Curious if anyone would be open to writing for the more niche Shawn characters, like Duffy from 11:14, Charlie from Chicago PD, Terry from Reckless, Boyd from Dexter, Eddie from Down to You.
The pictures used above do not represent the reader, they are simply there for aesthetic purposes.
I do not use AI and I donât not want my writing to be used for AI. If I find out you put my writing into some AI chat bot, I will hunt you down.
Sammy Bryant x Reader
Description: Sammy has a rough day at work, and you comfort him. It's not your fault your husband is so cute though.
(I'm sorry I'm horrible at descriptions)
Word Count: approx. 1.3k
Warnings: This is based off the episode where Sammy had to arrest Juanito, so like brief talk about murder and being arrested and also about juvie. I'm not a police officer, lawyer, detective, or anything that would allow me to have the correct info on how the legal system works, unless you count high school classes. There's definitely inaccuracies. Besides that it's really just fluffy shit. Let me know if I'm missing anything and if you notice spelling/grammar mistakes, no you didn't.
Authors note: I put some minor changes/updates in cause I came back and wasnât happy with it
You're sitting on the couch watching TV waiting for Sammy to come home. He'd closed up most of the cases he was working on recently so he'd been coming home on time.
New cases can always pop up though, so there's always a chance he'll call you to let you know he would be late. It's happened before, so you typically just start dinner when he gets home.
Pulling the blanket over yourself, you start to lay down when you hear the door open. You quickly sit back up and look to the door Sammy just walked in through.
"Hey baby, welcome home," you say. But when you finally get a good look at his face, his eyes are a little puffy, and if you got closer you could probably see a redness to the sclera. Quickly you get up off the couch and walk towards him.
âBaby, what happened? Are you ok?" your words rush out as you put your hands on his cheeks and bring his face to look at your eyes.
He didn't say anything as he holds the eye contact, and just shakes his head. His chin starts to quiver and before you know it his whole face crumples along with his body into yours. So you stand there and hold him, one hand on the back of his head, the other rubbing his back.
"Do you wanna talk about it?" you ask quietly.
"You remember that kid I told you about? The one I was trying to convince that he could do more than join a gang?" his voice is thick and gravely, yet another sign that he'd been crying before he got home.
"Yeah, I remember. Juanito, right? Did something happen to him? Is he ok?"
Sammy had talked about Juanito some, not a lot but enough. You knew that he was smart and kind, and that he felt like the only option he had in life was to join a gang.
"We found another kid this morning, dead, and someone said they saw Juanito. That they saw him do it," he starts to sob harder into the crook of your shoulder, his arms tightening around you.
"I just started running to his house, I knew he'd be there. He was in his room, holding a gun, pointing it at the door," his voice starts to get squeaky as he continued explaining. His emotions over taking him.
"Baby, I had to arrest him. I had to arrest him," he whispers.
"Oh Sammy," your voice is quiet. It feels like your heart has just been ripped out, from seeing your husband like this and from knowing that Juanito had had a shot at getting far and now he's probably in juvie. You know that this feels like a personal hit to Sammy. That he feels like he could've and should've done more.
"Come on let go sit on the couch," you tell him as you start to walk backwards with him still in your hold. You sit on the couch and lay back, bringing him with you to lay on your chest. You keep rubbing his back and scratching his head, hoping to calm him.
"I wish I had something to say, love, but I donât think thereâs much I could say that would help. I know helping Juanito meant a lot to you, and I know that he had a promising future. Maybe he still does," you knew some basics about Sammy's work, stuff you picked up from being in a relationship with him. With Juanito being so young, you can hope that he's tried as a juvenile and rehabilitated. But there's a possibility of him being tried as an adult, you have no idea how old he is because Sammy never said. All you can do is hope that whatever is best for him, is what happens, for his and Sammy's sake.
Sammy lays on your chest for a while more, simply listening to your heartbeat, letting that calm him. After his divorce with Tammy he never thought he would find someone he felt safe with. Him and Tammy were always fighting. Every night he felt like he was walking onto an unsecured crime scene when he came home. It was a very short lived marriage. The fighting got worse after he'd become a detective, so he filed.
He met you a few months after the divorce finalized, at a taco place while he was on shift. In a rare moment of confidence you gave him your number, and he called you later that day when he got off work.
After two dates he realized that what he had with you was something he had never had before. It was like everything around him settled when he looked at you. He knew then that he wanted to be around you forever, you became his tether to earth. So after a year of dating, he proposed, then you guys had a nice little wedding. You've been married a year and Sammy is the happiest he's ever been.
It's been almost twenty minutes of Sammy laying on you when you grab his face again, just wanting to see his eyes.
"How ya feelin, baby?" you ask.
"I'm fine. Just, god I should've done more," he answers. His eyebrows are pinched, even upset he's adorable. You bring your thumb up to the crease in between his brows and try smoothing it out.
"Sammy, there's not a lot you could've done. You went farther than a lot of your colleagues would've as is," trying to reassure him with the best answer you could come up with. You just want him to try not taking it so hard even though you know its impossible too. He starts to shuffle around, moving upwards towards your face. Looking you in the eyes, he gives you a peck to the lips. Then you look him in the eyes again, and the cuteness aggression hits.
"God how are you so cute? You're a grown man," you say. Your hands are back on his cheeks, squeezing them and watching his lips pucker before letting them relax. His cheeks turning an adorable shade of pink and he shifts his eyes down, avoiding direct eye contact.
You bring his face closer to yours, pecking his nose. Then another between his eyebrows. One on each eyelid. And then you dissolve into quickly peppering kisses all over his face. You watch as his face turns practically red from the attention and you start giggling while continuing the loving assault. Before long he let out a small giggle too. Like you said, how could he be so cute, he's a grown man?
"Ok, Ok!" his voice is breathy as he giggles out the words.
You finally pull back from his face and look at him.
"How about, I go make some dinner and then we can relax and watch something while we eat," you say.
He starts to sit up to give you room to get off the couch. Once you sit up, he reaches out and fixes your hair to how it usually sits, having gotten messed up from the couch. He's always so gentle with you, sometimes it makes your heart ache to think that someone might take advantage of his gentleness. But then you remember the time he got into it with Nate at a barbecue, even only messing around you realized that, he's only gentle like this with you.
"Then we're going straight to bed right? I'm whipped," he tells you. And you can tell he's tired, his face seems weighed down, not only from the emotion of the day but the sheer activity as well.
"No, we are showering after dinner, then bed. I don't know what you get on you at work but I know I don't want it in my bed," your voice is playfully stern. You don't trust that he hasn't gotten something from a suspect or the actual streets on him that's gross and probably a bio hazard. Plus it gives you a chance to pamper him a little.
"Alright, come on. come sit in the kitchen while I cook, please?" you ask him, never wanting to be far from him while hes home.
Sammy never wanted to be far from you either.
Then again, who would want to stray from the person that tethers them to earth?
I hate that I have to be that person on release day, but if I see you all passing around the Shawn Hatosy âYes, Chefâ audio like a Google Drive heirloom, I am going to personally call Shawn Hatosy to snitch on youâŚ
Quinn is a small, woman-owned platform built to pay writers and voice actors. Quinn is a team of 11 people! This is not like Netflix where pirating it is sticking it to a corporation. It is directly cutting the people who made it out of getting paid. It also violates their terms and can get content taken down, which ruins it for everyone.
Also, these audios are intimate. Voice actors are performing vulnerability and desire for an audience that is choosing to be there. Theyâre mature, interested, and engaged. Leaking that outside of that space is invasive. Do not leak it. Do not be a creep.
If it is good enough to be foaming at the mouth over within hours, it is good enough to pay a few dollars for. Do not be strange about art you claim to love.
You want to control me. You want all the power to yourself. You do. You always do. Look at me, Grace. Grace, look at me! I want you to see this, Grace. I want you to see this! Grace! I want you to see who I am. I want you to see that I am not a man who can be controlled. You mentioned the rules. There's nothing in the rules about killing a family member.
SHAWN HATOSY as TITUS DANFORTH
in READY OR NOT 2: HERE I COME (2026)
dir. Matt Bettinelli-Olpin, Tyler Gillett
him in the ring, shirtless, light on his toes, throwing incredibly powerful punches. blood flying from his opponentâs mouth, and maybe a few teeth too. an animalistic, focused look in his eyes while he panted and grunted low in his throat. sweat dripping down his brow, the veins in his arms bulging while the sun reflected off of his skin. he could sure take a punch too, like it was nothing. he lunged at the other man, tackling him to the ground and straddling him with his powerful thighs, brutal punches landing on the manâs head. you thought for sure heâd knock him out with that, but then he was flipping the other guy around, locking him in with his legs and putting him in a tight chokehold, writhing around on the ground. my god. you honestly wished that was you.
~
later, after you helped pope clean the blood off of his knuckles and iced his bruises, you sat sideways on his lap in bed, playing with the curls at the back of his neck, your other hand feeling up his warm, bare chest. he was so sweet now, hands caressing your legs.
âbaby, i canât believe how hot you looked in there, you did so good,â you cooed in his ear, already feeling your panties dampen. he huffed and you became hyper-aware of your clothed pussy pressing on his thigh. his hands felt hot on your leg and goosebumps rippled up to your center.
âhe wasnât too hard to take down. shoulda seen me last time. that guy beat the shit out of me. well, at first,â he said. he knew how strong he was, how powerful.
âthink you could take me down?â you joked. you werenât very subtle. you wanted him to manhandle you, show you just how easily he could dominate you. he chuckled at that and gave you a puzzled look. then you were turning your body towards his, straddling him, hands pinning his forearms to the headboard. he let you do it easily, partly from confusion and partly because he was always, always so gentle with you.
âcome on, what would you do to me next?â you murmured, biting little nibbles under his ear.
before you could blink, he was sitting up straight, his arms locking yours behind you, face coming to meet yours. you could feel the muscles in his thighs contracting.
âyou really wanna know?â he questioned carefully, but with a tiny smirk on his lips.
âyes,â you whispered, bubbling with excitement.
in a flash he laid you on your back, his huge body completely covering yours. his lips crashed into yours as he forced his tongue inside your mouth. you were already melting at his touch, body going slack. then a moment later he sat up to straddle you, pressing your arms above your head. you struggled, wiggling under him, but not trying very hard. just wanted to show him some fight. youâd never be able to get him off of you if you tried. he gazed down at you, heavy-lidded, then peeled your shirt off with one swift movement. his lips met yours again, your hands freed to explore his expansive back and shoulders. you could feel his hardness pressing into you as he slowly rolled his hips on your stomach. it wasnât enough. you needed him closer.
âmm, please, take me,â you moaned into his mouth. then he was carefully but quickly flipping you over, so he was on his back, while his arms maneuvered you to lay on him, back to his chest. his legs snaked around yours, spreading them wide, and one hand came to palm your cunt over your underwear.
âyeah?â he mumbled, breath hot on your ear. you groaned as his free arm came to cradle your head.
your underwear was soaked now, juices squelching while he alternated between palming your pussy and tickling light touches on your clit. he held you still while you writhed and moaned on top of him. his hand slipped under your panties to feel you properly and gather some of your wetness on his fingers. then he lifted you slightly to push down his boxers, jerking his cock once or twice with his soaked hand. he pulled your panties to the side and you moaned loudly when you felt the warm head of his cock pushing into you, then pulling out, then back in with more force this time, all of him sinking into you. you angled your hips downwards until he was balls deep. he groaned in your ear, sucking kisses on your neck and cheek. his bicep tightened around your neck and his other hand came down to your stomach to guide you down on him as he set a rhythm, pounding up into you with force. your walls slowly stretched out to welcome his long, hard cock, feeling every inch. the hand on your lower stomach traveled downwards to tease your clit, then rub big circles. you could feel your folds stretching and squishing around his dick with every circle. your eyes rolled back into your head as you let him take you, control you, dominate you. you felt like you were floating on air.
the incredible pressure in your clit was overwhelming and your pussy squeezed him tighter and tighter. warmth exploded deep inside you as you came, body tensing and twitching. he mumbled praises in between grunts and when you were done, he gripped you tight and pounded up into you until his cum was dripping out of you around his cock.
Summary: Taking your friend's advice and buying a sex toy might end up being the best thing you've ever doneâeven if it doesn't seem like it at first.
Tags: 18+ MDNI, smut with very little plot, stuck sex toy, jack helps you, p in v, fingering, use of a sex toy, no condom but birth control, gloves, lube, embarrassment, neighbour!jack, some fluff, banter, teasing
word count: 4.6k
a/n: fic based on that scene from episode eightđŽâđ¨ had this idea stuck in my head for a few days now and i hope you enjoy it just as much as i did writing it. can't remember the last time i wrote smut, so be kind :D As always, feedback is greatly appreciated! <333
The Pitt | Masterlist
Main | Masterlist
Why do bad things happen to good people? Shouldn't there be a law against that? A rule that if you're a good person, then you deserve good things in life.
You're a good personâyou water your plants regularly, walk your neighbour's dog when she gets home late, and, most importantly, you truly listen when your friends share their advice.
Advice that, at the time, seemed sound, but now has you cursing yourself for taking.
Because you had bought the Sensual Egg sex toy (which is such a ridiculous name) that your friend had raved about after listening to you bemoan your lack of a sex life. It's been ages since your last hookup, and going to a nightclub just for a mediocre experience that would leave you disappointed anyway, had you interested enough to try it out.
Itâs not because the only person you'd even consider, who hopefully would treat you right, was so out of your league that it was laughableâJack Abbot. The kind of guy with biceps you dream of sinking your teeth into, and curly grey hair that makes you want to tug on it.
Also, very crucially, your neighbour and an ER doctor busy saving livesâso far out of your league that all hope you ever have of having him in bed is just in your fantasies.
So, youâd reasoned that you might as well try this.
And it was greatâat least for about twenty minutes. Those vibrations brought you bliss, which you hadn't experienced in months. But then, disaster struck.
The plastic string broke as you attempted to take it out.
Now, here you areâoverstimulated, face flushed, and your hands cramping as you contort into some inhuman position trying to help yourself. The only good thing about it is that you, at least, could shut off the vibrations.
Still, you were so fucked. And somehow, desperate enough that you grab your phone and shoot off a text to Jack before you can second-guess yourself.
You (9.14): Are you home?
Thereâs a good chance heâs at workâsomething youâre simultaneously hoping for while also desperately hoping heâs not. Youâre caught between two embarrassing options right now, and for some reason, texting him feels less embarrassing than heading to the ER and having to explain your situation. Â
Jack's reply comes moments later.
Jack (9.16): Yes. What's up?
You fling the phone into the distance, landing face down on your bed. Honestly, you werenât expecting a response.
Are you really going to tell him outright that you have a sex toy stuck inside you and that you need help? No way, thatâs mortifying. Oh god, what were you thinking? You should have just sucked it up and driven yourself to the ER. Why did you have to involve him?
As you spiral into panic, you hear sharp knocks on your front door.
"Hey! Open up! Are you okay?" Jackâs voice pierces through the thin wood, laced with concern.
You leap up, eyes wide. Grabbing your phone, you see a flood of missed texts and calls.
Jack (9.17): ?
Jack: (9.18): Are you okay?
One missed call from Jack. Â
Jack (9.18): Sweetheart?
Two missed calls from Jack.
Jack (9.19): Please, pick up the phone.
Three missed calls from Jack.
Jack (9.20): I'm coming over.
Fuck. Why did you set your phone to silent? The knocks continue, growing more incessant, and breaking through your silent panic.
"Sweetheart? I'm breaking down the door if you don't answer me in the next five seconds.â
Okay, you can't afford thatâneither financially nor emotionally. The whole building does not have to come running to witness your greatest act of humiliation ever. "I'm coming!â
You quickly throw on a dressing robe and rush to the door. Jack stands there, a medical kit in hand, his eyes filled with worry. He takes in your dishevelled appearance, the flush on your cheeks, and how your legs are wobbling slightly beneath you.
"What's going on?" he asks, scanning your appearance for something more worrying.
"Uh... Nothing," you reply, biting your lip, sending him a shaky smile. "Just forget I texted you. Iâm really sorry for making you come over."
"Sweetheart," Jack replies firmly, locking eyes with you, and not moving an inch. "Whatâs going on?" he repeats.
You suck in your cheeks, debating whether or not to tell him. You sigh, then gesture for him to come inside; you donât want the whole building to overhear.
"Oh God..." you mumble, stepping from foot to foot, because you can't pace at the moment. "IâI donât even know how to say this. Um... Wow, this is so embarrassing."
"Whatever it is, itâll be alright. I wonât judge you," Jack reassures you, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. The kit rests at his feet, and though he seems less tense now that he sees youâre up and standing, worry still knits his brows.
You bite your finger harshly, gathering your courage before speaking. "I made a colossal mistake by listening to a friend and bought something," you manage to say.
"You bought something?" Jack tilts his head.
"Yes, and..."
"And?"
Your eyes close briefly, shame curling up your spine. "And now... it's stuck."
"Stuck?"
"Yes." You feel your stomach knotting, nerves twisting, as he forces the confession out of you.
"Where?"
"...Inside me."
You risk a glance at him, but Jackâs reaction is minimal.
"Inside you," he echoes, his jaw tightening.
You twist the fabric of your robe, looking down again. When silence stretches, you start to ramble. "I canât get it out. The string broke. I triedâI really did. I know this is crossing a line, but youâre a doctor, and I thought maybe you could help so I wouldnât have to go to the ERâ"
"Please tell me itâs not a light bulb," he interjects.
You blink in surprise, then notice the grin spreading across his face as he tries to lighten the mood.
"People actually⌠do that? I thought that was just a rumour."
"Way more than you'd think," he says.
You canât help but let out a breathless snort, though your nerves quickly bubble back to the surface. "No, itâs not that. So⌠do you think you couldâ" you shrug a shoulder, grimacing, "...help me?"
Jack stills, his gaze drifting away from yours for the first time since he arrived. There's a twitch in his jaw, a slight shift in his posture, and you know he's about to let you down.
You donât wait for him to speak. "Never mind," you say quickly, shaking your head. "Thatâs just⌠too weird. Iâm really sorry I asked." You motion toward the door, eager to usher him out so you can wallow in the added mortification before eventually Ubering to the ER.
Jack swallows hard but doesnât leave. Instead, he steps forward. "NoâI... I just wasnât expecting that. He rubs the back of his neck, seemingly at war with himself, before he nods. "I'll do it. I'll help you."
Your eyes widen, and the relief is so immediate itâs dizzying. "Really?" you ask, and then, because you can't help yourself, you add, "Are you sure? You really don't have to. It's fine."
"No, I... I'm sure," he says, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that sends a thrill down your spine.
"Thank you," you exhale. "I'll clean your entire house or bake you a cake. Or maybe bothâ"
âHoney, thereâs no need for all of that,â he gently interrupts, then picks up his kit again. âWhere do you want to do this?â
You gesture vaguely toward the hallway. âBedroomâs this way.â
The walk feels like it lasts an hour. Youâre acutely aware of everythingâof how thin your robe is, how your thighs brush against each other when you walk, and how awkwardly each step feels. You cross your arms, then uncross them, and nervously smooth your hair as if to erase the fact that you just admitted to having a sex toy stuck inside you.
When you glance back, his eyes are not on your face, but snap up instantly. A faint flush creeping up his neck at being caught, a slight hope blooming that he doesn't find you completely unattractive after hearing about your dilemma, but also aware that he was probably just noticing your weird gait.
You open the door, suddenly conscious of the clothes piled in the corner, your rumpled sheets, and the pillows scattered across the room in frustration.
You pull out the small stool you sometimes use to reach the higher shelves in your closet for him. "Here."
Hovering near the bed, you feel unsure about what to do with yourself. Should you sit? Stand? Apologise again?
You settle on the latter. âI'm so sorry,â you blurt out.
âFor what?â
âFor⌠this. For pulling you into my bad decisions. For texting you instead of going to the ER like a normal person.â
He steps closer, his voice taking a reassuring tone. "Don't worry about it. I've got you."
Looking into his eyes, you see a warmth that only sends your heart racing more.
You shrug lightly. âStill.â
Silence stretches as you look at him, until you realise youâre still standing there. âRight, okay. Let's do this."
He nods, shifting fully into doctor mode, but thereâs still something simmering beneath it. âOkay, I need you to lie down.â
You sit on the edge of the bed, then hesitate. Thereâs no graceful way to do this. You slide back, pulling the robe tighter around you, as if it might save a shred of your dignity, propped slightly up on your elbows.
Jack sets down his kit and rolls up his sleeves. You definitely shouldnât be noticing his forearms, but you canât help it. It's your weakness. He pulls out blue gloves, snapping them on with a precision that speaks to his years of experience.
âOkay,â he says, his voice lowered now as he sits down on the stool. "Sweetheart, I need you to pull your robe away," he instructs gently.
You hesitate for just a moment before pulling it off and letting it slide down your thighs. The fabric pools beside you on the bed, making your oversized t-shirt shift higher along your legs.
His gaze flickers downward for a moment, then snaps back to your face. âAnd your underwear,â he adds, his voice turning more gravelly. He clears his throat once.
You swallow nervously. "Iâm not wearing any," you admit shyly, feeling a bit flustered. Youâd been so caught up earlier that you hadnât even thought about it. Just grabbed your robe and stumbled out to the door.
Thereâs the faintest pause as he processes your words, a change in his breathing evident. âAlright,â he says carefully. âOpen your legs.â
A rush of heat floods your face, and you lie down fully. You take a deep breath and let your legs fall open. The cool air against your skin feels too revealing, exposing a part of yourself that you weren't prepared for him to see tonight.
For a moment, silence hangs between you. You canât bring yourself to look at him. You hear the soft sound of a bottle being squeezed, lube being applied to his finger, and catch the quiet inhale that he probably didnât intend for you to notice.
"Okay. I'm going to start with my index finger. If anything feels uncomfortable, just let me know," he says. You can't help but hope that he's affected by the sight of youâthat he wants you as much as you want him.
You nod, afraid that your voice won't work if you try to speak. A gasp escapes you, one you desperately try to suppress as his finger brushes lightly against you. The touch is carefulâprofessionalâbut your body doesnât seem to care about that. All it recognises is that someone else is touching you.
Slowly, he slides a finger inside, moving gently. "Alright, good," he says. "I can feel the tip of it. Iâm going to add another finger now, okay?"
"Mm," you hum in response, eyes blinking shut in humiliation.
Minutes stretch on. His fingers move slowly inside you, trying to coax it out, then he exhales slowly and withdraws.
âOkay,â he mutters. âYouâre too tense. I canât get a good grip on it. If we canât get you to relax, we might have to go to the hospital."
Propping yourself up on your elbows, you ask, âSo what does that mean?â
He hesitates.
âWhat?â you press.
âIn some cases,â he says, his voice even, eyes deliberately averted to the wall instead of meeting yours, âif the pelvic muscles relax⌠it becomes easier.â
âRelax, how exactly?â
His gaze shifts to yours, eyes darker than they were before. ââŚAn orgasm would likely resolve the issue.â
The sentence lingers in the air between you like a live wire, crackling with tension.
Your heart pounds against your ribs. âYouâre joking.â
âIâm not.â
âAnd how,â you ask, struggling to keep your voice steady, âwould that happen?â
He falls silent for a moment. Thenâ
âI could help,â he offers, then quickly adds, âfor medical reasons, of course. I would be able to grab the toy immediately.â
âIâŚâ you stare up at the ceiling, your mind racing. This is beyond insane. Your attractive neighbour is proposing to help you reach orgasm, but not for the reasons you've fantasised about. You let out a breath, giving in to the whirlwind of thoughts. You really donât want to go to the hospital. You sigh. âOkay⌠Iâuh... I want this out.â
Jack nods, swallowing hard. âOkay. Lie down again. Close your eyes. Think of something that helps you relax. Orâuh⌠someone.â His voice is casual, but the pause lingers just long enough to make you wonder what heâs really asking.
"I don't have anybody in my life," you say, though still unsure if that's what he'd been searching for.
He hums softly, a quiet "Good," leaving his lips, hidden beneath the hiss of the lube bottle. It makes the hope grow in intensity.
"Iâm going to touch you now,â he adds quietly. âIs that okay?â
"Okay," you breathe out.
His fingers return to your pussy, but they donât move with the same clinical detachment as before. This time, they linger, careful, testing your reactions with each deliberate movement. They brush against your sides first. Feathery. Rubbery.
Your thighs tense instinctively. "Do you... Do you think you could do it without the gloves?" You ask, your voice barely above a whisper. âI just⌠I keep thinking about them. And then I think about how ridiculous this is.â
Jack doesnât reply immediately; a few seconds pass, and then you hear the unmistakable sound of latex being pulled away.
After a moment, thereâs nothing but quiet. Then you hear his breathing. It's heavier than before.
When he touches you again, itâs different. His fingers are warmer, rough and calloused against your soft skin. Your breath stutters. His thumb drifts, not quite committing to a place, just exploring. Learning where to touch you. Seeing where he can get a reaction.
You hear him swallow.
âStill okay?â he asks, his voice rough, as if heâs straining to keep it steady.
âYeah,â you whisper back.
He exhales slowly through his nose. He brushes his thumb down your slit, slightly pushing against your soaking hole before finding your clit. Your wetness makes it glide easily. Thereâs a rhythm to his movements now, a steady pattern that has your thighs clenching. You bite your lip to stifle a sound, but a soft moan escapes anyway.
You can tell it affects him even if his face is hidden from view. His free hand curls against the mattress beside your hip like he needs something solid to hold onto. It makes you start to believe he's just as affected by this as you are.
âThis is just to relax the muscles,â he murmurs, almost as if he's trying to convince himself more than you.
âMhm,â you murmur, though you don't really believe that anymore. Your back arches slightly before you can stop it.
"That feels good?" he breathes.
"Yeah," you sigh.
He continues to touch you. Light touches that send fire through your veins. Then, without saying anything, he inserts a finger, and then, after a moment, another. His thumb continues pressing on your clit as he strokes them in and out. Curling slightly, just enough that another moan escapes your lips again.
"You're doing so good for me," he says quietly, and this time it doesnât sound like something a doctor would say. It sounds like it comes from him. Like he's just being Jack now.
âIâm close,â you confess, breathless, your hands gripping the sheets tightly. Your pulse thrums everywhere, and your skin feels too tight against your body. It's been so long since someone has touched you like thisâsomeone who truly knows what theyâre doing.
âYeah? Come on then, pretty girl,â he encourages, maintaining eye contact this time as he watches your reaction. He can't quite hide the way it affects him; his breathing quickens, and his composure visibly frays.
You come hard, your fingers clutching at the sheets tightly, losing yourself in the rush of stars that swirl across the ceiling.
Once it's over, and your breath has returned to normal, his hand remains on you just a moment longer than needed. Then he clears his throat, blinking like heâs trying to return to himself.
âOkay,â he says, forcing steadiness into his tone. âLetâs see if that did the trick.â
Youâre still floating, muscles loose, pulse echoing in your ears.
He tries again, a look of intense concentration washing over his features. His touch is more confident now, your body more receptive, hips meeting his touch involuntarily. You watch the way his brows pull together, the way his lower lip catches briefly between his teeth.
âAlmost there,â he murmurs. You shift slightly.
Hope flares, but thenâ
A low hum suddenly fills the room, causing both of you to freeze.
The toy. You completely forgot about the controller still lying on the bed. You must have accidentally hit it.
The vibration pulses deep within you, a subtle sensation that makes your back arch involuntarily, breath stuttering. Your hips surge forward, pushing his fingers deeper into you.
Jackâs head snaps up. âDid you justââ
âI didnât mean to,â you gasp, already feeling flustered. âIt must haveââ
The vibration deepens, rolling through you in waves. His fingers still inside you.
"I'm sorry," you say, your fingers frantically searching for the control. But Jack's hand gently lands on your wrist, stopping you from moving.
He swallows hard. âThis mightâŚâ He exhales slowly. ââŚThis might actually help.â
âHow?â you breathe, trying to think through the haze of lust that has you in its tight grip.
âThe muscle contractions,â he replies automatically. âIf theyâre strong enough, it could shift it lower.â
You almost laugh at how clinical that sounds when nothing about this feels clinical anymore.
Jackâs hand finds the controller. The vibration spikes, and you jolt.
This time, his composure visibly cracks; his grip tightens slightly on it, and his breathing becomes less controlled. "Does that feel good?"
"Iâyes," you gasp, unable to hide the pleasure you're feeling, too far gone to feel embarrassed about it.
He adjusts his grip, and the hum builds in intensity. You feel exposed as he watches your face closely, fingers settling back on your clit. He presses softly.
The next wave crashes harder against you. Without thinking, you grip his forearm. He inhales sharply at the contact.
âJackââ
âI know,â he says quickly, his voice strained. âIâve got you. â
You squirm, overwhelmed by your emotions, struggling to keep still. His other hand finds its way to your thigh, anchoring you in place.
âTell me what youâre thinking,â he urges, his tone unusually pleading.
You pause for a moment, then the sensation spikes again. âYou,â you breathe out, the admission escaping your lips. âIâm thinking about you.â
You hear him inhale sharply at your confession. âGood. I donât want you thinking about anyone else.â
He continues to stroke and caress you, igniting a wave of pleasure that surges through your body. The intensity of it all pushes you over the edge again, sudden and all-consuming. Your body stiffens, then releases in a rush.
For a split second, neither of you moves. Then his fingers move inside you again.
âThere,â he murmurs, breath unsteady. âIt shifted.â
He pulls back slightly, and the humming ceases. A thick silence envelops you both. He straightens slowly, holding the object like evidence of a crime you both committed. His chest rises and falls too quickly, a faint blush colouring the bridge of his nose and the tops of his cheeks.
Youâre both breathing heavily.
Neither of you looks at the toy. Instead, your eyes lock on each other. His gaze is darker than youâve ever seen, filled with hunger.
Confidence washes over you. "Are you sure you got it all out?" you ask lightly. "Or do you think we should try again? Maybe with something longer than a finger?"
His expression stills completely. Slowly, he sets the toy down on your bedside table, studying you closely. His brows knit together as he decides whether to cross the line that he'd drawn between you. You lightly brush your fingers along the edge of the bed, letting your hand linger near him. Jack notices your touch, swallows hard, and his gaze flickers down to your hand before returning to your eyes.
âYou think this is funny?â he asks, but thereâs no trace of humour in his voice.
âI think,â you say carefully, âthat this stopped being medical a while ago. And I didn't mind it at all.â
He exhales through his nose, sharp, dragging a hand down his face.
âYouâre playing with fire,â he murmurs, his eyes drifting back to your lips before locking onto your eyes again.
âMaybe thatâs what I like."
He braces himself beside your hip, leaning in just close enough for you to feel the warmth radiating from him without any actual contact. His voice drops, low and steady and very much not clinical.
âIf we try again,â he says, âit wonât be as your doctor.â
âGood,â you whisper.
The word barely leaves your mouth before something shifts in his expression. His hand beside your hip tightens against the mattress. He searches your face like heâs making sure you understand what youâre offering.
âYouâre sure?â he asks quietly.
You nod.
He moves slowly, giving you the chance to pull away. His hand comes up, brushing a strand of hair back from your faceâan almost absurdly gentle gesture considering what just happened between you.
Then he leans in. The kiss isnât rough. It isnât desperate. Itâs careful. His lips brush yours lightly.
His restraint lasts all of three seconds.
The moment you make that soft sound against his mouthâthe one you tried to swallow beforeâsomething in him snaps. His hand slips from your jaw into your hair, not roughly, but with enough pressure to angle your head exactly where he wants it. The kiss deepens, heat flaring fast and undeniable now. No more carefulness. No more pretending not to want each other.
You draw him closer by gripping the collar of his shirt, fingers curling into the nape of his neck.
He breaks the kiss suddenly, not to pull away but to gaze into your eyes. His breathing is unsteady, his pupils dark and wide.
âSay it,â he demands quietly.
âSay what?â
âThat you want this.â
You donât hesitate. âI want this. I want you.â
Thatâs all he needs. He kisses you again, harder this time. His hand glides down your side, reverent in its exploration, as if he has envisioned this moment countless times before. His thumb traces the curve of your hip.
âYou have no idea,â he murmurs against your lips, âhow hard itâs been to keep my hands to myself every time you walk by my door.â
Your breath hitches.
He continues, "Especially when you wear those little dresses and send me those little flirtatious smiles."
âYouâve noticed?â you manage to ask.
He gives you a disbelieving look, almost as if he's offended. âYou really think I didnât?â
It sends heat rushing through you, the idea that he's been wanting you just as much as you've been wanting him. He kisses along the edge of your mouth, trailing down your jaw and neck.
Your hands slip beneath his shirt, nails raking his back as you push the fabric up. He lets out a sharp breath as he assists you in pulling it off. He shifts, and suddenly heâs above you properly, weight braced carefully so he doesnât crush you.
âLast chance,â he says quietly. âIf you want me to stopââ
âI donât.â
He searches your face once more. Then whatever line he'd drawn between you disappears entirely. His hands move with intention now, and when he kisses you again, thereâs no hesitation left.
You respond eagerly, and before he can reclaim control, you shift your weight, pressing him back into the mattress. His eyebrows raise in surprise as you straddle him.
âOh,â he breathes when you press down.
Thereâs something deeply satisfying about the way his hands hover, like he doesnât know whether to touch you or hold still. You lean down and kiss him slower this time, hips grinding slowly.
His hands find your hips, firm and steady now. âYouâre full of surprises,â he murmurs against your lips.
When your hand slides lower, he inhales sharply, head falling back against the pillow for half a second before he drags his gaze back to yours.
âI donât have a condom, sweetheart,â he says, breath uneven, like heâs trying to pull himself back from the edge. You pause, realising you don't have one either.
âI have an IUD,â you say quietly. âAnd Iâm clean.â
His hands tighten slightly at your waist. âYou sure?â he asksânot doubting you, but making sure this is real, and that youâre not just caught up in the rush of adrenaline.
You nod, meeting his eyes. "I trust you."
Jack's fingers glide across your waist slowly, tracing an invisible pattern. "Okay, sweetheart."
You shift your weight, letting your hips settle over him, allowing him to stretch you out. You both gasp at the feeling.
His fingers tighten on your waist, trying to keep his hips still, and let you set the pace. For a few moments, it works.
âIs this how you treat all your patients?â you tease softly.
He smirks, his breath warm against your ear. âOnly the special ones.â
Your pulse jumps at the teasing tone, heat pooling low. "Hmm, I definitely feel special, then."
"Oh, trust me, you are."
"Show me just how special I am," you whisper, your breath barely escaping your lips, before a switch flips inside him. He flips you around, puts your legs around his shoulders, as he snaps inside you, setting a faster pace. His thumb presses down, finding your clit easily.
"Like this, sweetheart?" he murmurs, his voice strained.
You canât speak. You just cling to him, surrending to the feeling, your pussy clenching tightly as you come again.
"Fuck," he groans, then his hips stutter as he comes, too.
"That was incredible," he murmurs after a moment as he navigates you into lying positions. "You're incredible."
You grin, tilting your head. âMaybe I should get things stuck more often, if this is the outcome.â
His laugh is short and breathless, âI might have to start charging for emergency consultations, then.â
You laugh softly. âI think thatâs a fee Iâd be willing to pay.â
He's silent for a moment before he speaks again. âYou donât need to get things stuck, sweetheart. But if you do, I'd come help you anyway. Free of charge."
You blink, heart fluttering, hearing the unspoken proposition behind it. âYeah?â
"Yeah," he nods.
You lean just a little closer, brushing your forehead against his. âGood to know,â you murmur softly, a soft smile gracing your lips.
âVery good to know,â he echoes, thumb tracing a light line across your hip.
Summary: Your pregnancy hormones have left you an emotional mess, and one look in the mirror sends you spiraling. Your doting husband is there to pick up the pieces.
CW: Pregnancy, smut, body insecurities, oral f!receiving, fingering, praise, body worship, jack being an absolute munch.
Note: I'm on a bit of a roll with these husband Jack fics, heh! This one turned out longer than I expected. What can I say, it's a personal dream of mine. I'm planning on doing something different for my next one though, so be on the look out for that!! Credit to @/saradika-graphics for the divider.
Word Count: 2.9k
Ao3 Link: read here!
It just doesnât look right. The dress doesnât sit right over your belly no matter how much you fiddle with it. Your eyes take in your reflection and you look tired. Every bit of your exhaustion shows. When you look at yourself itâs all you seeâthe bags under your eyes, your messy hair, dull skin, and the weight gain. Thereâs none of that pregnancy glow everyone speaks of. More than anything, you can feel it.
An ache somewhere new each day that refuses to go away once itâs settled. Swollen feet that make even the simplest of tasks feel monumental. Nausea that comes in waves, and it might as well be knocking you right down on your ass once it hits. You feel bloated and more unattractive than youâve ever felt in your life. Now that youâve looked in the mirror, whatever plans you had for the day begin to float away from you. Any excitement you had youâve let fly the coop.Â
You think that might be the most disappointing part of it; the âwhat couldâve beenâ. A lunch date with Jack downtown, a walk in the park, an hour or so spent shopping for the baby. A day out with your husband wrapped up in the pretty maternity dress he picked out for you. You can recall the glint in his eye as heâd held it up proudly, going on and on about how pretty you would look in it. Will he be let down when you pad downstairs for the grand reveal and he sees you in it?
Thatâs the thought that makes you realize how warped your line of thinking has become, but the thread has unraveled and the tears have gathered all the same. One by one, they begin spilling down your cheeks. There isnât a reality in which you can imagine Jack looking upon you with anything except fondness and admiration, but your brain conjures up a false memoryâone of your husband's warm gaze turning to cold disdain. It takes you a couple minutes to gather yourself and muster the courage to head downstairs.Â
Your hand grips the bannister. The other rests on your belly. You take the steps slowly, easing one foot down and then the other. When you reach the bottom of the staircase, the hallway sprawls in front of you; the cluttered entry way and sparse walls where one day a dozen photos will hang. You, Jack, your baby, and the life youâll build together.
You can hear the TV before you turn the corner into the living room. The billowing voices of sports commentators and the buzzing excitement of a cheering crowd. Your fingers curl the trim of the open doorway as you peer into the room. Jack stands in front of the couch, intently focused on the screen. Car keys dangle in one hand. His wallet fills out the back pocket of his cargos.Â
Sunlight slips in through the slatted blinds, catching in his curls like sterling silver. The couch is swathed in throw pillows and a collection of soft blankets. A mess of knick knacks are scattered across the sturdy oak coffee table. Books, coasters, and potted plants. Your eyes lower to the set of mismatched rugs. You never could decide on one of anything. Itâs a messy amalgamation of you, your husband, and your everpresent indecisiveness, but it is home.
For a few seconds, you hesitate. Existing purely in the moments before what you know is going to be a whole debacle is a whole lot easier than announcing your presence. Truly, it is so easy to stand there and admire your Jack. Heâs wearing a black t-shirt thatâs a bit too small. You can tell in the way the cotton clings to his chest. It shows off his strong arms, a sight he knows you love a little too much. His hair is meticulously done. You can bet that heâs wearing your favourite cologne out of his array of scentsâa sweet little indulgence only for you and his days off since he canât wear any to work.
A lump forms in your throat, and you struggle not to choke on a wet gasp. Heâs ready to go and spend the day with you, unaware that youâre not feeling up to it anymore. Guilt compounds on your barely quelled insecurities.Â
You do not want to be the reason the two of you canât enjoy his day off. You barely manage to stifle another pitiful sound. It draws his attention. His gaze slides from the screen to you, and you must look like youâre about to cryâor that you have been cryingâor the truth, which would be a combination of the two, because heâs at your side in seconds, hands hovering as he looks you over for any signs of injury.
âWhatâs wrong?â He asks. His voice has turned so soft, taking on a dulcet tone like youâre a spooked fawn and he doesnât want you to dart off. He cups your elbow and pulls you closer. His broad hand is instantly on your belly which has become its natural resting place from the moment youâd shown him the positive pregnancy test. Heâs quick to add, âyou look beautiful.â
A shaky breath leaves you and your eyes turn watery again. âI think I hate it.â
He straightens right up. You can see the cogs turning through the windows of his pretty hazel eyes. They look almost blue in the sunlight. So pretty. Puddles of blue, branches of green, and flecks of brown. It takes him a few seconds to fully comprehend your words. His gaze lowers then rises back up the length of your body. His brows pinch, and he looks confused then something shifts in his expression.
âOh man, did I choose that poorly?â He asks, letting out a gentle chuckle as he reaches to jut your face up. His thumb swipes past the corner of your eye, catching a tear thatâs about to slip down your cheek. âIs it the colour?â
Itâs his natural instinct to try and lighten the mood. He hates to see you upset, so you can only imagine his horror when your face crumples further and a sob bubbles up. The tears blurring your vision prevent you from witnessing the full extent of his reaction yourself.
âNo, you did great, Jackie,â you cry, shaking your head.Â
âWhatâs wrong then, sweetheart?â he asks again, curling an arm around your waist and pulling you close. He plants a kiss at your temple. âWhatâs going on in that head of yours?â
The words well in your throat, but they snag. You hesitate. Admittance is acid on your tongue, and yet you doubt he will let this go. You know he wonât. Itâs not in his nature. His nature is doting on you. Looking after you. Loving on you.Â
âI hate how it looks on me,â you clarify, eyes stinging with a fresh set of tears. You blink and the droplets catch on your lashes like dew. A quiet passes between you, he shifts and you take a stilted step back, bringing your hands up to rub at your weepy eyes. When your vision clears, his face carries none of the blatant shock you expect to see. Itâs something more subdued. A tick in his jaw. A twitch of his brow. His eyes are filled with the purest concern though.Â
His hand snaps out to grab your wrist and bring you close.
âHey. Hey. Câmere,â he murmurs, cupping your face in both hands and angling your face towards his again. âYouâre the most beautiful woman on this entire planet. Howâve you managed to convince yourself otherwise, hm?â
You resist the urge to roll your eyes. His words seem over the top, but he is being completely and utterly earnest. He truly believes the nonsense thatâs leaving his mouth. Itâs as if he can read your mind. Probably because itâs a book heâs parsed the pages of many times over the years, but irritating nevertheless.
âWhat do I have to do to make you believe me?âÂ
âYou canât.âÂ
âYou know I like a challenge.â He grabs your hand and lifts it above your head to twirl you. You halfheartedly go along with it, doing a slow spin before facing him again. You give him a pointed look. âYou look gorgeous in this dress, baby.â
You sniffle and shake your head. The words and reassurances arenât piercing the fog clouding your mind.
âYou do,â he insists, smoothing his hands over your belly. He ducks down to kiss at your neck, beneath your jaw, and along your shoulder. Anywhere he can access, stubble rasping against your soft skin. You grip his forearms, and feel them flex beneath your hands. âNeed me to show you?â
The way your tummy flutters at his question is completely out of your control. His voice low and dripping with insinuation. Your hormones have made you especially sensitive and emotional. Theyâve had you tripping up over even the smallest of things. You were out of your favourite snack. Instant tears. You misplaced your car keys. You were balling thirty seconds into your search for them. You cried nearly every time Jack left for work, cried about how crying made it more difficult on him, and cried when he got home. Your frequent tears are nothing new to him by this point. Youâve been expecting him to get fed up one of these days, but he never does, and that fact makes you want to cry too.
That is one issue in and of itself. Another is how needy your hormones make you. When you aren't upset or sore or sleepy, your pawing at your husband is near constant. At times he can hardly keep up, but he would never complain about such a thing. He considers the space between your legs his favourite place to be, as he's so lovingly informed you in the past. And now youâre experiencing an overwhelming mix of both. Youâre brimming with emotion yet buzzing with an underlying arousal ignited by his suggestion.
âI like this dressâŚâ His fingers pick at the straps, sliding them over the slope of your shoulders. He plucks at the skirt, tugging it past your baby bump before dropping it and letting it puddle at your feet. âI especially like whatâs beneath it.â
Slowly, he begins to walk you backwards, his own steps parallel to yours. Your legs brush up against the edge of the couch. You sink down onto the couch cushions and he follows down to his knees. The next thing to go is your bra, allowing your swollen and tender breasts to spill out. A muted sound rumbles in his chest. He begins by laying kisses along your clavicle then down the valley between your breasts. His fingers slot along your ribs, brushing the undersides of your tits.
âThink your eyesight might be going, honey.â Next, heâs grabbing handfuls of the pillowy flesh, thumbs rubbing over your nipples. A soft mewl falls from your lips. âCause youâre fuckinâ divine.â
He tweaks a nipple, rolling it between his fingers before bringing his lips to your other one. Your back bows when he mouths at it before latching on and flicking the tip of his tongue out. Releasing the bud, he nips gently at you.Â
âJackâŚ!â you hiss, swatting his shoulder. He only smiles, squinting up at you and you can tell that heâs conspiring his next move. He blows on the damp skin, and hot air meets the cooling saliva. The way your body jolts brings a grin to his face.Â
âSuch pretty tits,â he mumbles and gives them one last squeeze before allowing his hands to fall down to your thighs. His face lowers, nudging your knees apart. The sight of him peering up at you like that, a little wistful and dreamy eyed, has your head spinning. Warm breath fans over your clothed cunt, causing a shudder to course through you.Â
A rough palm rubs up the inside of your thigh, fingers toying gingerly with the edge of your underwear. His lips skim your supple skin.
âYou really donât see it?â His voice is so delicate, more so than youâve ever heard it be. Guilt swells in your chest and threatens to rise up your throat. You canât help how you feel, but itâs as if your hurt feelings sadden him. Sometimes you hate how tuned in he is to you. Mostly you love it, but right now youâre leaning in the other direction.
If you answer no it would be a lie. He has been almost as bad as you throughout your pregnancy. Not to say he hasnât always been easily worked up over you, but itâs been emphasized. Heâs always touching. Always watching. Always wanting you right back. His eyes are constantly attached to you and heâll get this look oftentimesâone that speaks to his molten desire. Regardless, whatever he sees when he looks at you is not what you see. Thereâs a disparity in the perception of yourself.
Itâs this disparity that leaves you at a bit of a standstill. The two of you have always been stubborn. This instance is no different, and neither of you appear too keen on budging.Â
âI donât feel prettyâŚâ you whisper. His gaze softens. âEveryday, it feels like my body is fighting me.â
âI know, baby,â he breathes out, and it feels so validating to hear him say something so simpleâto simply acknowledge you. âYour body is working so hard. Doinâ so much for us.â
Your lips quiver and you nod, exhaling sharply. His hands caress up and down your thighs.
âYou donât have to believe it yourself, but trust in me, okay?â he says, holding your gaze firm. âYou are beautiful. Then and now. In that dress and out of it.â
His words are a balm to the turmoil roiling within you. Theyâre finally getting through to you, breaking down the walls that had gone up as youâd stood in front of the bathroom mirror upstairs. Brick by brick. You sidle a hand up to his cheek. âYouâre lovely.â
He smiles at that, the corners of his eyes creasing.Â
âNow,â he starts, ready to get down to business. âLift your hips for me.â
You shift your hips at his instruction and he drags your panties down your legs, flicking them away. His fingers inch up, thumbs teasing at your labia, flaying you open for him so he can lean down and bring his mouth to your glistening folds. Your body tenses above him. His warm mouth on you is electrifying. His tongue flattens, sliding along your slit before stopping to lash at your clit. Your hands grapple with the cushions below.
The sensation is crushing, but the absence of it is even more so when he withdraws just barely.
âYou are incredible,â he says and places a kiss on your clit. âHave half the mind to keep you knocked up âcause Iâm not ready to mourn the sight of you like this.â
Jack looks ravenous, gaze slanted up towards you, hands dimpling the flesh of your thighs as they twitch and try to press closed. Heâs back on you in the next moment.
âAs ifâmm! As if that wasnât your plan all along, Jack.â Three. Youâd said or heâd said at some point years ago, lying in bed, curled naked in his arms. You canât really rememberânot with your husband sheltered between your legs and his lips sealed over your clit. And you certainly canât when his fingers dip into your velvet heat, crooking upwards and furling inward.Â
The act of stringing together a coherent thought, let alone a complete sentence, is somewhere beyond you now. Swept under the rug and out of your reach. Did it really matter who had said it first or how the number came to be? It was born of your love and devotion to one another. The two of you had agreed on three. Three children. Three little ones running around the house. And for a while, lately, you havenât been sure you can do this two more times, but right now Jack is doing an awfully good job at convincing you otherwise.
Your vision blots out and you rattle above him, cunt gushing on two of his thick fingers. He groans, drinking you up with a reckless abandon. His eyes have fallen shut and he is moaning into your pussy as if he finds pleasure in the act itself. He continues to lap at you even as his fingers slide free. Your knees bounce and bump up against the sides of his head.Â
âJackieâŚâ
At his name, he pries your legs apart and extracts himself from between them. His eyes instantly find your breasts again, watching as your chest heaves. You must look like a wreck, but he gazes up at you as though youâre his salvation.Â
âYouâre a goddess,â he says, âcanât believe my gorgeous wife thinks she isnât? Can you believe that?â
âMhm,â you hum lamely, giving a perfunctory nod.
âGonna make me spend the rest of the day proving it to you?â
âI think we might have another matter to tend to,â you remark as you eye the erection tenting his pants.Â
âIt can wait.â Jack doubles down on you, his mouth finding its rightful place between your thighs.
The sun rises over Pittsburgh and it's really a beautiful morning. The lady on the weather channel said that at least three times as you begrudgingly got ready, so it must be true.
You, however, practically crawl into the ambulance bay at the hospital to clock into the day shift and do the best you can for your patients. The best you can on only four hours of sleep, that isâif you were even counting them correctly.
You hear him before you see him. Jack is whistling "Mr. Brightside," one of his favorite songs ever. Comin' out of my cage and I've been doin' just fine, gotta gotta be down because I want it all. He emerges from the sliding doors, his camo backpack slung over one shoulder. His chipper attitude is the one thing you've smiled at since you woke up.Â
It means all the more because you know he's tired and ready to go home, but wants to give you a good start to the day shift. You're reminded once again that you have the best husband in the world.Â
"Dr. Unstoppable," Jack smiles crookedly, giving you a kiss and a coffee from the break room. "It's decaf, promise. Good morning."
It's a game the two of you play now: at shift change, he gives you a cute nickname and a cup of decaf, which he makes just for you as he does his final charting. Switching to decaf during your first trimester was maybe harder than all of medical school put together.Â
"Good morning, sunshine," you say with as much enthusiasm as you can muster.
"You doing okay?" he asks, his voice lowering with concern. "You and baby?"
You instinctively rest your hand on the swell of your belly, now seven months along, rounded under your blissfully loose maternity scrubs. "Just tired, hon. You know how it is."
"Nah. I've never carried someone else around for an entire twelve-hour shift." He steps forward and presses the back of his fingers to your forehead. Satisfied with your temperature, he takes your pulse at your throat.Â
"Jackâ"
He quietens you with one serious look and lets his hand drop after a few seconds.Â
"Little too fast for my liking. Sure you shouldn't come home with me?"
Robby's voice pipes up from somewhere behind you. "Who's going home?"
"No one," you sing before Jack can answer. You turn to see Robby putting away his headphones. "Morning, Robby."
You love working with Robby. Having him as your attending eased the difficulty of switching to an entirely different shift from your husband, and he's a great teacher. Where Jack is the decisive and creative rebel, Robby is the textbook and patient mentor. Getting to learn from both of them is a gift, one that you're eternally grateful for.Â
You and Jack worked together for most of your time in the Pitt, first as an intern and then as a resident, even though Gloria threw fits about the HR implications all throughout your relationship. Jack never was a rule follower, and in his mind, you made it all worth it regardless. You got married and stayed on the night shift, never tiring of your firecracker attending physician.
As soon as you found out you were pregnant, Jack kindly but firmly insisted you switch with someone on day shift. Your OB-GYN, who Jack knew and trusted, recommended it, as well as working fewer shifts altogether. So you switched with Collins. And you simply pretend that you never overheard Jack on the phone with Robby, telling him to take care of you or else.Â
The change was unexpectedly hardâhaving to recalibrate your Circadian rhythm for the first time in years, not to mention the bonkers pregnancy hormones. You spend your days off trying not to cling to Jack, forcing yourself to remember that he needs to sleep while the sun is up. But he stays awake as much as he can, and it makes your heart swell.
But the concerned look on his face now, lit up by the morning sun, is making your heart crack a bit.Â
"Morning," Robby chimes, taking off his sunglasses. He nods to Jack. The two of them know each other so well that sometimes they don't even bother with words. "How's baby?"
"She was rolling around last night," you say with a groan. "Imagine trying to sleep with a rotisserie chicken in your torso."
Robby throws his head back and laughs. "I don't think I can." Seeing Jack's expression, Robby sobers and pats you on the shoulder in his friendly way. "You sure you're up for it today?"
You very pointedly do not look at Jack. Just last week, the two of you had an argument about you continuing to work full twelves multiple times per week. You love your job as much as Jack loves his, but he is increasingly worried. The hours took a toll on any person, so he could only imagine what it was like doing ER shifts with a first-time pregnancy.
And it kills him that you have to do it without him.
"I'll be okay, promise." You hold up the lunchbox Jack packed for you and finally dare to look at him. "I'll eat and keep my fluids up, Dr. Abbot."
Jack finally allows one side of his mouth to quirk up. You kiss his cheek, basking in the feel of the scruff on his face, and tell him to head home.
"Have a good day. See ya, Robby."
"Bye, Jack. I've got her, buddy."
It's only two o'clock and shit has, as they say, hit the fan.
A city bus crash in the mid-morning brought in a flurry of critical cases, so the trauma bays and chairs were completely full even earlier than normal. The bus collided with a minivan carrying a pregnant woman and her two kids, one of whom had a serious neck injury, and the trauma of it all sent the expecting mother into an early delivery. It was moving too quickly for her to get up to labor and delivery's floor, so the poor woman screamed in a bay while the crash victims sat in the hallways murmuring to one another.
Apparently, the windows completely blew out of one side of the bus, so almost everyone on board needed stitches, which took hours in and of itself.Â
One of the better off crash victims, Marina, only needed stitches in her left arm. She lit up like a Christmas tree when she realized you were pregnant and interrogated you the entire time, in the well-meaning way of a young woman who's just gone through something very scary.
"When are you due?"
"December 29. I can't wait."
What does kicking feel like? Like there's an increasingly large fish trapped in a tank that is your stomach. Is this your first pregnancy? Yes. Is the father in the picture? Yes, he actually works here. Really? Oh, how sweet! Is he a doctor? Yes, he's also an ER doctor. Is it the older guy I saw out in the hall? No, that's Dr. Robby. But he's a very good man, too. He looks like itâif I may say so! I think that's the general consensus. Thanks, Dr. Abbot. Take care.
You discharge Marina after you promise her that you'll keep her name in mind as a contender for the baby. While you're showing an intern how to do a clean suture line on a different patient, a psych patient sprints down the hall with a (thankfully empty) bedpan. He spots the three of you in one of the central rooms and hurls it at the intern, who was just putting her tools back on the tray. The corner of the bedpan nails her in the temple, and she crumples to the floor.
"Robby! Mateo!" you shout. "I need a little help here! And for God's sake, somebody sedate Mr. Bryant!"
Once the intern is roused, assessed, and put in the on-call room with some apple juice and a prayer, you finally get to circle back to one of your pediatric cases. It was just a bad asthma attack, and the kid is now stable, waiting on his parents so he can be discharged.
"Hey, Dr. Abbot," he says cheerfully. "I finished my orange juice."
"Good job, sweetie. While we wait for mom and dad, can you repeat back to me what we talked about earlier? About how you're going to remember to keep your inhaler on you all the time?"
Looking accomplished but a little bashful, he begins to recall the tips you went over with him. You try to nod attentively but you feel strange.
The painted animals on the walls start to change colors a bit. They become pastel instead of their normal vibrant colors. When you blink, they don't go back to normal.
Your lungs don't fully expand when you breathe. The edges of your vision are darkening, like someone reaching around and cupping their hands by your eyes. It sounds like a machine somewhere is whining. I need to turn that off.
Your patient nods with finality, expecting you to congratulate him on his sharp memory, but you can't.
The door opens behind you. Distantly, you hear Dana say, "Dr. Abbot, mom and dad are finally here. Time to discharge this sweetie pie."
Thrilled, the kid jumps off the bed and follows Dana out.
When you stand up to leave, your entire field of vision flashes white and your legs buckle. You feel a twinge of fear, and then nothing else at all.
It's Robby's voice you hear first. "Dr. Abbot. Wake up for us, sweetheart!"
You want to open your eyes, to put him at ease, but the light is so unbearably bright. You feel multiple gloved hands: one holding your wrist, one rubbing your sternum vigorously. It hurts, and you finally know what it's like to be on the receiving end of a pain response assessment.
The confusion is almost worse than the headache and lightheadedness. You can feel a gurney beneath you. You're also freezing cold. And it seems like no matter how hard you try, you can't get your damn eyes to open.
Whoever's digging their knuckles into your sternum is doing a good job, because you finally groan and open your eyes a sliver. You hear Princess shout, "She's awake!" and a deep exhale from Robby.Â
"Come on, Dr. Abbot," Mateo says. "Open those eyes for us. You're scaring the crap outta me."
You're earnestly trying to comply when Robby flashes his penlight into both your pupils, and you groan again, biting back a few swear words. "Pupils look good," Robby says.
"IâI get that a lot," you try to joke, but your voice sounds far away and reedy.
Robby chuckles, more for your benefit than any real amusement. "Mateo, you get ahold of Jack?"
"Yessir. He's on his way."
At that, you finally get your eyes open all the way, squinting at the seemingly full patient bay. You're surrounded by Princessâholding your wrist and saying something to herself in TagalogâRobby, Mateo, your sweet little intern, and Dana, who is peeping in without straying too far from central, just in case she's needed. You hear Samira calling from another curtained-off bed, asking about you.Â
Tears well in your eyes, unbidden. Of course you passed out on one of the most hectic day shifts in a long time. Robby sees the sheen in your eyes and tells Princess to go help Samira and for Mateo to go get a needle and an ultrasound machine.Â
Terror hits you then. You splay your hands over your stomach, your breath coming out in short gasps.Â
"Robby," you start to sob, and the tender look on his face makes you cry harder.
The intern shuffles out, pushed on her way by Dana, who gives you a caring smile.
"Shhh. We're gonna check everything out." Robby holds one of your hands. "If you'll let me, I'm gonna do an ultrasound while Mateo does a blood draw for a panel. That ok?"
Swallowing the rest of your sobs as well as you can, you nod, staring up at the ceiling to try to conquer your dizziness. You hear the ultrasound machine's squeaky wheels and Robby warns you about the cold gel, even though he knows you know.
You hate that you're too afraid to even look at the screen.
"There she is," Robby says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. You cover your eyes so he can't see the tears again. "Baby Abbot, happy as a clam. Heartbeat's good." He switches the machine off and wipes your stomach with a tissue while you blow your nose into another one.
"Thank God," you whimper, gripping Robby's forearm, just needing some comfort from another human being. He lets you.
"Where is she?" a familiar voice nearly shouts in central. You hear Dana using her very best customer service tone, the one that could calm even the rudest patient out in chairs.
Jack appears around the curtain, Dana and Mateo close at his heels, and you release a shuddering breath. Jack's jaw is clenched tight and his shoulders are locked.
"Sorry to wake you up, honey," you say weakly, absolutely refusing to cry any more. He rushes over to you and grabs your still-freezing-cold hand.
"Don't apologize," he rasps, biting his lip hard. He tucks a stray hair behind your ear. "You alright?"
You muster up a smile. "'Course I am. I'm Dr. Unstoppable."
Robby gestures to Mateo, who maneuvers around Jack with a needle in his hand. Mateo expertly finds a vein in your arm and takes a sufficient draw before Jack can even ask more questions.
"Baby's alright," Robby says, taking his gloves off and looking seriously at Jack. The former takes an iPad from Princess. "I'm ordering a rapid blood panel. If it's all the same to you, we're gonna put your gurney in the break room. It's quieter and you'll have privacy while you wait."
"And that'll free up this patient bay," you retort without any real venom. You know how it is in the Pitt, and you already feel horrible for inconveniencing all the staff during an already crazy day. "Thank you, Robby. And I'm so sorry."
"None of that," Robby says as he stands up. "My order is in. Now let's get you situated."
Without needing to speak, Jack and Mateo work together to push the gurney out toward the break room. You're certain you blush fiercely with all the staff and patients staring at you, but Jack has one hand on your shoulder, and it grounds you. The two men park you in the corner of the break room, the table moved to one side, and Mateo bows out with one of his sweet smiles.Â
I'm not going to cry. I'm not going to cry. I'm not going toâ
"Sweetheart," Jack murmurs. The raw worry on his face snaps you in half. "What happened?"
He's met by gut-wrenching sobs that threaten to tear his heart out of his chest and out the window. You're crying so hard that it's difficult for you to catch your breath, and he presses your head into his chest, holding one of your cold hands so tightly he's afraid he might be hurting you.
"Talk to me, angel." He pulls up the bottom of his old army shirtâsomething he had yanked out of the dresser in a hurry, no doubtâand wipes your face with it, not caring how the fabric will look. You hiccup.Â
"I don't know," you finally answer, shakily. "One minute I'm in pedes talking to an asthma case and the next, Robby is trying to fracture my sternum." You're joking, to ease the pain of it all, but Jack only runs a hand down your spine and nods. You look up into his hazel eyes. "Jack, I'm so glad you're here."
He holds your face in his hands and kisses your forehead. "That's right. I'm here." He steps over to take one of the wooden chairs from the table and places it as close to the gurney as he can. "The labs are going to take a couple of hours. I want you to sleep. I'll wake you in a bit to eat."
You frown. "I promise I meant to eat, Jack. Really."
"All the ER staff say that," he hums, but his usual cutthroat sarcasm doesn't have an edge. "I'm going to go find you a pillow and blanket." When he returns, he tucks you in earnestly and kisses you as gently as he can.
Ten minutes later, you're floating on the edge of sleep despite the muffled noise of the ER and the fluorescent lights. Jack has his chin propped on the gurney and is running his fingers through your hair so softly that you almost don't feel it. In the last moments before you drift off, you swear he's talking to himself.
"Gonna be okay, sweetheart. I swear it. My girls are gonna be alright."
After Jack feeds you your lunch and you take another long nap, Robby comes in with an iPad. The sound of the door wakes you, and Jack pulls out a chair for Robby.
"Alright, Dr. Abbot, Dr. Abbot," he says with a smirk, nodding at each of you. "I've got great news and bad news. Which do you want first?"
You say bad news at the exact same time that Jack says great news. You squeeze his hand.Â
"I'll respect the lady's wishes. The bad news is you've got rather severe anemia. Not too uncommon in the second and third trimester with the increased blood volume, as I'm sure you both know." He spins the iPad around to show you your chart, ever the teaching doctor, even when he's not trying to be.Â
"The great news," he says, looking at Jack specifically, "is that everything else is normal. I even consulted with McClellan from labor and delivery. She agrees with me. Recommends iron supplements, bed rest for a while, and a high-iron diet hereafter."
You and your husband still. Then, Jack seems to deflate, his head coming to rest on your thigh. You watch as his rigid hands curl out of their fists. You smile broadly and stroke your husband's back. "That's it? That's all?"
"That's all. The combined low iron, high stress, little sleep, and moving into the third trimester is what caused the fainting. Hopefully it won't happen again." Robby clutches the tablet to his chest. "And I'm sending you home for at least the rest of the week."
"Robby!"
"Doctor's orders," he shrugs. "Jack, I'm feeling inspired to work a double tonight and let Shen take tomorrow. Will you let me?"
Jack is quiet and you realize that his eyes are glistening with tears. "Thanks, man."
They shake hands, which turns into the one-armed hug you recognize from years of knowing them both. Robby even leans down and squeezes you tight.Â
"Thank you so much, Robby. We love you."Â
Robby races over to the door. "Don't get sappy. Get outta here." He opens the door and points at you. "Bed rest!"
"I hear you."
Robby waves and disappears.Â
"Let's stop by the pharmacy for some iron and then head home," Jack says with finality. He briefly leaves and comes back with your bag from the locker roomâhe knows your code as well as his own. He throws your floral-pattered tote over his shoulder without a bit of irony, and it makes your heart lurch.
No complaining. No I told you so. No arguing. Just a gentle invitation.
You grin like an idiot as he helps you off the gurney. "I love you, Dr. Abbot."
He kisses the top of your head as he wraps an arm around your shoulders. "And I love you, Dr. Abbot. And our little one. So much."
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