that you’re the responding respiratory therapist.
He also sees how good you look.
You don’t have an undershirt on for once, and the slight v-neck of your scrubs shows off a bit more skin than usual. You somehow manage to make hospital issued scrub pants look amazing, and if he didn’t know any better he would think that they had been tailored to your body. The fabric shows off the curve of your ass perfectly.
“What’s up?” You ask, grabbing a pair of gloves, slipping into them as you move to the head of the bed.
“Fifty-eight year old male, severe mouth and neck swelling, two failed intubation attempts,” Mel explains. “Sats down to seventy.”
You do a brief exam, hands feeling up the sides of his neck and jaw, then you look inside his mouth, nodding.
“Okay, I need more pillows under his head, prop him up more,” You say. “Ears to sternal notch alignment, please.”
You take hold of the mask that Mateo was keeping pressure on, using both hands to seal it around the patient’s face as he continues to squeeze the bag. Garcia opens the door to the room, taking in the situation.
“What’s up, party people?” She asks, looking at the patient’s face. “Yikes, we should crike.”
“You know me better than that,” You counter, shifting your arms out of the way as Jesse packs pillows and blankets underneath the patients head. “Can’t let you surgeons have all the fun.”
“What’s your plan here, hot shot?” She asks, an emphasis on hot that makes Dennis look up.
“Let’s add a PEEP valve, ten centimetres,” You say, and Mel jumps into action, grabbing the piece that you’ve asked for and fitting it to the mask. “I need someone on suction, too.”
“Yep, got it,” Dennis says, scrambling a bit with the tube, his hands shaking ever-so-slightly. You’re calmer than everyone else in the room.
“Sats up to ninety-two,” Princess says, eyes flicking over the monitor.
He doesn’t miss the way you look at Garcia, a small smirk on your face as she holds her hands up, letting you work.
“Okay, let’s try intubation again with a bougie,” You say. “Don’t stop with that suction, Whitaker. Princess, can you take over for me?”
The nurse takes your place, positioning her hands over the mask exactly how yours had been. Jesse hands you the laryngoscope, which you toy with for a second, turning the light on and making sure you can see the monitor. Princess pulls the mask off once you’re in place, and you slide it into the patient's mouth.
“Dr. Mohan, can you put some pressure right here.” You put your free hand on the patient’s neck, and Samira moves to copy the action. “Good, right against the thyroid cartilage. Press towards the spine.”
Samira follows the instructions with ease, doing exactly what you’ve asked.
“Up and to the patient’s right a bit,” You add, keeping your eyes on the monitor as you hold steady. Samira adjusts. “Okay, perfect, hold it there. Bougie.”
You take the bougie in hand, and Dennis keeps the suction going, trying to keep the field clear of fluids. You don’t look at the screen for a moment, sliding it past the tracheal rings on feel alone, and then you glance back over, confirming the placement. Jesse hands you the tube when you reach your hand out, and you slip it over the bougie, inserting it into the airway. Dennis watches it on the monitor, a rush of pride swelling over him.
“I’m in,” You say, pulling the bougie out. Mateo attaches the bag to the end of the tube, and the monitor’s beeping comes to a stop as his sats hold steady. "Yellow on end-tidal."
“Sats up to ninety-eight,” Mel says, turning to look at you. “That was awesome.”
She raises her hand, giving you a high-five, which makes you grin.
“Thanks for the assist,” Samira adds, the sentence punctuated by your last name. The door between the trauma rooms open, revealing Robby, who’s eyes instantly land on you.
“Robby,” You greet.
“Oh, good,” He says. “She got your airway, I assume?”
“Sure did,” Samira says.
“She always does,” Robby says. “What’s going on?”
Dennis doesn’t miss the way his eyes trail up and down over your figure. Mel can’t look away from you either, eyes snapping between Robby and your chest. He watches her squeeze them shut for a moment, shaking her head lightly to bring herself back to the case. You pull your gloves off as you walk over to the door, turning to Garcia before you leave.
“When will you learn to stop underestimating me?” You ask, teasingly.
“Never,” Garcia shoots back, a flirtatious smile on her lips. “Keeps you sharp.”
You roll your eyes, then leave the room without a second thought, tossing your gloves into the garbage outside. Dennis stares at the doorway until he hears Robby ask Samira what she plans on doing next.
After that it became extremely clear that everyone in the ER thought you were hot, which Dennis couldn’t blame them for, but it still bugged him. Peoples eyes lingered on you a little too long whenever you were around, movements a second delayed because they were too busy thinking about you. It didn’t matter if you were just checking on a ventilated patient or trying to intubate a critical case, people were always watching.
They also talked about you.
Like, a lot.
It was driving Dennis insane.
And after ten months he just couldn’t take it anymore.
You were elated when he landed an emergency medicine residency at PTMC, as was he, but it also meant that he had to keep watching people pine after you.
The Fourth of July—a dreaded day in the emergency room, one that both of you were working. One of the boarders who had been waiting for an ICU bed desatted an hour into the day, resulting in your subsequent page and arrival to the department. Dennis comes out of a patient’s room, Ogilvie and Joy behind him, to you leaning against the nurses desk, laughing at something Dana had said.
He almost stops walking at the sight.
Your hair isn’t fully pulled back, the lower half out and styled perfectly around your jaw and shoulders. The top half is tied up, slightly frizzed. You’re wearing the typical navy blue scrubs with a white long-sleeve underneath, sleeves rolled up to your elbows, your forearms tensed as you brace yourself against the desk.
“Oh, Whitaker and friends,” Dana says, gesturing for him to come over, then she says your name. “These are some of our new med students.”
Ogilvie moves so fast it makes Dennis’ head spin.
“Hi, James Ogilvie,” He says, outstretching his hand for you to shake, an obviously flirtatious smile on his face. “MS4.”
You raise an eyebrow, shaking his hand as you say your name. “Respiratory. Nice to meet you.”
“Uh, this is Joy,” Dennis says, and she gives you a wave. It might be the most enthusiastic thing she’s done all morning.
“She’s one of our best RT’s,” Dana adds. “Can intubate pretty much anyone.”
“Very good to know,” Ogilvie says, still smiling. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
You smile back, completely friendly, no undertones. “Our entire team is great, don’t ever hesitate to page. We’re happy to help out. I have a patient, but again, nice meeting you.”
You turn away from them, your badge colliding with the desk, unclipping from your shirt and clattering to the floor. You huff in annoyance, bending over to pick it up. You’re flexible enough to not have to bend your knees much at all, a fact that Dennis knows very well, but the back of your shirt rides up just as your scrub pants shift, and he catches a glimpse of your hot pink thong.
Yolanda emerges from one of the rooms behind Dennis, a low whistle leaving her lips when she sees you, not hesitating to walk over as you stand back up.
“Nice thong, hot shot,” She says, and your hand collides with her shoulder in a playful push. You pull the waistband of your pants up, tug your shirt down, clip your badge back on and walk away. Trinity appears in Dennis' peripheral, a smirk on her face and arms folded over her chest as she looks to where you just were. Even Dana’s eyes are wide, and she takes a second before speaking.
“Show’s over,” She says, referring to the handful of people who look like they just saw a ghost, frozen in place.
“Holy shit,” Ogilvie mumbles, and Dennis can finally move again, hands reaching for a tablet so he can pull up a patient’s chart—any chart. “Please tell me she’s single.”
Dennis isn’t sure if the question is directed at him, but Dana answers before he can open his mouth.
“Unfortunately not, Ogilvie,” She says, eyes now focused on her computer, glasses on.
Trinity pipes up. “Yeah, you’d probably be the five hundredth med student she’s rejected if you asked her out, trust me.”
“That doesn’t mean she isn’t single,” James insists. “Maybe she just wasn’t interested in those other med students.”
Trinity clicks her tongue behind her teeth. “Nah, she’s in a relationship, trust me. No one turns down that many people without so much as a stutter unless they’re already spoken for.”
A trauma comes in a few hours later, a smoke inhalation patient. They’re coding upon arrival, one of the paramedics straddling the gurney as they’re wheeled in, instantly gaining Robby’s attention.
“Whitaker, with me,” He says, which means Ogilvie and Joy follow as well. “Page respiratory.”
“We don’t mess around with smoke inhalation,” Dennis says. “Always get RT down here as soon as you can, those airways swell like crazy.”
“As long as it’s that RT from earlier,” Ogilvie says.
Dennis says your name, followed by “and listen when they introduce themselves.”
“How was I suppose to listen when she looks like that?” He asks. Dennis wants to punch him.
“You’re disgusting,” Joy says.
“What?” Ogilvie asks. “You thought she was hot, too.”
“Yeah, but you don’t hear me talking about it.”
The trauma room fills up quickly, and you arrive just as they move the patient onto the mattress, still doing compressions. Dennis doesn’t miss the way Ogilvie looks at Joy when you walk in, completely oblivious to the small interaction.
“Talk to me,” You say, gloving up.
Robby gives you the summary, finishing up just as Dennis takes over on compressions. Your mouth goes dry at the sight, your breath catching in your throat for half a second. His biceps push against his scrubs, his chain dangling in front of him, the way it does when he’s fucking you.
“We—we should intubate right away,” You say, turning back to Robby.
“You read my mind,” He says, and you move quickly. The intubation goes relatively smoothly, all things considered, but the patient remains in asystole.
Robby says your last name, making you look at him. “Switch with Ogilvie.”
You nod, letting Donnie take over with the bag, positioning yourself over the patient and pushing into their chest hard. The arterial waveform spikes sharply on the monitor, dipping as you allow the chest to recoil, then peaks again when you push back down.
“Now that is how you do chest compressions,” Robby says. “Ogilvie, Joy, take notes.”
“Gladly,” Ogilvie whispers, happy to have an opportunity to stare at you.
“Rhythm check,” Dennis says, glancing at his watch. You stop, lifting your hands off the patient’s chest, looking towards the monitor.
“V-fib,” You say, at the same time Dennis does, too. You don’t look at him, but a small smile forms on your face, which makes his heart jump.
“Charge to two-hundred,” He says, picking up the paddles and placing them on the chest. “Clear!”
Normal sinus returns after the shock, making the room collectively exhale. Dennis steps back, putting the paddles away, just as you try to squeeze past him to get to the exit, your services no longer needed. He finds himself taking a small step forward, leaving you with a smaller gap than anticipated, resulting in your ass brushing against his crotch.
“Sorry, ‘scuse me,” You murmur, but you don’t really mean it. Dennis has to stop himself from grabbing your hips. “Page if you need me.”
“Oh, we will,” Robby says.
By the time the patient is stabilized you’re back in the department, just to check on something, but you’ve been roped into a conversation with Samira and Victoria by the water fountain. You’re playing with the cap on your water bottle, fingers flicking it open and closed repeatedly as Dennis walks out of the trauma room.
He’s sanitizing his hands when your water bottle decides to protest the action, a stream of water shooting up and out of the straw as you pull it open again, landing all over the front of your top. Victoria and Samira gasp, as do you.
“Shit, are you okay?” Ogilvie asks, and Dennis feels like he’s rooted to his spot as the med student steps closer to you, assessing the damage. Your entire shirt is soaked.
You let out a slightly humiliated laugh, waving him off. “Yeah, I’m totally fine. Just…cold.”
Your fingers grip the bottom of the shirt, yanking it over your head, revealing your almost equally wet undershirt. You frown when you look down, accepting a handful of tissues from Samira and starting to blot at the fabric.
Everyone in the immediate vicinity comes to a halt, eyes landing on you, his girlfriend, who’s standing in the middle of the room with your nipples on full display. Dennis is pretty sure you’re not wearing a bra, or at least not one of much substance, and that fact is obvious to those around him, too. Robby and Dr. Al-Hashimi stop mid conversation, both of them craning their necks to see what’s going on. Mel drops the pen she’s holding to the ground, the clattering sound ringing in his ears. The patients that line the walls are watching, unable to look away as you scrub the front of your shirt with tissues, completely unaware of what you’ve just done.
The nurses go silent. Cassie comes out of a patient’s room, feet stopping instantly, and Frank almost runs into her.
Something between possession and protection override his jealousy, forcing him to move towards you, stepping directly in front of your chest as he puts his hands on your biceps. You look up at him, then you glance over his shoulder, noticing how quiet everything has gotten.
“Come on,” He says, plucking a few more tissues from the box and holding them against your barely exposed cleavage and chest. You don’t react at all, as though his hand has been there a million times—because it has.
He pushes you towards the bathroom, locking the door behind the both of you. Trinity is the first to speak.
“She’s dating Huckleberry?”
This seems to snap everyone else out of their daze, and people scramble to get back to work, acting as though they didn’t all just collectively lose their minds over a wet t-shirt like a bunch of twelve year olds.
Your cheeks are hot, but you still find yourself making a joke.
“Guess they know we’re dating now,” You say, smiling. He exhales, a tiny laugh escaping.
“Or they think I’m a creep,” He counters, and you laugh this time. He takes his own scrub top off, revealing the tan t-shirt he has underneath and his silver chain, the one that you bought for him on his most recent birthday. “Arms up.”
You listen, raising your arms and letting him pull your shirt off, revealing your lace bralette. He swallows, passing you his scrub top before moving towards the hand dryer that sits on the opposite wall, sticking your shirt underneath it.
You grab a few paper towels, dabbing at the spots on your pants. Dennis frowns at the practically non-existent flow of air from the dryer, shaking his head.
“Pass me your scrub top,” He says, hand outstretched. You do, dropping the ball of fabric into his palm. “I’ll be right back.”
He unlocks the door, pushing it open, stepping back out into the department. Things have mostly returned to normal, but Dennis doesn’t miss the way the small group of people at central go quiet when he reappears, quickly trying to act as though they’ve been working this whole time. He sighs, walking over to the scrubs machine, unclipping your badge and tapping it to the sensor.
He inserts your old top, then dispenses a new one. He raps his knuckles against the bathroom door, smiling when you pull it open, letting him back inside. You, begrudgingly, give him his own shirt back, sliding the navy blue top on while he does the same with the black one.
“Thank you,” You say. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it would…”
You trail off, exhaling sharply, your lips curving up in a disbelieving smile. “Be such an issue.”
Dennis shakes his head, grabbing you by your waist, pressing a quick kiss to your lips.
“Not your fault,” He says. “But…maybe wear a better bra from now on, hey?”
“Yeah, yeah, definitely a good idea,” You agree.
Everyone has moved on by the time you open the door, and you walk towards the exit, pager already going off again. Dennis watches you go, so do a few others.
“See you at home!” You call over your shoulder, and Dennis’ cheeks turn pink.
A/N - wow she writes for people other than robby??? it's a miracle
it's just that you have the perfect look, exactly the kind of vibe that pornstar!ghost wants in a costar. innocent eyes, perfectly parted lips when you look up at him, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of the baby doll dress the producers put you in, his mouth waters, fingers itching to grip and grope. he wants to eat you alive.
"I'm excited to work with you," you tell him, voice like bells in his head. darkness starts to fuzz his vision, his zipper biting at his hardening cock.
"'m gonna rip you apart." He grunts.
"what?" your lips part wider and ghosts fist clench tight.
bully!gojo who asks you tell you you're his girlfriend.
you're at the library studying, focused on getting your mountain-load of homework. you had been here for a few hours already and it was dark outside with very few people still around.
looking over a question, you here the doors slide open. lifting your gaze, you tense when you see satoru.
you two hadn't spoken in a while as you had a few tests and he, being satoru gojo, was likely caught up with his friends, money, and whatever else he did that made everyone like him. you look back at your question, pretending to ignore him.
"silly girl, can't hide from me." he says, laughing softly as he sits in the chair next to you. "what's that?"
"i'm not done yet, satoru. please, let me finish this." you say, running your hand through your hair.
he makes a sound of dismissal, grabbing your worksheet and folding it into his pocket.
"i'll just copy my answers."
"b-but i need to understand-"
"then i'll teach you." he says firmly, hand tense against the table. you quieten as he leans back in his chair, sipping on some juice he brought. he positions the straw in front of your face.
"want some?"
"uh, no thank you."
"suit yourself." he sits in the silence comfortably while you shift in your seat. what does he want? normally he's pretty clear on if he wants to talk or make fun of you, but he's not doing, anything?
you finally build up the courage to speak.
"um, satoru. wh-what are you doing here?" his brows furrow and he looks at you, feigning hurt.
"what? i can't hang out with my girlfriend?"
um, what?
your jaw drops, you can't help it. did he just say girlfriend? since when?
"u-uh, what, what are you t-talking about?"
"i'm just supporting my girlfriend as she studies, like a good boyfriend does."
your face reddens, humiliation flowing through you. just another one of his stupid pranks likely, he's probably recording this so he can laugh about it to his friends later.
"n-no, you know we're not, together."
he turns his head to look at you, face completely serious this time. his smile and giggly facade drops and he leans in, making firm eye contact with you.
"i told you, you are my girlfriend. you're not that dumb honey, surely i don't need to explain it again."
you look at him dumbfounded, so confused at this apparent truth. he glances at your stuff spread across the table before he begins to pack it up, ignoring your protests. once he's done, he slings your bag over his back and stands up.
"w-wait, what are you-"
"c'mon, i'm driving you home." he says, already halfway out of the library. you quickly put on your jacket and follow him outside, spotting his flashy car immediately. he unlocks it and opens the passenger door for you, waiting patiently.
"satoru, if this is some kind of prank-"
you freeze when he suddenly leans in and kisses you, deeply. he keeps you there until he finally pulls away to whisper in your ear.
"you ask me any more stupid questions and i'll break your fucking laptop again."
swallowing nervously, you get into the car. he places your bag next to you before happily walking to the driver's side.
after a quick drive to your house, he helps you out of the car and walks you to your front door. after ringing the doorbell, your mother answers.
"oh, hello. y/n, who is this?" she asks.
"i'm satoru, ma'am. pleasure to meet you." he says with his brightest smile, offering his hand. "i'm y/n's boyfriend."
simon ‘ghost’ riley who never bothered learning how to flirt properly so is just horribly blunt with you all the time.
“tits look good in yer top love.” uttered with a straight face over his coffee mug in the morning. “makes me want to fuck ‘em.”
bend over in front of him to pick something up? he's groaning and tipping his head back, palming himself through his jeans with a, “fuckin’ christ love, look at you. perfect fuckin’ arse. c'mere, don't walk away when I'm picturin’ you face first on the carpet.”
it's worse if he's had a few drinks. he can't help but tell the lads how his “missus ‘as the prettiest cunt I've ever fuckin’ seen.” before abruptly leaving so he can go home and see it for himself.
and when he does get home with whiskey on his breath and smoke laced through his clothes? he just pulls you to the edge of the sofa; your pajama bottoms and underwear gone before you can blink. “there she is.” he mutters, spreading you open with two fingers and dropping a kiss on your clit. “there's my pretty little thing.”
Summary: Jack Abbot's relaxing day off takes a turn for the worse when he hears his phone ring. After all, his phone is on do not disturb and there's only one person that he's allowed to interrupt his peace — you. Even worse, your voice isn't the first thing he hears when he picks up.
Pairing: Jack Abbot x nurse!reader
Warnings: f!reader, violence against healthcare workers, language, mentions of bodily harm, mentions of blood, mentions of injuries sustained at the workplace, use of the word 'assault', Jack Abbot's dead wife mentioned, description of a drunk driving accident, Frank Langdon catches some strays, use of the nickname 'sweetheart', use of the nickname 'slugger', no use of y/n, mutual pining, fluff, hurt/comfort
Word Count: 5.5k
Author's Note: Yo — so I'm still alive. I have been stuck in The Pitt for awhile now. This one has been sitting unfinished in my drafts for a hot second. I also have a Robby fic sitting in there that I desperately need to finish. Those two men have truly bewitched me. Anyways, hope y'all are ready to be stuck in The Pitt with me for the time being. Hope you guys enjoy this one!
BEEP
BEEP
BEEP
“Motherfucker!”
You angrily hit the coffee maker that has been causing the entire emergency department trouble for the majority of today’s shift. Langdon had watched you struggle earlier this morning before swooping in to fix the problem with a swift hit to the side of the machine and an off hand comment about having the ‘magic touch’. So, you imitate his actions now — hoping another dose of caffeine will help get you through the last couple hours of your shift. The machine stops its incessant beeping just as it had hours ago, but instead of brewing a fresh cup of mediocre coffee, the interactive screen goes completely black.
Great.
You squeeze your eyes shut and take in a deep breath. If Jack were here, he’d miraculously show up beside you with a latte in hand. You don’t know how he does it, but the man just knows exactly what you need and when you need it — you’ve taken to calling it his ‘sixth sense’. In reality, that’s Jack — observant and steadfast.
You miss the night shift.
It’s not that you dislike the day shift. In fact, you happily accepted Dana’s request for your help covering for Donnie during his paternity leave. In Robby’s words: they needed another nurse practitioner on the day shift and there’s only one that he trusts. A part of you thinks that it was just flattery to get you to come to the light side, but deep down you know that Robby only knows how to speak honestly. Lena wasn’t necessarily happy to let her best help switch shifts for an extended period of time, but she also knows that the ED is a team — sure the staff is split between day shift and night shift, but things only run smoothly when the shifts help each other out.
Jack wasn’t too keen on the idea.
He couldn’t stop you of course — Lena is your supervisor, not him. But that didn’t stop him from voicing his concerns. Jack Abbot has always been protective of his nightcrawlers, but there was something verging on possessive in the way he told Robby that this is simply a temporary arrangement after he realized he couldn’t change your mind.
“Should I call Ahmad to escort the caffeine criminal off the premises or do you have a handle on the situation?”
Robby’s voice breaks through your thoughts. You let out a sigh before turning to face the day shift’s senior attending. His expression, usually threaded with deep exhaustion and stoicism, is teetering on the edge of playfulness while a small smile tugs at his lips.
“Y’know what, Robinavitch? We never had this problem when we had the old machine. Mr. Coffee only had three buttons and never betrayed me.”
Robby lets out a breath through his nose — not quite a laugh, but the closest he’ll get to one this late into his shift. Gloria had decided to get the department a fancy new coffee maker that makes individual cups instead of a full pot a few weeks ago to celebrate improved patient satisfaction scores. What was meant to be a gesture of goodwill from upstairs has become the staff’s worst nightmare.
“You sound like Jack.”
You roll your eyes, but you also know no one has been more upset about this change than the night shift’s senior attending. Robby has always brought his own coffee from home, but Jack has been relying on the emergency department’s supply of shitty coffee for the entirety of his career at PTMC. You’d asked him about it once when you first started working together and he’d revealed under fluorescent lights that there was something comforting about the way it reminded him of the coffee rations he’d receive during his deployments.
“Have you talked to Jack recently?”
Robby attempts to sound nonchalant; however, you know him better than that. You’ve come to terms with the fact that he’s worse than the night shift nurses. Always needing to be in the know about everything and everyone. He swears that it’s because he’s the senior attending, so it’s his responsibility to keep an eye and ear on all of his staff. But Jack isn’t like that. He’s always been reserved and professional during shifts, always keeping his staff at a distance so he doesn’t get too attached — everyone except for you. In between cups of coffee and rooftop conversations, you managed to slip through the cracks of that cool, steely exterior.
“We talk during handover, but that’s not exactly the same as working a twelve hour shift with someone. Why? Anything I should be concerned about?”
Robby’s lips pull into a tight smile at your response, but anxiety finds its place in your chest. During handoff about a week ago, Mateo had pulled you aside to ask if you had any idea what was going on with Jack. Your brow furrowed as Mateo filled you in about Jack’s sudden change in demeanor with his staff — the once calm and collected attending has been increasingly impatient and scattered. You’d reassured Mateo that it was probably just stress related since Jack hadn’t had a day off in months — and even then he spent his rare off-call moments volunteering as a SWAT medic. You figured that Jack had finally hit a wall and was running on fumes, but Robby’s words were now making you second your assumptions.
“Nothing of concern, just looking out for you and Jack.”
Robby has this tone that makes it seem like he knows more about your relationship with Jack Abbot than you do. You know about his history with the night shift’s senior attending physician, but Robby hasn’t been there for the close calls at three o’clock in the morning when Jack puts his complete trust in your hands without a second thought. He hasn’t been there for the nights that seem to drag on for days when it seems like the sun will never rise again. He hasn’t been there for the hushed conversations in stairwells when the night feels darkest and the only comfort to be found in PTMC is in each other’s presence.
It’s not a bond built on flirtation — God knows, Jack Abbot flirts with everyone. And does that make you a little jealous? Maybe. And were you hoping that the distance created due to being on day shift for a few weeks would help you create some boundaries with the man? Possibly. But here you are, still infuriatingly infatuated with a man you have absolutely no chance with.
“I can assure you there’s no Jack and I.”
“Mhm.”
That damn tone again. You want to smack that smug look right off of his stupid face, but before you get the chance to fire back a commotion outside abruptly ends your conversation. The two of you move in tandem, Robby holding the door to the break room open as you duck under his arm before surveying the scene. Your eyes immediately widen as you spot Langdon attempting to keep two infuriated men on their separate gurneys as they yell over each other. He meets your eyes before moving his gaze to Robby, relief flooding his features.
“A little help here?”
You and Robby share a brief, knowing look before dividing and conquering the situation. Robby steps in, wheeling one of the men away while you follow after Landgon who is moving with the other.
“What’s the story here?”
You have to shout over the man’s incessant yelling, but Langdon ducks his head down slightly as he navigates the gurney through the ED to hear you better in the chaos. From not too far away, you hear Robby yell for Whitaker to take over his unruly patient so he can go find Ahmad for back up. Langdon’s shoulder bumping into yours pulls your attention back to your own situation.
“Bar argument gone ugly.”
The man laying on the gurney is bleeding profusely from lacerations on his forehead, but is cognescent enough to keep loudly threatening the other patient that came in with him. You manage to get a closer look at his wounds once Langdon locks the gurney in place and through the deep crimson you see little, semi-translucent pieces of debris. Your brow furrows as the light catches one of the pieces.
“Is that glass?”
Langdon nods before meeting your eyes with a crooked smile plastered on his face.
“Beer bottle to the head. Told you it got ugly.”
You let out a breath before gloving up with Langdon. As the two of you attempt to assess his injuries the man begins to fight you both off, pushing your hands away before either of you can start getting control of the bleeding. You pull back hoping to get the man’s attention so that Langdon can start giving him the care he needs.
“Sir, I’m gonna need you to calm down so that we can take a look at your injuries. Can you tell me your name?”
Finally, the man’s eyes land on you but they are filled with nothing but unbridled fury. You fight off the urge to take a step back from the situation and, instead, stand your ground.
“What I need is to get my hands on that son of a bitch who tried to fucking kill me. Can you help me with that?”
You raise both of your hands as the man fights off Langdon once again. He gives you an exasperated look as his shoulders slump in annoyance.
“I can not, this is a hospital not a fighting ring. What I can help you with is getting your bleeding under control and taking that glass out of your head before you get a nasty infection. How’s that sound?”
Your tone is stern but gentle as you attempt to talk the patient down. For a moment, his face softens in understanding and you almost let out a sigh of relief after having gotten through to him, but then Whitaker’s voice tears through the moment.
“I’ve got a runner, incoming!”
“Oh, shit.”
Langdon’s tone makes your heart rate spike, but before you get a chance to turn towards the commotion Whitaker’s very angry patient shoves you into the wall.
“We need some help in here! You good?”
Langdon’s worried eyes are locked on you as he tries to keep the two patients from tearing each other apart. Your shoulder took the brunt of the impact, but you had managed to stay on your feet which saved you from any additional trauma. After catching your breath, you leap in to help restrain the patient who just assaulted you.
“Sir, please. We need you to calm down!”
Your words fall on deaf ears as he continues to lunge at your patient who is now being held back by Langdon. What a fucking mess. You haven’t had a situation like this since last year’s Fourth of July night shift when two drunken men came into the E.D. after one of them practically eviscerated his buddy’s legs after shooting off a firework directly at him. Your eyes desperately meet Langdon’s, hoping he’s in the same boat as you, and he gives you a similar look of bewilderment.
“Whitaker! Ahmad! Anyone!”
Langdon’s voice is strained as the man in his arms struggles against his hold. You’re using all of your strength to pull Whitaker’s patient away from your own, but he’s got at least a foot and a hundred pounds on you. Keeping him restrained is taking all of your strength. Finally, Whitaker’s shoes squeak as he slides into the room.
“Woah, what can I do?”
Langdon gives him a ludicrous look before his eyes land on you.
“Give them a hand, will ya?”
Whitaker immediately jumps in to help you. You were hoping the additional body could help even the odds with these men; however, they seem to be getting more violent by the minute. The man in your grasp reels back and shoves Whitaker, who stumbles back. Now with only you holding him back, he takes this as a chance to take a swing on Langdon.
“Absolutely not!”
You grab his arm and pull back before he can land a punch. The man lets out a desperate, angry cry and swings his arm back hard. His elbow connects with your nose with a loud crack. The room explodes further than you thought was possible as you spit out the blood draining into your mouth due to the blow. The searing hot pain blooming across your face blinds your vision.
Fuck, that hurt.
You blink once, then twice — your eyes finally adjusting to the damage. Your patient has seemingly settled down enough to be left alone, while Langdon has your assailant in a chokehold as Whitaker tries to pin his arms behind his back.
“What the hell is going on in h—?”
Robby’s words die in his throat once his eyes land on you. His face twists into concern for a brief, fleeting moment before a dangerous rage washes over his hardened features.
“Knock it off before I knock you out.”
Robby’s voice is ice cold and it suddenly pauses the entire room. The only noise filling your ears is everyone’s heavy breathing. Robby lets everyone cool down for a moment before barking out orders.
“Ahmad, get this man out of here. Whitaker, take over the patient who didn’t attack one of our nurses. Langdon, with me.”
Everyone complies instantly and you let out a relieved sigh as the tension in the room finally dissipates. Robby makes his way to you in two large strides with Langdon behind him. He drops his head to meet your eyes which have regained their comforting warmth.
“How you doing, Slugger?”
“I’m fine. It’s nothing, really.”
Robby raises a brow as you spit more blood on to the floor, narrowly missing his sneaker. Langdon gives you a similar incredulous look. Obviously, your attempts to brush off their concern have fallen on deaf ears. Great. Two hours from shift change and now you’re a patient.
This day can’t get any worse.
Robby takes another step forward and carefully places a hand on your chin and gently tilts your head up toward the ceiling. You grimace immediately at the bright, fluorescent lights above you.
“You’ve got two black eyes, a broken nose, and you’re bleeding all over the floor. This isn’t nothing.”
His voice is surprisingly gentle and his features soften into a look you can only describe as brotherly concern. You sigh defeatedly, squeezing your eyes shut as the adrenaline in your body begins to subside giving way to an invasive and persistent shooting pain in your head. Robby’s hands find your shoulders — you aren’t sure if the physical contact is meant to provide you comfort or a precaution in case you pass out. Either way, you appreciate the way his delicate hold grounds you back into this moment.
“I’m going to have Langdon take you to an empty room and do a full exam. Okay?”
You open your eyes again and nod at his question. Robby’s posture relaxes slightly, obviously relieved that you didn’t stubbornly push back against his orders. He rubs your shoulders reassuringly for a moment before speaking again.
“We’re going to have to document all of this. Dana is dealing with a situation in chairs, but I’ll have her come find you when she’s done.”
You nod again, pursing your lips together into a straight line. You don’t love the idea of making a big deal out of this, but you also know that violence against health care professionals is at an all time high. The last thing this department needs is you trying to push this under the rug. Finally, Robby releases his hold on your shoulders and allows Langdon to step in.
Robby runs both his hands through his hair as he watches Langdon lead you towards a room at the back of the ED. He moves towards the hub in the center of the large room, gripping the countertop as he allows himself a moment to gather his thoughts. This is a nightmare. He needs to call Gloria about the situation that just happened. There’s a stack of paperwork that needs to be filled out. Someone has to alert the authorities. And worst of all, he needs to call Abbot.
Hopefully, the asshole that assaulted you will be off the premises before the night shift attending rips through the emergency department. Not because he cares for the wellbeing of your assailant — more so that he doesn’t necessarily want to bail his best friend out of jail tonight. Robby sighs as he digs his phone out of his pocket. He finds Jack’s contact easily in his favorites and presses the speaker to his ear. To his surprise, the call immediately goes to voicemail. Robby knows that Jack has the day off; however, he’s always easy to reach — especially if you’re on shift. So, he dials the number again and presses the phone to his ear. But just like before, he is once again met with Jack’s voice apologizing for missing the call. That’s odd. His brow furrows, but before he can think about his friend’s odd behavior further he’s distracted by a concerned voice behind him.
“I heard about what happened. Dana’s almost done in chairs. How can I help?”
Robby turns to look at Perlah who is currently trying to catch her breath from her obvious sprint over to him.
“Do you know who their emergency contact is?”
If he can’t get ahold of Jack, he might as well let your other loved ones know what happened. Perlah side steps the attending and logs in to one of the computers on the other side of the counter. It only takes a couple seconds to pull up your digital file and a smile spreads across the nurse’s features as she spots the name listed.
“Abbot.”
Of course he is.
“I can’t get a hold of him.”
Perlah’s expression reflects his own confusion for a moment until she remembers a conversation she had with you in the break room earlier this morning.
“He’s gone fishing.”
Robby’s eyes shoot to his hairline as a laugh bubbles in his chest. He attempts to picture his friend in a boat by himself on the river with a fishing rod in his hand, but his mind cannot seem to compute that absolutely ludicrous concept.
“Abbot is fishing?”
“Apparently they convinced Abbot to actually take a day off, put his phone on do not disturb, and find a hobby that doesn’t involve getting shot at.”
Robby’s eyes drift to the room he watched Langdon escort you to as he attempts to wrap his head around the information he was just given. Jack Abbot is fishing on his rare day off because you asked him to find a hobby that doesn’t involve putting himself in harm’s way — and he listened. He wants to be impressed, but instead he’s just annoyed at the two of you — he’s fucking tired of watching the two of you dance around your feelings for one another. He looks down at his phone again, still confused at how his paranoid best friend could actually relax when he’s unreachable while you’re still on the clock.
Oh.
The realization hits him like a slap to the face and he looks up at Perlah who is still anxiously waiting for the attending to start barking out orders.
“Do you think you can manage to get their phone?”
Perlah frowns for a moment, confused by his question. And then her face lights up as she comes to the same realization as the attending standing in front of her. A smile pulls at her lips as she nods at Robby’s request.
“I think I can manage that.”
Jack Abbot enters the emergency department like a hurricane — his presence immediately disrupting the fragile peace they’ve managed to establish since your assault. Robby meets him at the door, stopping him before he can cause any unnecessary damage.
“Where is she?”
Robby frowns. Abbot’s voice is lacking its usual warmth — in its place is a fiery, impatient intensity.
“Let’s just cool down for a second. She’s alright — getting checked out by Langdon as we speak. Okay, Jack?”
Abbot’s brown eyes darken at Robby’s words. His posture stiffens and he’s suddenly aware that he’s no longer looking at his best friend. No, the man standing before him is a devoted soldier with one mission and God help anyone who gets in his way — he certainly isn’t dumb enough to stand between the two of you.
“Exam room 11.”
Abbot brushes past Robby without another word and marches toward the back of the emergency department. He finally feels like he can breathe again as he enters the doorway and watches Langdon press an icepack to your nose. You flinch away from him and Frank lets out an exasperated sigh.
“You are a horrible patient.”
“Well, you’re a horrible nurse. You have to be gentle.”
Abbot leans against the doorframe, his body relaxing now that he’s heard the sound of your voice. A smile pulls at the corners of his lips at your defiance. Eventually, Langdon pulls the icepack away from your face and his blood runs cold as he gets a look at your injuries. It takes every ounce of what’s left of his self control to stay put, instead of forcing Robby to let him know who did this to you.
“I’ve got it from here, Langdon. You can get back to work.”
Both of your heads snap towards the attending standing in the doorway, but Jack’s eyes never leave yours. He watches as your expression shifts from confusion to relief before taking a few steps into the small exam room.
“Hey, Abbot. I’m actually almost done here. The rest of the exam will only take a minute.”
Jack finally regards the other man in the room, but his demeanor shifts to annoyance as Langdon continues to occupy your personal space — as he watches another man’s fingers glide gently over your cheek while he’s standing right there. The sight makes him sick to his stomach as a pervasive, ugly feeling claws at his chest.
“Langdon. Out. Now.”
Langdon’s movements suddenly still and the room immediately feels too small for the three of you. Luckily, the resident does what Jack says and exits the room without sparing you a second glance. Jack’s cold demeanor melts as soon as he hears the door close behind Langdon.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
Jack’s voice fills the room and you finally feel safe. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding as you hear his boots take careful, calculated footsteps move towards you. This is a dream — it must be. Jack’s fishing today, unreachable until after your shift ends. But then he’s standing in front of you, invading your personal space in a way that’s so undeniably him. You finally look up, meeting his piercing gaze and you swear his jaw ticks slightly as he takes in the full extent of your injuries.
“It looks worse than it is.”
It’s a lie, but all you want is to smooth out the worried creases on his forehead. Jack tilts his head slightly at your words — considering them for a moment. His hands move slowly allowing you time to pull away, but you let him cradle your face with a tenderness that feels misplaced in this environment. His thumb gently brushes under your eye, where deep purple bruising has made its temporary home, and you flinch away from his touch before he even makes it to the worst of your injuries. Jack pulls his hands away from you and you involuntarily frown — a smirk plays at the corner of his lips as he watches the way you chase his touch.
“Do me a favor?”
You nod at his question — not fully trusting your voice at this moment. Jack bows his head slightly, meeting you eye to eye. His gaze is a raging wildfire of emotions. It’s a stark contrast to his calm demeanor and steady hands.
“Don’t lie to me.”
You roll your eyes at this as he stands to his full height again. His hands find their way back to you again, settling on your knees as he begins assessing your injuries further. You lean in closer to him without even thinking about it — it’s like Jack Abbot is the sun and you’re simply a planet trapped in his orbit.
“How are you here?”
Jack’s brows knit together at your question, like it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. His thumb absentmindedly rubs gentle, grounding circles against your scrubs as his gaze trails over every visible wound on your face.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re supposed to be fishing.”
His face scrunches at your words, but he doesn’t stop his careful assessment of your condition.
“I got a call.”
“Your phone was on do not disturb — you were unreachable.”
“To everyone other than you.”
Your breath catches in your chest at his words. He says it nonchalantly, but the significance of that statement lands harder than the elbow you took to the face. You’re the only person that Jack would let interrupt his day off. Hell, you’re the only reason he took a day off to begin with.
“But how… Perlah.”
Jack’s head tilts as he watches you put the pieces together. Not too long after Langdon got you into the exam room, Perlah found the two of you. She helped Langdon with the exam for a few minutes before cursing that her phone had died before she made an important call. You had offered her your own, thinking nothing of the interaction. But now you understand exactly what transpired when Perlah left with your cell.
“Yeah, scared me half to death when it wasn’t your voice on the other end.”
Your frown deepens at that. You can only imagine the fear that clawed its way back into Jack’s chest — can only imagine the unwanted memories it brought up. Your eyes glance down at his left hand, where a silver wedding band permanently resides. You remember the morning on the roof when Jack finally told you about his late wife after a particularly difficult shift. The two of you had lost a young woman whose vehicle had been struck by a drunk driver. You watched Jack go above and beyond for the woman in a way you’d never seen before. And you noticed the way his entire demeanor shifted once he had to call it after an hour of compressions. Jack slipped out of the ED the moment that the day shift showed up and you followed after once you completed handoff. You found Jack on the edge of the roof — not surprising on any other day, but a concerning visual after what you just witnessed that night. He knew you’d find him — you always do. And as you took your usual place, leaning your elbows against the railing right behind him, he finally opened up about the worst day he’s ever experienced. You listened as he told you about how his wife was in an accident. How she was dead on impact and EMS found her phone on the scene. How Jack was her only emergency contact. How he despises that the last time his wife called him he never even got to hear her voice. How he knows he’s your emergency contact. How his heart can’t go through that again.
“I’m sorry, Jack. The last thing I wanted was for you to worry about me on your day off.”
Jack’s brow furrows at your words.
“Sweetheart, all I do when I’m not with you is worry.”
You both let that sentence linger in the room for a few moments. Jack continues to trace shapes into your shrubs as you attempt to calm your nerves as you realize how intimate this conversation feels. Finally, Jack breaks the silence.
“Can you just come back to the night shift so I can stop freaking out every time my phone rings throughout the day?”
You almost smile at that.
“Donnie comes back in two weeks.”
You mean for that to be comforting; however, this only makes Jack’s body stiffen in response. His head drops as he lets out a long sigh.
“Two weeks is too long.”
“You’re not my boss, Jack.”
Jack pulls his hands away and you watch as he runs them through his short, grey curls. He looks exhausted — and you suddenly feel guilty that his relaxing day off has turned into this.
“You’re right, but sweetheart, I can’t do this without you anymore.”
A part of you wants to throttle him because of that nickname and how easily it falls off his lips — how it’ll only feel right when it’s his voice saying it to you.
“Do what?”
Jack looks at you and his face twists into confusion as he realizes your question is genuine.
“Get through the fucking night.”
A beat passes. You desperately want to just say yes. It’s what you want isn’t it? Returning to the night shift — returning to him. But that’s also the problem. What is this? You thought your switch to day shift would give you some sort of explanation, but your time away has only made you more confused. Would it actually just be easier if the two of you only saw each other during handoff? No domestic moments between cups of coffee, no more mornings spent side-by-side on the rooftop, no more stolen, fleeting touches as he passes you on your way to the hub. You know what you are to Robby — to everyone on day shift. It’s simple. But with Jack — it’s never been simple and maybe that’s the problem.
“What if I want to stay on the day shift?”
Jack recoils like you just threw a punch at him. Guilt claws up your throat as you watch his face fall. It’s a lie — you know that it is. You love everything about the night shift, but you also don’t know how much longer you can keep playing this game with Jack before you simply fall apart.
“Why would you want that?”
“Because at least I know where I stand with everyone here.”
Jack’s brow furrows — you hate that it’s cute. That everything about him draws you in.
“You don’t know where you stand with me?”
You shake your head and he scoffs — the sound is surprisingly cold. He looks at you, brow pinched into a scowl. And then he realizes that you’re serious. Your expression is nothing but unashamed honesty and his head cocks to the side at that. Do you really think he’s been stringing you along this entire time? That this has all been meaningless flirtation? That you mean nothing to him?
He takes a step forward, slotting himself between your knees. Your breath catches as he reaches up and gently cradles your face. His touch is different than before — all professionalism has been cast aside and is now replaced with his overwhelming adoration. Without thinking your fingers grab the hem of his black t-shirt. He smiles as he feels you nervously pick at a loose stitch before he ducks his head and his lips finally meet your own. Your grip on his t-shirt tightens as he moves his hands through your hair. Now this is a dream. The kiss is soft and restrained — you know he’s holding back due to your injuries. The last thing he wants to do is hurt you. Jack pulls away too soon for your liking, but he doesn’t move away. Instead, he places his forehead against yours.
“Sweetheart, I’ve been yours since the minute you walked through the fucking door.”
You bite your lip as you attempt to hold back the giddy grin that begs to spread itself across your face.
“You never said anything.”
Jack pulls away at that, not far — just enough to get a good look at you. The look on his face is incredulous — like it’s absurd you don’t know that his entire life revolves around you at this point.
“I thought I made myself abundantly clear.”
You laugh at that and Jack steals a kiss from your lips just because he can.
“I take it Robby gave you the rest of the day off?”
You nod, smiling as you feel Jack thread his fingers through yours.
“He told me to go home after Langdon finished my exam — who you should apologize to.”
Jack’s jaw clenches slightly as his brow furrows.
“Him being here was unnecessary.”
You watch him for a moment, trying to understand what happened between the two men that never seemed to have any sort of animosity prior to today. And then your hand tightens around Jack’s as you realize what happened.
“You were jealous.”
Jack rolls his eyes.
“I have no reason to be jealous.”
You raise a brow at his statement. He’s not wrong — he has no reason to be jealous of Frank Langdon, but you know the resident somehow got under his skin. He may be able to maintain his facade of nonchalance to the rest of his staff, but you see right through him.
“What makes you so confident?”
“Because Langdon isn’t the one taking you home right now, is he?”
toji didn’t know how his day went from running errands with you after the gym to standing in a pet shelter, crossed-armed, while you squatted in front of the glass, practically pressing yourself against it, cooing at the cats.
he was far from an animal person; he never wanted one, never planned on getting one. until today, it seems you’ve decided to change that.
“oh.my.god, he just blinked at me…”
his eyes nearly rolled into the back of his skull, but he smirked despite himself.
“it’s a fuckin’ cat, baby, not a stuffed animal. he’s gonna blink.”
“yeah, but at me,” you emphasized, already having made up your mind. you turned back to him, grin tugging at your lips.
“see, he’s already decided he’s coming home with us, ji.”
“christ…”
toji was reluctantly standing at the register, the next thing he knew. watching your brows furrow seriously as you took in every instruction the employee gave about pet care and other things he’d need.
“and that’s everything, he’s all yours,” the employee smiled at your enthusiasm, handing over the cat in its crate, “should get his shots soon, but besides that, enjoy him, he’s a good boy.”
the drive home consisted of your squealing every time the cat so much as breathed. each movement makes your heart turn to mush, purely swoon.
toji watched through the rearview mirror. it was painfully cute, his girl so obsessed over a damn ball of fur.
he might’ve even felt a bit jealous—which he’d never tell you.
it had been a week since you got the cat, named it something ridiculously cute yet fitting. the cat took up most of your attention now, feeding, petting, playing, leaving toji feeling like a third wheel.
to a damn cat.
whenever you weren't around, he could've sworn he caught the cat hissing or shooting daggers his way.
almost gloating that he got your attention now.
it was a competition, and toji knew he wasn't making it up; the jerk was manipulating you, and only he could see.
he’d had enough by the third week, catching you off guard while you applied a face mask. strong arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest.
“ji–”
“you forgettin’ about me, woman? bout’ who was your good boy first?”
you nearly snorted, staring at his serious reflection incredously. “are you–”
“answer the question, did you seriously let that cat take my place?” he nipped your neck gently between nuzzles, ignoring the squeak you made.
“ji, i didn’t forget you.”
“sure seems like it. the little furry bastard gets more attention than me. and i’m the one who has the dick–”
you cut him off with a firm kiss, not even caring that he was messing up your skincare. the rare moments he got all needy and clingy were your favorites.
“i didn’t forget you, or...your dick, okay? you’re still my good boy…promise,” you murmured seriously, cupping his face and trying not to sound too amused.
“good.” he grunted, pressing a firm kiss in return, sealing it.
“that little fur ball hasn’t got shit on me anyway.”
“mhmm…”
“so…you gonna buy me a collar too now?”
perm tags: @wifichann @sunnyfieldsz @satorusonlygirl @bowiesprettieststar2 @neotoru @b-bitter @tchmiya+ join or in the comments
a/n: i missed writing for my man, plus I love soft toji. and yes, he used his small savings for it. mlist
