A/N: John Shen doesn't get much love, so I figured I would switch it up a bit. Enjoy, coffee lovers! All work has been edited by Grammarly.
Jack Abbot is the best older brother you could have asked for. Yeah, there’s a big age gap—but he makes sure it never matters. He always found time to visit, even between deployments. He’s the reason you decided to get into the medical field, after all. Seeing what losing his leg did to him, you vowed from that moment on that you’d find a way to help people.
You’ve been working at PTMC for a while now, but recently you were switched over to the night shift. It’s the complete opposite of your brother; you’ve always been a morning person, and the quiet of the night never quite suited you. Still, you’re learning how to make it work.
However, a big part of that was coffee, and right now you couldn't remember where you had placed yours. After assisting on a motor vehicle collision patient, you were now on the hunt for your beloved drink. It wasn’t in the staff lounge or on any nearby crash carts. You felt as if you had searched the whole ER at this point.
“Parker, have you seen my coffee anywhere?” You asked as you walked up to her at the nurse's station.
“Is it the one by Jack's computer?” Parker asked.
Your eyes lit up, landing on the coffee cup sitting there, condensation beading along the sides from the melting ice.
Thank God for Jack for finding your coffee.
Grinning, you reached for it and took an excited sip — and froze. Sweet. Way too sweet. Full of sugar. Definitely not yours.
You scrunched up your face and set the cup back down. “Okay…” you muttered, feeling the sugar coat your tongue. “That is definitely not mine.”
Parker raised an eyebrow, trying not to laugh. “You look like you just tasted liquid betrayal.”
“Who could ruin coffee like this?” you asked dramatically, glaring at the cup as if it had personally offended you.
From behind you, a familiar voice drawled with perfect timing: “Me, sweetie,” John said, reaching for his coffee and smirking. “But I might have overdone it with the sugar… I call it my ‘sugar-shock in a cup’ special.”
You spun around, eyes narrowing in mock exasperation, while Parker snorted behind you. “Of course it’s you,” you said, rolling your eyes. “You can’t even leave the coffee alone, can you?”
“Well, sweetie,” John said, grinning, “I need something to cover me while you’re not there.”
Your gaze drifted back to the cup in his hand, and you shook your head slowly. “That should be illegal, you know.”
John glanced at his coffee. “What, the sugar?”
“The amount of sugar,” you corrected. “There’s probably more sugar in that than coffee.”
He hummed thoughtfully and took another sip. “My argument is that it keeps me, and my patients, alive.”
“So far,” Parker butted in, trying to ignore the ongoing eye-gazing between her two fellow co-workers.
You leaned a little closer to the counter. “Coffee is supposed to wake you up, not send you into a diabetic's coma.”
John smirked. “Bold words coming from someone who is currently going through caffeine withdrawals.”
You huffed, exasperated, and crossed your arms. “I just want my coffee!” You turned and walked away, continuing on your search for your coffee, still muttering about the sugar overload you had suffered while you dream of dark and bitterness.
John tilted his cup slightly, eyes following you. Quietly, to himself, he murmured, “Well… my taste’s is fine, because it picked you.”
Parker raised an eyebrow, suppressing a grin as she watched him, noticing the rare softness in his expression.
You had just left the staff lounge when you heard Shen call for assistance in trauma. You grabbed gloves off the wall and ran, slipping into your spot right next to him, who was already in his usual calm, commanding mode.
John took the lead, instructing the team on what to do, while your hands moved on instinct to hook up an IV line, glancing up only to check vitals. You found yourself working in perfect rhythm with him, as if you’d done it a million times before, even though it had only been a couple of nights together.
“Alright, the patient’s vitals seem stable,” John announced to the team. “Double-check the airway and make sure the fluids are running.”
You looked up at his side profile, and for a moment, that familiar flutter stirred in your chest, the one that had been creeping in the past few days. The patient was stable, but your mind couldn’t stop lingering on John and the way he guided the team. He made everything seem effortless, his confidence anchoring the room.
Midway through, the door slid open, and Jack slipped in, leaning against the frame just enough to watch. Shen hadn’t been attending very long, so Jack liked to pop in during traumas when he was free, to see if a hand was needed. No one noticed him; everyone was focused on the patient.
But Jack’s eyes found you. He watched you and John move together, seamless, efficient, almost like this was routine rather than new. His eyebrows lifted, caught somewhere between surprise and amusement at the way his sister and her colleague worked as if they were two halves of the same rhythm.
The room finally settled as the trauma was stabilized, monitors beeping steadily. Jack had slipped back out with the rest of the team, leaving just you and John standing over the patient.
You exhaled, letting your shoulders drop for the first time in the last tense minutes. “You make it look so easy, you know.”
John smirked, eyes glinting as he leaned slightly closer. “Easy? Only because you’re here to help, sugar.”
You froze for a second, then laughed softly, cheeks warming. “Sugar, huh? I can still taste it on my tongue.”
John leaned back slightly, still smirking, when the door slid open and Jack’s familiar voice cut through the moment. “Heads up, we’ve got another trauma coming in five.”
Your shoulders tensed again, and John’s eyes flicked toward the door, the easy playfulness giving way to focus. “Alright, sugar, lets go”
You rolled your eyes at the nickname but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “Lead the way, Doctor Shen.”
Jack lingered in the doorway, arms crossed, eyebrows raised just slightly. You caught his glance, and he gave the faintest shake of his head, clearly amused. A moment of relief crossed his face, knowing that you were fitting in with the night shift, even if it was a little too close for comfort.
The chaos of the night was finally settling, the only sound the soft hum of the monitors that filled the ED. Soon the day shift would arrive for handoff, and you could finally grab some caffeine that had somehow eluded you all night.
John leaned against the counter beside you, a small, approving smile on his face.
“You were incredible tonight,” he said, eyes locked on yours. “Every time I needed something, you were already there.”
You shrugged, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I guess… I just follow your lead.”
He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “No, really. You’ve got the skill and intuition like you were made to do this.”
You felt your cheeks warm, a small grin tugging at your lips. “Flattery now? Trying to get me to forgive you for that sugar disaster earlier?”
John smirked, eyes glinting. “Well.. about that,” he said, leaning a little closer. “How about I make it up to you? Take you out before the next shift, and you can show me what real coffee tastes like.”
Before you could reply, a familiar voice cut through the quiet of the ED.
“Did you ever get your coffee after?” Jack asked as he joined you two at the counter.
“I couldn't find it” you admitted, holding up your empty hand with an exhausted look on your face.
Jack’s grin widened, and he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice like he was sharing a secret. “Well… I put it in the freezer.”
Your eyes went wide. “The freezer?!”
“Duh,” he said, feigning exasperation. “Didn’t want your ice coffee to melt before you got it. I thought I was helping.”
You groaned, covering your face with your hand, half in disbelief and half in amusement. “You’re impossible.”
Jack’s mock-offended expression made you snort. “Impossible? Really?” he said, hands on his hips, pretending to be scandalized. “I just… got you a date and more coffee.”
You felt your cheeks heat up, realizing you’d probably just blushed out loud. Jack caught it instantly and fixed John with a mock-serious stare.
“Shen,” he said, voice low and firm, “since you’re a doctor, I expect you to be responsible… safe caffeine intake, understood?”
John blinked, caught somewhere between amusement and disbelief. “Uh… yeah, sure.”
Jack gave you a quick, approving nod, then winked before walking off toward his locker. “Enjoy your date, sugar.”
You let out a soft, flustered laugh, half embarrassed, half secretly thrilled, while John’s amused gaze lingered on you. Nothing was better for him than finding a fellow coffee lover and getting the brother’s approval.
✃ summary: john shen's first day as an attending goes a little something like this. or, 5 times you believe in him and the 1 time he believes in you.
✃ pairing: john shen x surgeon!f!reader
✃ wc: 6.0k
✃ notes: I AM FOR THE PEOPLE!! THE JOHN SHEN NATION!!! john n reader r the bestest duo ever and idc about anyone else ermmmm also can be read as stand-alone! but makes more sense given in universe context which u can find more of in the series masterlist! anyway this one is mainly for @rayveneyed my john shen girl....
✃ tags: literally just fluff, some angsty touches, set pre-s1 of the pitt! medical inaccuraces sorry babes
read on ao3 || series masterlist
1.
John's barely two minutes into his shift. His first shift as an attending, mind you, when he hears the fall of footsteps and someone leaning in next to him, but his shoulders still rest easy, his heart steady.
He already smells eucalyptus and catches the flash of your scrubcap before he turns, which is the only reason he doesn't incite a panic out of sheer boredom. A stretch of pale green, sprigs of leaves and flowers, pulls across your temple. Daisies, with white petals and golden centres, blooming all over your head.
Very spring-like, which is an antithesis of who you are. John classifies you as very much a winter person, though maybe it's because he met you during a blizzard after you'd been called in for an emergency craniotomy. The snow-chill was still melting from your fingers, and your toes were still thawing as you had walked in like a breath of fresh air.
Shen had been an intern then, and you were an R7, in between your attempts at publications and trying to figure out your footing after graduating. It felt like Godzilla stepping into the Pitt.
Now, he's technically your equal. Attending to attending.
He stifles a laugh as you forgo a greeting and start with, "Dr. Shen, I hear congratulations are in order." Your hands are clasped tight as you lean in beside him on the counter, but your expression is as it always is: neutral, a settled brow line and clear eyes catching the Pitt lights. "Attending Physician Dr. Shen, I should clarify."
"Attending Physician Spider, I thank you," he replies, "if we're going by our official titles."
"That's Attending Physician Dr. Spider," you correct. "Or, I mean, I still have a real name."
As if swatting a fly away: "Yeah, but no one calls you that." Biting on his coffee straw, he looks up at the board. "Any advice for the new guy?"
"Advice?" you echo. "It took two months for it to really sink in, and a year until I really felt normal about it all, if that's the right word for it. When the paperwork started piling up, I realized that it's not that different."
"Well, next year I'd like to request a check-up and see if that's a common diagnosis." John grins around his straw. Your expression flickers before settling into amusement. "Make it a routine thing, make sure I'm doing this whole 'attending' thing right."
"If you get to your desk and there's three stacks of papers needing to be signed," you intone smoothly, "you must be."
"I don't think we get private offices."
"Oh? Robby and Abbot share one. They must have some room they can empty out for you."
"You think?"
You shrug. "Maybe." Then, you add on, "By the way, a car versus pole arrived right before you came in. Not going too fast, airbags deployed. Bruising on the chest, closed radial fracture, no acute head injury. Ordered a CT to rule out anything that might've caused dizziness or confusion. He was awake and alert, but keep an eye out for decompensation for me, will you?"
"Did you let Abbot know?"
"I did, but I wanted to let the other attending on shift know," you remind him. "Just in case."
John is quick to mask his surprise. "One less patient for me to round on. God, you're so good to me and I'll do anything you want."
"Just don't be lazy on your first day of being an attending."
"Oh, I'd never dream of it. Hey, you gonna be around for the night?"
"Yeah." You cup the back of your neck and massage it thoroughly. Under your brow, you stare up at the board. As always, the air around you warps and undulates like a heartbeat—each pulse making something twinge as you shrug helplessly. "No one else would work July 4th weekend."
"Short end of the stick, then."
"No, I volunteered," you admit. "I'm not in a very patriotic mood." This, at his levelled gaze. "You know me."
"I'm still of the mind that you need friends," he drawls. "More friends, I mean. 'Cause that's what we are."
"Oh? I hadn't noticed."
"Yeah, between dastardly saves and water cooler talk. Oh, and by the way, you're terribly in love with me." Your eyes crease in a smile, and John feels a relief pool in the bottom of his gut. "You know, I think we're friends. Like you could talk to me, because you can. If something's bothering you."
At last, a small, placid smile finds its way onto your face. "We are friends," you tell him quietly. "I'm not friends with people who aren't exceptional at their jobs."
"Then why're you so tight with Abbot?"
"Do you want to toe that line on your first day?"
Another heave of his shoulders. "You know me," he parrots. "I like to toe the line."
You draw away, and with it comes that tone you always take on whenever you decide to drop into his world. Finely trimmed in warmth and warning is your grin as you retreat to the elevator. "Be good, Shen."
"Y'know," he ventures, "technically, you can't boss me around anymore."
You spin on him, quick as a whip, tracking backwards down the hall. "When did you start biting back?"
"I'll never bite your hands. They're too expensive, and I haven't gotten my first attending paycheck yet," he promises solemnly, hand to his heart and fingers splayed as if you'll stitch each digit to his skin if you had the chance.
You don't laugh, or frown, or show any sign that you're angry, as you are wont to do. Your countenance softens, and then you jab your thumb into the button. Immediately, the sign above you lights up and the two heavy doors part.
"Don't let the R2s defer to Abbot when you stand in the room," you advise, stepping in, "Attending Physician Dr. Shen."
ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ
2.
The sterile, cold air shifts with a gust of air that sweeps into the trauma room. A quick glance at the clock. Only barely past midnight.
Shen is craned over the woman on the gurney when you duck in and around the staff setting up stat monitors, your eyes dark and focused. You sidle in next to him, hand digging into your pocket to withdraw your penlight.
"Oh, I know you love me if you're here so fast," he sings as you take over the neurological exam.
"My gift for our new night shift attending. Dr. Shen—" lifting the woman's eyelids, you swing the light and watch the pupil dilate— "who've we got here?"
John shoots a finger gun over at the intern. "Phillips, go time."
"Anna Badriya, twenty-seven, GCS 12 en route. She called 911 before losing consciousness. Head ache, slurred speech, nausea for three hours."
You frown. "Do we know how long she's been complaining about the headache?"
"She said a few days?"
"We're setting up fluids, zofran, haloperidol," Shen cuts in cleanly. "No barf yet, but you know I hate to see aspiration." His hip bumps against yours as they rip open her front. "Alright, woah, stop. Looks like we've got someone fresh from cardiothoracic surgery. We need to pull up her EHR and be careful when we move her around."
Your gaze darts towards her chest. A surgery wound splits the patient's skin a part, and you clench your jaw, turning back to the woman. "Is it infected?"
"Nope. Looks clean. POCUS." With a generous slather of gel, Shen places the wand to the skin. "Bilateral lung sliding."
"Is it from a valve replacement? Like, could it have failed?" Phillips asks.
"Don't know yet… nope! Chest is clear. Upper quadrants are clear."
Lathered in sweat by pain, the woman lets out a soft moan as you press your hand to her forehead, using your thumb to draw back the other eyelid. "Anna? Anna, do you know where you are?" A soft moan comes out choked and out of the corner of your eye, you see gloved knuckles rub against the sternum.
"Responsive to pain," reports Phillips.
"Lower quadrants are good too. Spider?"
"Got a blown pupil. We need a head CT."
"She came in two weeks ago for an ascending aortic aneurysm. Discharged and lives at home with her mom." You whip your head over your shoulder at Olive standing by the computer. "Post-op DVT prophylaxis."
Straightening up, you step back and tuck your torch back into your breast pocket, ripping off your gloves with a rippling snap. "Alright, CT to OR."
"We'll need someone to call her mom."
"What is it?" asks Phillips.
Olive nods. "On it."
"A brain bleed caused by the blood thinners. Generally pretty rare," you explain, "but probable now." The harsh clang of the metal punctuates your words as the gurney rails lock into place. The ER staff become a procession, ushering the patient to the elevator and you cup your neck, lolling it under your palm and hearing the bones click. "We'll have her spick and span before you can say 'infundibulum.'"
"Still think mammillary bodies is weirder when we're talking about brains," Shen retorts, his fingers ghosting your elbow as you walk past him to follow. Side by side, they push their way out of the trauma room. The intern scurries ahead to help push the gurney.
Shen inclines his head towards yours. "Why do they call it that, by the way? Is it cause they look like a bunch of tiny nipples?"
"You just like boobs." You wrinkle your nose at him
With a huge, impish grin: "What guy doesn't like boobs?"
From where he leans on the counter by the arm, swiping mindlessly on the iPad to keep the screen active, Abbot interrupts whatever retort you had building up. "Hey, you need an extra set of hands?"
Shen pauses, fingers wrapping around the ends of his stethoscope. You continue onward, sending Jack a lazy wave, and as easy as breathing you say for him, "Relax, old man. Shen's got it handled."
You slip into the elevator just as the doors slide shut.
Turning on his heel, John walks a pace around the hub before pulling up Anna's chart on the computer, sitting down with a restrained groan. He stretches his arms high and back behind his head before flinging himself into the keyboard. Better to get started on his charting while he's ahead.
Yet as he settles his hands above the keyboard, he pauses for a moment. Then, he looks up at Abbot. The man doesn't even look phased as he works. John folds his arms on the desk, and says airily, "Don't know if you believe all that she's said."
"What? The part where she called me old, or where she said you had it handled?"
"Well, you're only, what—pushing seventy?"
"Alright."
"No, I mean, the other part."
Abbot doesn't bother even looking up from the iPad. Vaguely, he answers, "She's an excellent judge of character for everyone except herself."
"Which means to say she's good at holding people at a distance," John surmises under his breath, but he averts his gaze when Abbot sends him a well-meaning but hard warning glance. He tries to think of what little he can glean from you—your hobbies, what you like or dislike, even how old you are—and doesn't like at what he comes up with.
Which is to say, nothing.
"So, when's her birthday?" Abbot tells him, and he frowns. "How do you know that?"
"Ladies are attracted to a little experience." Shen pulls a face. Abbot snorts. "I mean, maybe she digs guys pushing seventy."
His boss pushes off the counter and walks over to the South wing. John's jaw drops, and Lena reaches over to manually hinge it shut.
ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ
3.
John Shen isn't superstitious. He doesn't believe in saying the Q-word or the S-word or any word bringing bad luck, no matter how hard Ellis slugs him in the shoulder for it. Full moon madness isn't real. And he definitely doesn't think deaths come in threes. Good things, maybe, but not death.
Mostly, he believes good things should happen to good people.
"Dr. Shen?"
"That's me." He looks up, chin lifting from the cup of his hand to see a woman standing there. A surgical nurse, by the scrubs, stands there with shoulders pulled back as she stretches her arms. Her ID tag glints when her chest arches up towards the lights. CONNIE JOAN HUNTER. Crazy, he thinks idly, to have a name comprised entirely of first names. "Can I help you?"
"Spider sent me down. Said you would want to know that Ms. Badriya is well and in recovery."
"Oh." He stands, suddenly feeling very impolite sitting when someone is talking to him. In the back of his mind, he hears his mother chiding him. "Well, thank you. You didn't have to come all this way."
"She insisted," the nurse says with a shrug. She doesn't look at all bothered. "She told us that it was your first day as an attending, so you get to hear about all the wins you don't normally hear. Congratulations."
"Wow, is it a party up in neurosurg or something?"
"Always is." The nurse taps the counter with her fingers rhythmically before moving to glide off towards the stairs. She barely drags her hands away before coming back to stand in front of Shen. "Hey, are you close with Spider?"
"Decent friends," he says, pausing awkwardly between sitting and standing. "Have been for a while."
"Like outside of work," she clarifies.
"Those questions are directed to Dr. Abbot," he says. "Why?"
"We already asked him. We want to celebrate." She adds it as if it's the most obvious thing in the world and his confused look is stupid. He straightens up again. "But we don't know what she'd like to do or get. If you have an idea, let any one of us know. We have, like, a group chat and everything, and we asked Abbot but he told us to ask Dr. Robby, and no one really wants to talk to Dr. Robby, so we're still in the middle of trying to convince Abbot to be a liaison." He frowns. Connie Joan Hunter slumps. "It's a whole thing."
John's still trying to wrap his head around the first half as he asks, "Celebrate? Did I miss a memo in the company emails or something?"
"You didn't hear?" At this, Conne Joan grows a little concerned. "Spider got her pick of fellowships next year. Neurotrauma at U-Dub, or UPMC, or Toronto. It's where she went for med school," she adds, although Shen somehow knows that. Fellow Canadian, and all that. "They're holding a spot."
"Can they do that?"
"Well," Connie Joan says, "I think they make exceptions for her."
She continues to prattle on about adding John to the group chat so that they can come up with some sort of celebration together. He opines that you wouldn't like a big party—even a simple gift would do—and ignores the strange, sinking sensation that floods him. An overwhelming wave of sadness, almost, if he gives it too much credence.
He clenches his jaw tight and tries to temper his thoughts on why you wouldn't tell him with other things, like genuinely, what gifts you'd like. How you'd react to a surprise party.
How much you hate it, how much you'd try to shimmy your way free from the room. Sure, you'll thank them all with a smile, but you'd try not to shrink in on yourself, attempt to sweep the entire thing under the rug with enough white lies to drown yourself in. Let's not make a big deal out of it. It's not like I'm dying. I'm really not worth all this. It's just U-dub. It's just U of T. It's just UPMC, and it's just neurosurgery. Anyone could do it—
A pager beeps. Connie Joan curses under her breath. She scurries out of the Pitt with a, "I'll text you!" and it's loud enough that Abbot frowns as he rounds the corner back from South.
"Were you hitting on her?" Appalled.
As petulant as a child who's lying but Shen really isn't lying: "No."
ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ
4.
Somewhere between the lapse of hellish exhaustion and the second wind at 5 AM, Shen treks up to crit care with a half a sandwich, a banana, and goal in mind. That is to say, to find you and figure out what this whole fellowship business is about. He prides himself on knowing the general comings and goings. He also wants to know if he's about to lose one of his friends to U-Dub of all places.
He'd rather you go back to your alma mater of Temerty, across the border if you didn't want to stay in Pittsburgh. At least he'd stop by the Falls to visit. He himself graduated just up the St. Lawrence from McGill, so it's not like it would be too far if he ever decided to swing up there. Support a friend. Toronto winters aren't so different.
He'd rather you just tell him straight that you're leaving instead of playing along with routine yearly check-ups and all that bullshit.
A young man sits at the nurse's station when John gets there. Hair limp and oily under the pale light, he leans back into the most unergonomic, cheap, shit black office chair the hospital could scrounge up, and stares up at the screens mounted on the pillar. One for scheduling, another for stats.
Spooning yogurt robotically into his mouth, he just watches. John would think he's a statue, if not for the steady lifting and sinking of his chest. The few others are writing or typing away, and it's quiet. All around him are other staff, sweeping in and out of rooms for their hourly neuro checks, the shout of a particularly cantankerous patient complaining loudly about his sleep being disturbed, and John's shoulders rise, tense just a bit, eyes darting.
"Sorry." The nurse swivels, spoon pulled over his bottom lip. The ID has been tossed onto the desk as John leans over on his knuckles. Carter. "Is Spider around?"
"Could try her office. It's on the neurology floor, though. Not here."
"She got pulled into surgery," another one intones, not even bothering to turn around from where she leans onto the desk by her elbows. The nurse pushes her face into her hands, dragging the skin up and down as if wiping away a memory. "Jordan wanted the lesions out and the tumour biopsied as soon as possible and she said she could squeeze it in tonight by… I don't know, magic?"
"What the fuck?" the male nurse mumbles, then remembers Shen. "Sorry, man. Guess she's in surgery. Might be a while."
"Everything okay?"
"She's poking around in our friend's head. Like, nursing school and shit." With a daggered look over his shoulder: "He told me he was doing it tomorrow."
The woman holds her hands out in the air, shrugging. "Don't shoot the messenger."
The nurse, back to John: "You see how it is."
"Yeah. It gonna take another two or three hours, I'm guessing?"
Carter nods apologetically. "Do you need a consult? She's got some R1s tonight. They'll page her directly."
Everyone here is so nice, he thinks distantly. He sweeps his gaze around him. Then he realizes that there must be endless compassion or endless apathy to work in a place that dealt so cleanly with life and death and the meaning between the two.
John doesn't want to say it's any harder than the Pitt, but he remembers when he did a neurology rotation during his intern year. He shadowed a stroke team for weeks, watching as they brought back pieces of a person's identity—their speech, or the capacity to understand it, parts of the body that would jolt and twitch, and then go still.
"Maybe there's a small mercy here," Dr. Mehta once said to him, lacking his usual sense of joy and joke that he had gotten used to. He must've caught John's expression when a patient arrived too late for treatment, and died right in front of them. He remembers feeling sick. It wasn't the first person who died in front of him, but probably the first one where the doctors stepped back, and let the patient pass peacefully. "Not just to our patient, but to his doctors who don't have to weigh at what point the quality of life justifies living."
"No," he remembers to say presently. "Just tell her if she's free to page me. I wanted to talk to her about… Lance Burns. Car accident guy from earlier." He forks over his extension and the banana as thanks, and a little recognition flickers over the nurse's face.
"We'll have a room for him ready eventually," the nurse says apologetically, taking the food offering. He pauses. "Wait, you're the new EM attending."
"That's the story."
"Sweet. Congrats."
"Yeah, thank me when I keep sending up the guys that won't shut up," John teases, clutching onto his sandwich tighter. "Say, do you have a bathroom I could use?"
By the time he comes out and walks back to the nurse's station to retrieve his sandwich that he left for safekeeping and sanitary reasons, a few new figures roam the hub. One in particular is peering over Carter's shoulder. Your arms are planted on your hips, scrub cap still on your head as you dictate orders to the residents behind you.
"And make sure she doesn't try to roll out of bed again. Check the output every hour. I don't want to explain to her son why her EVD got dislodged or some other nonsensical thing," you mutter, fingers pulling down your cheek. The two residents nod and scatter, and you redirect your attention to Carter. "Next scan, please. See, right there. I knew it. He needs new scans. The lesions are way more invasive than these showed." You slide your hand to cup your neck, and roll it out. "I'll have to consult with Dr. Cheung and Dr. Conley. The good news is the biopsy results will be in by the end of the week, the bad news is I can't give you definitive answers." Your face twitches. "I'm sorry I can't do more right now."
"It's not your fault," Carter says, eyes empty as he clicks repeatedly. His voice is tight, and the other nurse from earlier has a hand tight on his shoulder, knuckles blanch, fingers rigid and digging. It looks painful. Carter doesn't even flinch.
"You can be there for him," you suggest quietly, pulling off your scrub cap. "Tired advice, but it's hard to be a patient." At his approach, you look up, exhausted, but still forcing yourself to blink and peer at him with as much energy as you can. "Shen?"
"Hey."
"Is something wrong? Lance; did he decompensate?"
"I just wanted to ask you about something." A meaningful look. You nod sharply down the hall, excusing yourself with your exhaustion. He follows after you and hands over the sandwich. "Just in case," he adds as you lead him through the twist and turns of the floor. You gesture to an on-call room after a quick peek inside to assure no one was already in there before slipping in.
John locks the door behind him, turning around just as you sink onto the bed, rest your elbows on your knees, and pry open the plastic encasing the sandwich. He pulls the chair from the desk and seats himself, arms lined along the worn armrests.
"What is it?" Your eyes warm in the gentle glow of the lamplight, and you look up from beneath your brow as you eat, cheeks full. You wipe at your lip, lowering your face at his expression, and your eyes widen, ducking your head even more into your hand when you realize he's still staring. Shen can't help the slight smile, the way his face heats as he turns his head away, pressing his jaw into the heel of his hand. "Sorry. I'm eating like a pig. I haven't eaten since… Sorry, what time is it?"
"Half past four."
"Probably since eight or nine," you confess. "Sorry."
"You just apologized three times in the last two sentences."
"Ah. Yeah. Habit." You eat slower. John watches out of the corner of his eye and wonders what that could mean. "Right. What happened to Lance?"
"Nothing."
"You're being weird." Your eyes are shadowed, a slight frown weighing down on your lips in concern. "Did something happen?"
John winces. "No. No, it's not that." He leans forward too, steepling his fingers. Their heads are inches apart. You cock aside, your brow wrinkling delicately. "We're… we're friends, right?"
"I think I recall saying that earlier tonight. Is the late night getting to you?" You clear your throat. "Shit, this sandwich is good."
"I think the late night's getting to you," he comments, and the tone holds more of an edge than he wants. He tempers it with a quick, "It's from the cart in the Pitt. Marginally better than the cafeteria."
You stare at him, gaze searching. Although you keep your tone light, it doesn't refract an inch in your face. "The cafeteria could kill people." Tone measured, every movement calculated. "I think it's what keeps us in business."
"Tell Gloria that."
"Hm." You chew the rest of the sandwich, dust your hands into the plastic container before setting it on the table, snapped shut. It's such a carelessly tidy sort of action that has John's throat going dry. He rubs his palms together. "So?"
"So what?"
"You clearly have something to say to me."
"No."
"Shen."
"I'm sure it was some baseless rumour, but you should know that your staff have loud mouths. Like... it could be a security breach, and if you were the president—" he whistles— "game over."
"Do you want me to have a talk with them?" The corner of your lips twist, displeased and a bolt of guilt strikes through John. He shakes his head violently, hands shooting out in front of him. Pitching forward at the hips, his feet shuffle and make his legs wider apart. You flinch.
"No! No, no, no, it's not like... bad or anything." He draws back, scratching at his brow. "It sounds bad in hindsight. No, what I mean to say is that I heard you were returning back to humble roots but instead of an R7 it's to fellowship. Should I be hurt that I wasn't in on the newsletter?"
Your shoulders fall, and your lips part, a soft breath coming out in the quietest of sighs before you utter, "I don't know. The only reason people know is because they keep eavesdropping."
He smiles wryly. "Do you think that maybe they eavesdrop because you don't tell anyone anything?"
"People need to mind their business. They spread all these rumours about fellowships, and I don't even know if I'm accepted into some of them. I don't want to get my hopes up in case they retract their offers and decide with a better candidate. Either way," you continue brusquely before John can cut you off, "don't be like me. Just enjoy the attending life. Maybe that's the advice I've got for you."
"Then why?"
"Competition. Interest. I was lucky to get a job without doing a fellowship. I need to be better to keep it. And it's either this or being a neuroscientist."
"So you're going to move to Canada."
"I don't know yet," you tell him smoothly.
"You're leaning to one over the other."
"I'm letting myself weigh the options. Measure twice. Cut once." Your eyes knife to him, under your brow, a butterfly's touch. Hair has slipped from your tight hairdo, ending like a swaying rope by your mouth. Over the past four years, he's seen your face—a passing ghost between doors and curtains, hidden behind a computer screen, translucent through a printed scan. Underneath Abbot's arm when you're too still and half the room thinks you're a cadaver and he's trying to shake some life into you. Over Olive's shoulder. In the break room, the line of your shoulders sloping downward as you press your forehead to the wall, and there it is again: that distinct puncture wound Shen gets between the ribs urging him to reach out, to tell you that he's sorry and that he's here—
It vanishes like smoke.
"The whole point of the brain is to adapt and survive," you tell him as you reach up and pull the elastic out of your hair. It tumbles all around your face, a wave of eucalyptus fragrancing the air as you rub at your scalp. Your words are a hand on his arm, squeezing him assuredly. "And to remember. In neuro, we gauge the humanity of a surgery by what will remain after."
He doesn't know why that sticks with him. You press a hand on his shoulder before you go, tell him you'll see him later.
John turns to watch you go, a lone shadow flooded by a pillar of light.
ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ
5.
He doesn't see you again until his shift's over. Well, technically it ended fifty-seven minutes ago, but who was keeping count when he had charts to dictate and final discharges to go through?
You're talking to Langdon, which is a strange sight in itself, but the claws have been sheathed since March. Not gone completely, but the scratches glance off the skin rather than draw blood. You pass off an iPad, gesturing with your pinkie about levels and brain bleeds and shit he can't think of when he's tired off his ass from running everywhere.
But Langdon gets it. With every nod along to whatever medicine you're spewing, Shen wonders if the guy realizes he's staring more at the side of your face than at whatever you're talking about. He wouldn't be able to notice himself if he wasn't sitting at the hub right in front of the pair, double-checking to make sure his charts are fully uploaded.
"So, we hitting the diner?" he cut in cleanly when you pause in the midst of your conversation. You snap your jaw shut, pinning him with a look before muttering a dismissal to Langdon who hands back the iPad and disappears into the swirl of the Pitt without another word.
You turn to fully lean against the counter, setting down the iPad. "The diner?"
"Yeah."
"Don't really recall an invite."
"Well, consider this your invitation to the best congratulation dinnerfast in all of Pittsburgh. Who knows how much time I have left with you?"
"You mean how much you have to stick out before I'm out of your hair," you reply ruefully. "Besides, I have plans."
"What? A date?"
"No, of course not. Hey, give me your hand." Your fingers delicately steady his wrist as you slap something into his palm. "Come to the roof when you're done with your shift. Oh, and tell the DoorDash driver 2091 when he asks for the code."
He crumples up the twenty dollar bill in his hand, staring at it as if it were a baggie of paraphernalia. "What?"
"The DoorDash driver. That," you say, pointing at the money, "is his tip on top of the tip. Bring up the bags when he gets here."
"Why?"
The withering look you give him could've rotted a flower in the height of spring.
He's sure he's on the brink of asking another question you'd never call him stupid for when a nurse scrambles up to them, wide-eyed, flush-faced.
"Sorry!" she squeaks out, head swiveling from one doctor to the other. She seems to decide on you, fists clenched tight in front of her. "Ma'am, we need an attending in South 16 to oversee an intubation."
Without missing a beat: "Don't look at me. Talk to Shen."
The nurse firmly faces him with a determined nod. "Dr. Shen, we need you in South 16."
Shoving the money into his pocket, he shoots you a look. You smile innocently, and shrug your shoulders, head tilting towards the bed. "Yeah, yeah, I'm on my way."
ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ
1.
"Lemme know how much this was and I'll send back the money," John says around a mouthful of fries. You wave the notion away. They watch the sunrise as Piitsburgh begins to come to life under the growing sunlight reaching between the skyscrapers to brush along the filling roads and empty paved walkways.
"Are you sure?"
"Positive. My treat, remember?" Whilst rifling through the bag: "Hey, don't forget your double-bacon."
"You got burgers too?" You withdraw your hand as he takes it from you, peering into the bag. Within indeed is a waxy bag of onion rings, and a neatly folded and huge lump that no doubt promised a greasy burger with crispy bacon and melted cheese. His stomach yawns and shudders at the idea of it and he pats himself through his shirt. "I knew I was your favourite."
"Right…"
The summer heat does not yet bog down their clothes, and you sit aside John, legs sprawled against the concrete as you saw a piece of waffle apart in the takeout container in your lap. The man himself stands, chin tilted to the wind the way a dog sticks his head out to feel the breeze. The night's exhaustion wears on him, but he knows if he sinks to the floor, it'll take you and a handful of nurses to haul him to his feet again.
He looks down at his packet of fries—near empty now—and his fingers crunch the paper. Just another thing you wouldn't be around to do in a year's time.
"How was your first day as an attending?"
Truthfully, he answers with a glance to where you sit by his feet, "Better with you in it."
You open your mouth to retort, but John doesn't hear it. A strange grief has wrapped around his heart in the hours since he's left the on-call room. It's a hard wire, tighter than it might've been if you had just left without warning. Like he's expecting to one day turn around and you won't be there.
"Sorry, I'm about to be real fuckin' annoying."
"Look, Shen—"
"Did UPMC say yes?" he interrupts. "Or are you just expecting a no?" Your lips press together, a small knot between your eyebrows and he jerks his stare away, a hard lump congealing in his throat. "Kill a guy for wondering if his friend's leaving the state."
Your eyes settle somewhere along the curve of his jaw. "Yes. I mean, no, they didn't say yes, and yes, I am expecting a no. I also don't know if staying here is the right choice. I've been here since my internship. Maybe a change of pace would be good. Maybe Pittsburgh saying no would be a sign."
"A sign for what?"
"A sign to move on." You throw a hand listless in the air in some vague expression. "If I don't have the medicine, I don't have much. I need to be somewhere where I at least have that."
John's heart drops. "They'd be ridiculous to reject you," he murmurs to the wind. You must hear him anyway, because the feeling of your arm disturbing the fabric of his scrub pants as you cut your food ceases. Forcing himself to speak louder, he looks over at the Pittsburgh skyline. "Especially since they know about your publications, case records, your work ethic. The fact that you already live here."
"My weaknesses."
"Your strength," he counters with an incredulous look down. "Your achievements. You. Spider, don't you know? Anyone would be lucky to have you." Your eyebrows rise at the heat in his tone and he turns back to his fries, fighting the tingling heat in his ears. "Besides, we'd miss you."
"We'd?" you echo, quirking an eyebrow at him. He nudges you with his foot, a grin flickering onto his face like a neon light, buzzing and bright. "You flatter me."
"Yeah, yeah, eat it up." You huff a laugh. After a moment of consideration, he remedies it. "I would miss you."
"…thanks, John."
He watches the sun your face into a bust of burnished copper when it tilts up to smile at him.
“Ya know, I think you locking lips with a Dunkin’ straw more than my lips is kinda fucked up.”
Ellis snickers as John practically chokes on his iced coffee, “What?”
You smirk and give him a shrug, “What? Your lips are on a Dunkin’ straw so much more than they are on mine and that’s fucked up considering we’re dating and everything.”
John opens his mouth and then closes it and then opens it again. Then closes it. He pauses for a few seconds before saying, “I honestly don’t know how to respond to that.”
Ellis pats her colleague on the shoulder, “It’s probably best not to.”
John looks confused, “But they’re basically saying that I like Dunkin’ more than them!”
“You do,” you and Ellis say in unison which causes both of you to burst into cackles.
He grumbles, “You guys are fucking with me and I don’t appreciate it.”
“Relaaaax, hon. Just all love and games to get through the shift,” you give him a wink and head down the hall to check up on a patient.
Ellis chuckles, “I hope you do well on keeping them because, if you don’t, I will be swooping in if you fuck things up.”
“Yeah. Yeah. I know,” he says with a chuckle.
Ellis looks at him seriously, “Oh I’m not joking,” she then leaves him to check out a new patient, leaving John to rush after her.
“No, but you are, right? Right, Ellis?! You’re joking right?!”
okay okay hear me out. how about.... john shen going to get his usual dunkin' iced coffee, but the shop is closed for some reason, so john has to divert to some new, smaller cafè. enter reader who is behind the counter, reluctantly helping out their friend/sibling who owns the shop, hospitality lacking, not knowing what the hell she is even doing and hating the fact that she has to serve a man that came in one minute before she could close up. cue john being john, all chill and nonchalant, flirting jokingly, amused by her frustrated demeanor, leaving with the worst iced coffee mankind has ever tasted... and coming right back the next day to annoy the grumpy barista into learning to make his order just right.
probably not a fun head canon and more realistic, but I feel like the men of the Pitt are more likely to downplay your pain or attribute it to periods or stress (personal experiences & seen it irl)
And no I am a yapper so there will always be a read more-
I also promise I have like happy thoughts and like delulu thoughts too I just like to think of them critically and in a real world
I think the only one who wouldn’t would be Langdon and that is because 1) i genuinely think that he is a great doctor and does his best for every patient 2) he had 10 months to do self-reflection and maybe he thought about his patient care and how to also be a better practitioner.
Most of us know that Whitaker has a clear implicit bias when it comes to WOC in the ER and needs to be reminded about his behavior & thoughts on it (reasoning could be where he grew up but that’s not an excuse. He is ~27 now and has had plenty of schooling.)
Don’t get me started on Robby. He can love WOC to date but lord I just know his implicit bias is just as bad. It is difficult to get a grasp on him as a doctor because we see him overseeing and doing traumas mostly, but I would like to think that within work he’s inclined to see the ailment before the person vs if it was a partner I think he’d try to determine it himself before thinking of treatment is necessary.
I think Abbot is technically in his 40s??? I know a lot of fics make him Shawn Hatosy’s age, but I think in script he’s in his mid-late 40s which means he’s either old millennial or young Gen X ANYWAYS: I think he would genuinely care. I think he isn’t inherently misogynistic. Think of it like “a man should do this not a woman” but it’s like the world’s easiest shit. Or that he’s a protector, etc. I mention all this to say that he is someone who would care about your symptoms and not immediately attribute it to stress or periods. If that what it is, then the second or third time he will think it is and find ways to mitigate it. But if his wife passed due to medical misogyny he isn’t taking any chances so-
I love Shen! But that is also cause we have like almost nothing on him so we can do whatever we want with him. I don’t want to give him the general idea that he doesn’t gaf, but I think he would do his job and see if there is a genuine issue. Definitely say to come back if it continues or worsens.
Note - ya’ll! As much as I love my DILFS this man has me in a chokehold. He had what 20 minutes of screen time if that? I can’t
Warnings - 18+ ONLY! MINORS DNI! Shen is arrogant af in this, fingering, talks of masturbation, pure smut is all I’ve got to say.
It had to be the slowest night in the history of the ER. A broken hip from the nursing home had been the most interesting thing that happened so far and that was only because the family called telling the unlucky soul who picked up the phone their plans of suing the nursing home and how if they knew what nurse let their dad fall, they were in for it. Other than that, a few stomach bugs, constipation and a migraine have made their way in and out. You sit at your desk charting, when you hear the last voice you wanted to on a night like this.
“I don’t know what’s up guys. I’ve said it’s quiet about six times tonight, still nothing. Not even a laceration!” You’re attending, John Shen. You roll your eyes listening to him talk. You couldn’t put your finger on what you disliked about him, maybe it was his ‘I don’t give a fuck’ attitude with every single case that came in the ER doors. Part of you had a little envy that he had such a careless attitude. Of course, he got the job done, he made sure those who could be saved made it. He handled families well when they were upset or if he had to inform them someone had died. He also was the type after telling someone their husband of 46 years had died to ask “Whats everyone got to eat?” Maybe it was how when you were doing a procedure, if it wasn’t fast enough for him he’d grab whatever equipment or tools you were using and start on his own. He really did try to teach, but he could sense the fear you had at times and sometimes there wasn’t any room for that to happen. Especially when a life hung on the line. You think mostly it was because you tried your to flirt with him and it didn’t go as well as you’d pictured in your head. Mostly you think it was the way he talked. You wondered often if he really was a dick head, or he just came off that way sometimes.
“Alright, go take a break. I’ve said it’s slow, it’s quiet, I’m bored. Nothing, but maybe this is the calm before the storm.” He says, leaning over the counter to grab his drink. You roll your eyes, standing up to head to the on call room. He notices you walking that way, yelling your name as you do.
“Aren’t you usually a sit outside and look at the moon on break kinda girl?” He asks. Why is he asking that? Better yet, why does he notice your routine? You turn to look at him, puzzled written across your face.
“I don’t feel great tonight, I have a headache. I’m gonna take my measly break and try to nap. Page me if something comes in.” You say before darting into the room. Finally. You flop down on the bed, trying to decide whether to shed your bottoms completely or slide a hand into your panties instead.
A dirty secret you kept since you’d started months back. You had a lot of pent up sexual energy and no one to help release it. Besides it was rare you had a moment to do this on a shift. It was nice, the thought of getting caught but knowing you wouldn’t because you kept the door shut and locked, you’d make an excuse saying you slept like shit during the day, the neighbors kept you awake. Most of the time, no one bothered you or even tried to. If they needed you, they’d page. What they didn’t know is you’d lay on the bed, spread your legs and let your fingers work on your clit. It pissed you off sometimes, trying to focus on a good fantasy, thinking about TV characters or a good porn video you’d seen in the past but somehow the thought of Dr. Shen buried inside of you always made its way to the things you got off to.
You pull your scrubs down, leaving on your red laced underwear. It was impractical to wear for work, but you never know what could happen. It had been so long since you’d had someone else pleasure you, there was a small hope that maybe you’d run into someone after work and end up in a hot one night stand (or in your case, maybe a one day stand?) You slide the thin fabric to the side, running a finger into your wet cunt and back up to your clit. You always try to make it quick incase you are needed, sometimes getting interrupted and having to finish the shift with that ache of needing to release. It made for an earth shattering orgasm when you got home and finally could let go. You’re too gone in your thoughts to hear the door start to swing open, only brought back to reality by the light beaming into the room.
“Hey, you left you- Whoa.” The absolute worst case scenario that could have happened has come to light. You get up to sitting position, feet now on the floor, throwing the thin sheet over your exposed lower half. Shen holds your pager in his hand, still trying to process what he has just walked into. He feels himself getting hard at the quick glance he caught. He shuts the door fast behind him before anyone else can see this same sight, locking it as he turns back around.
“Uh.” You can’t say anything, your brain can’t even make out a word to say. No good excuse. Nothing. He smirks, laying the pager down on the table in the room.
“So, this your remedy for that headache?” You want to punch him, slap him, anything. He’s so smug as he says it, leaning against the wall. “Don’t let me stop you.” You shake your head, trying to look for your scrub bottoms without making it noticeable.
“It’s not like that. I- I was- I have a bite or something and-“ He comes over to you, standing in-front of you. The familiar strong woody scent hits you, you hate to admit it but the scent drives you insane. You smell it on him all the time, especially when you two are close in a room working on patients. He leans down, placing a hand under your chin making you look up at him.
“It looks like to me, you were trying to get yourself off.” You swallow hard, a range of emotions flowing through your body. You’re horrified, humiliated and oddly enough aroused. “Do you not lock the door for extra fun or was that an accident?”
“Accident.” You whisper out, wishing you could look away from him, but your eyes are locked with his. He smirks, running his free hand through your hair.
“All this time, I thought you were the smartest resident I had. You still are, medically. Common sense I’m starting to think differently.” Your chest tightens, you wonder what’s going to happen next. Two things cross your mind. The first, he is going to tell anyone and everyone on night shift about this. The second, you’re getting kicked from your residency. The last thing you imagined would happen is him pulling the sheet away slowly and running his hand up your thigh.
“Leaving the door unlocked, that’s a mistake. You were in here pleasuring yourself and that’s not the first thing you made sure to do was lock the door?” The way he talks in this situation is just like he does on the floor. Condescending, arrogant. Never spewing evil and cruel words, but in a way to make you think later on ‘was he trying to say I’m an idiot without saying it?’
“Unless, you wanted someone to catch you with your fingers inside of you? I think maybe you did, I don’t know a lot of people who wear their best underwear to work.” You can’t even speak. This. Can’t. Be. Real. Of course, the idea of someone walking in was while you brought yourself over the edge was an alluring thought, but you also thought of all the horrible possibilities of people that could walk in on the act.
“You sure are quiet now. All I ever hear you do on the floor is talk, talk, talk. Just like out there, when it’s time to step up, there’s always that hesitation from you.” His fingers run under the laced fabric. “So what’s got you quiet now? Are you embarrassed?” You shake your head yes, it’s all you can do. You’re afraid if you try to speak, you may vomit from nerves.
“No, let’s use our words here.” He has a grip on your underwear now, almost like he’s just waiting for you to say go.
“Yes. It is embarrassing, Dr. Shen.” He smirks, he runs his hand across your cheek. Part of him enjoys hearing you call him ‘Dr. Shen’ especially in this situation. His lips are dangerously close to yours, you can feel the heat that your bodies are building between one another. Before you know it, his hands are off of you and it’s like a rug has been pulled from under you. He stretches his arms in the air.
“No need to be embarrassed. Everyone has to relive themselves right? I’ll let you get back to it.” He turns to walk out the door. You’re in shock, what just happened? Before your brain can say don’t do it, your mouth opens.
“Wait!” You yell out, hoping no one outside this room hears you. He smirks, turning back around to face you.
“What? Do you need help getting yourself off, like you need help with everything you do on the floor?” He knows what he’s doing. He has to. He has known how to get under your skin since the day he met you. He knows eventually you’ll snap back at him. It’s like clock work.
“Actually, no I don’t. I’m sure I pull it off better than you ever could.” He shrugs. You stand up, going to grab your scrubs out of the floor, when you raise back up he’s dangerously close to you again.
“Are you trying to convince me or yourself of that? Or are you hoping you can find out?” You can’t take it anymore, the shit talk and the tension. You slam your lips onto his, feeling his hands make their way to your ass. He grips your ass tightly, trying to somehow bring you even closer to him. You feel his bulge through his scrubs. Before you know it, you’re back on the bed, his hand feeling over the lace.
“Did I make you this wet? You’re soaked through this thong.” He breaks the kiss as he asks. You take a second to catch your breath.
“I did that all by myself.” He lets out a soft laugh, before you have a chance to say anything you’re instead letting out a moan as you feel two fingers sliding into you. “Fuck.” You manage to mutter out as he starts moving. You imagined he’d be rough, the careless attitude he presented with at work? You never dreamed he’d be about trying to make sure his partner got off too.
“It’s amazing how you try to convince me that I don’t turn you on. I see the way you look at me.” He is knuckle deep inside of you now, you’re trying to focus on not cumming so soon. That would be even more embarrassing than him walking in on you with your hand in your panties. “I see the way you brush against me in codes, even when you have all the room in the world to get past me. The way your neck turns red when I talk to you.” He feels you tighten around him, knowing you’re almost there. “I just need to hear you say it.” Before you have a chance to react, you feel him pull his fingers out of you. Leaving you feeling empty.
“What the fuck?” You ask, still trying to catch your breath. The fabric of his scrubs rubs against your skin.
“Like I said,” he starts as he pulls your thong off, throwing it across the room. “Just need to hear you say it.” It’s disgusting how he has you like puddy in his hands now. It pisses you off, but turns you on even more.
“Okay! You turn me on, I need you inside of me, please John.” He jerks his scrubs and boxers down in a swift motion, lining himself up with your entrance.
“Tell me more.” He whispers, rubbing the head of his cock over your clit.
“I get myself off to the thought of you fucking me. You make me crazy, especially when you run that fucking mouth of yours.” He could listen to you talk like this all night, but he knows before long if they haven’t already that the nurses are gonna wonder where you two are. You feel him push himself inside of you, stretching you out. He covers your mouth as you let out a loud gasp.
“Fuck. You are tight.” He groans out, slowly moving inside of you. You hadn’t been with many men, and never someone the size of Shen. It takes you a minute to adjust, which he notices. Still moving slowly, he sees your eyes roll to the back of your head and picks up the pace. “Did you ever think this would happen? Fucking your attending in the on call room?”
“No. No- I just thought it would stay a fantasy.” He runs his fingers through your hair, grasping it tightly but not enough to bring you any pain.
“I didn’t either. Since the day I saw you, I’ve wondered what it would feel like.” His fingers touching your clit gently, rubbing circles slowly. “How my cock would fit in you, what your face would look like while I fuck you.” It’s all too much. The way he feels inside you, the words he speaks. You feel your face heat up, your stomach burning.
“John.” You start, feeling his hand slide toward your neck. He picks up his pace, slamming into you. If no one heard anything before, you were certain they’d hear the bed hitting the wall.
“Mostly, I’ve wondered how you’d sound cumming for me. That’s what I get off to.”
“Holy fucking shit.” You whisper out. Before you can scream, letting the orgasm take you over completely. You feel his hand covering your mouth, applying force so that you and him are the only two that can her how undone you’ve come because of him.
“Let it out, that’s it. Maybe I should move my hand and let everyone hear how you scream my name.” The muffled ‘fucks’ leaving your lips, unheard by anyone but you two. You feel your body trembling, tears forming in your eyes. Not from pain, not from shame but from sheer pleasure. Once he notices that the best part has come and gone, he removes his hand. He looks at your fucked out face, still seeing pleasure run across your face as he continues slamming into your sensitive cunt. He slams his lips onto yours one more time before pulling away.
“You want me to let you walk out of here filled up with me?” You smirk, wrapping your legs around him and pulling him in close.
“Please.” You whisper out, it’s all he needs to hear before he releases himself into you.
“Fuck.” He moans out, finishing his orgasm shortly after you. He pulls out of you, lying down beside you trying to catch his breath. Before either of you can speak a word, your pagers are going off and you hear ‘STROKE ALERT ETA 10 MINUTES’ echo through the walls. He jumps up, pulling his scrubs back on.
“Find your stuff and get out there.” He says, you sigh as you turn to go on the hunt for your underwear and scrub bottoms.
“We can talk about it later.” You feel your heart flutter as you give him a quick smile before he shuts the door.
Okay, Lovelies...
I have been making serious progress on my collection of stories regarding the Pitt men and I'm finishing the first one today. The problem is that this one is not a drabble or blurb, instead a full-blown story over 4k words so I need opinions.
Are you guys cool if I release each story separately as part of a collection or do you want them released together in like one or two posts?
Please comment your opinions if that's okay. These are currently the drafts for them:
This is your formal invitation to the island of Skopelos to celebrate your colleague's wedding. Follow along with your coworkers from the Pitt as they enjoy celebrations, confrontation and confessions.
#MammaMia!ThePitt
Upcoming: Mamma Mia !
Honey, Honey... - Abbot x Reader
Money, Money, Money - Robby x younger! Reader
Mamma Mia - Langdon x Reader
Does Your Mother Know - Whitaker x older! Reader
Requests: Open !
I am willing to write for anyone within the pit. Feel free to pick an ABBA song, whether that be from Mamma Mia or another album and you shall receive a fic based off of it with your character of choice. However, if that is not your cup of tea, feel free to send through any specific request you have and I will provide!
On this topic, I am planning a series to go along with this event so keep your eye out under the tag ;) ps: I've been with my bf but something should be posted today xx
