A drunken game of spin the bottle gets a little heated. Why choose, when you can have both?
Mickey 'Fanboy' Garcia
Dr Cupid. ❁
Mickey Garcia passes out in hospitals. Luckily, this time there's a pretty nurse there to catch him.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
Marvel
Bucky Barnes
Lessons in Love. ❁
Bucky didn't believe in love at first sight. Then he met you.
Honey Girl. ✯❁
The Universe shows you your soulmate when it feels like you need them most. When you least expect it, you're given yours - Bucky Barnes. Your dad's best friend. You can try to refuse it all you like; but the universe wants what it wants. There's no denying fate.
Trick or Treat.
You love Halloween. Bucky loves you.
Rest Had Seemed The Sweetest Thing.
Bucky's slowly learning that love isn't a finite resource. aka, Bucky's first Christmas.
Stucky
Letters to the Moon.
Steve is gone. The love you and Bucky have for him isn't.
Wishbone.
You meet Bucky and Steve while on the run. The three of you quickly learn that nothing is more violent than love.
Frank Castle
There's Always Tomorrow.
Frank knows you better than you know yourself. It's a blessing and a curse.
Multi Talented. ❁
Frank shows you exactly what you deserve.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
Criminal Minds
Luke Alvez
Wherever You Are. That's Where Home Is.
Luke might be a mind reader. Only with you, though.
Vice. ❁
Everyone on the team has their vices. It just so happens that yours is sat across the table looking at you.
Spencer Reid
Web of Lies. ✯
Spencer Reid has always been good at keeping secrets. You just never thought he'd keep one from you.
Cowboy!Spencer ✯
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
Narcos
Javier Peña
Self Control. ❁
Javi keeps refusing himself what he wants. One night puts everything into perspective.
Yes, Mr President.
There's an endless amount of things you shouldn't do as the President of the United States. Defiling the Oval Office is definitely one of them.
Western Nights. ✯
You don't expect to bump into your dad's best friend Javier in a church basement on the outskirts of town. You also didn't expect to fall in love with him. Life seems to be full of surprises - and Javier was the biggest surprise of all.
Jealousy, Jealousy. ❁
Javier Peña doesn't share.
Two Murphy's and a Peña.
Javier knows Steve's sister is off limits. He's never been one to follow the rules.
After Hours.
You and Javier are stuck in the office in the middle of a heatwave. You're hot in more ways than one.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
Triple Frontier
Time. ❁
You get shot in Colombia. Frankie, Benny, Santiago and Will each have their own ways of helping you heal.
Tethered. ❁
The lines of friendship blur when you’re this close. Also known as - each of the times you’ve kissed Benny, Frankie, Santiago and Will.
Tranquility. ❁
You're not good at keeping secrets from the boys. Turns out, Will isn't either.
Home Is Where The Heart Is.
They say home is where the heart is. Your heart belongs to the four boys you call your best friends. Also known as - four important times the guys told you they loved you.
Will Miller
Champagne Fuelled Confessions.
You come home drunk, and have something burning you need to tell Will.
Best Friend's Brother.
You've known Benny for years. You've had a crush on his brother Will for years, too.
Frankie Morales
Find You.
A bad date brings Frankie Morales to your door at the perfect time.
Rain Soaked Romantic.
Frankie will run across town in the rain if it means finally telling you how he feels.
Santiago Garcia
This Is The Way It Always Goes.
Santiago always comes crawling back. You convince yourself this is the last time - but you both know that's not true.
Precious Girl.
A chance meeting with your Dad's best friend at 2am.
Benny Miller
Adrenaline. ❁
Ben needs a way to work off his post match energy. You.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
The Last of Us
Joel Miller
Pretty When You Cry. ❁
Joel realises his morals are fucked. You realise you like it.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
Succession
Stewy Hosseini
Clandestine. ✯
You and Stewy know it's wrong. So why, pray tell, does it feel so right?
Fully Clothed.
Being Stewy's assistant has its perks.
Consequence.
Stewy's actions have unexpected consequences.
Needy.
You've been waiting all day for Stewy to get home. He loves it.
Play Pretend.
The classic fake dating trope, with a twist.
The Place Where It All Began.
You reunite with Stewy at your high school reunion. Turns out, he's been waiting for you, all this time.
Risky.
The thrill of being caught makes it all the more exciting.
Kendall Roy
Me and You.
You quit as Kendall's assistant. He's been waiting for this day.
Illicit Affair.
You're Matssons wife. You're also in love with Kendall Roy.
Forced Proximity.
The classic only one bed trope, this time with your emotionally unavailable boss.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
The Bear
Carmen Berzatto
The Roommate Collection. ✯❁
A collection of fics based on being roommates with Carmen.
Vienna.✯
Everything is the same. Nothing has changed. Everything has changed. Nothing is the same.
Carmen. ❁
Carmen. Your Carmen.
Denial. ❁
Carmy can’t keep pretending.
Mechanic!Carmen.
Inspired by that picture of JAW in a crop top.
Perfectionist. ❁
Your boyfriend being a professional chef has its perks. Especially when it comes to gingerbread houses.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
9-1-1
Evan Buckley
Lightning Strike. ❁
The two of you deal with the aftermath of Bucks trauma.
Fire Hazard. ❁
The story of your firehouse nickname - and Buck unable to handle you in a sundress.
That Old Cliche. ❁
You swore you’d never give in to the best man and maid of honour cliche. And then you met Evan Buckley.
Eddie Diaz
Best Seat in the House. ❁
Blame it on the moustache.
Evan Buckley & Eddie Diaz
The Look of Love. ❁
You, Buck and Eddie are absolutely, undeniably, head over heels in love with each other. It seems like everyone can see it except for the three of you.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
Sons of Anarchy
Jax Teller
Heatwave. ❁
You cut Jax's hair. He can't keep his hands to himself.
Sundress Season. ❁
It’s sundress season. Jax can’t keep his hands to himself (again).
Sitting Pretty. ❁
Unspoken desires can only stay unspoken for so long.
Filip 'Chibs' Telford
Teach Me How to Ride. ❁
Chibs is teaching you how to ride (in more ways than one).
Handled. ❁
You and Chibs have been walking the line for a little too long.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
Challengers
Two Can Play That Game. ❁
You’re cheating on Patrick. You’re not proud of it, but it just… happened. Patrick’s cheating on you, too. He never meant for it to happen, but it just… did. Imagine the surprise from both of you when you find out that Art Donaldson is caught up right in the middle.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
Steve Harrington
Cherry. ✯❁
The lines of friendship get a little blurry, one unassuming Friday night in December.
Someone Borrowed, Someone Blue. ❁
An engagement party, your childhood best friend, one too many glasses of champagne. What could go wrong?
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
Rivals
Declan O’Hara
Forbidden Fruit. ❁
That’s the thing about Declan - he always gets what he wants. It might be wrong… but it feels so right.
oh, the feeling of being alive for the first time in a long time.
doctor jack abbot x female doctor!reader x doctor michael ‘robby’ robinavitch
warnings - smut. cursing. average the pitt angst and sadness. slight hints at reader having a toxic past relationship. depressed robby (but no more than usual).
word count - 6k
authors note - this has taken me a little while longer than originally anticipated, but I have enjoyed every single second of writing it. it’s made me emotional, it’s brought me joy, and it’s become a story that i’m really proud of. the great divide has easily become a top 5 of all time album for me, and so many of those songs and lyrics scream jack and robby. I love feeling inspired. I love writing. and I love sexy old men.
masterlist. inbox.
It was the end of August by the time you realised something had changed.
Your sixth August knowing Jack. Your fifth knowing Robby.
The shift was so subtle that none of you noticed it. It happens like that. Slowly, gradually, like the morning sun stretching over the city. The warmth is measured, steady, incremental, until all of a sudden you’re shielding your eyes and panting as a bead of sweat drips down your spine.
You’d felt a certain way about Dr Jack Abbot for so long, you can’t remember ever feeling any differently. You can’t recall what it’s like to be strangers. You can’t even fathom a universe in which you don’t see each other everyday, or text each other on the days you don’t. He’s just there. A part of the foundation of the world you live in.
Robby, too. You’ve worked together so long, it’s like you’re starting to share one brain. Talking to each other without opening your mouths, communicating across a manic ER through eye contact and the occasional nod. The three of you are a well oiled machine, cogs turning night and day.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
You’d been fast friends, that first day you met. You were working at West Point Hospital, across the city from the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Centre. Jack had brought in a patient with the SWAT team, barging through the double doors and barking orders immediately. You didn’t know him, but you’d followed his lead instantly, trusting his clear authority and kind eyes. He had this presence. Everyone turned to look at him when he entered a room, and not just because he looked like that in uniform.
After you’d managed to stabilise the patient, Jack nodded his head to the side, signalling you into the empty room next door. You went in willingly, curious as to why he was closing the curtain behind him.
“Can you give me a hand with something? Please?”
His voice was gruff but gentle, hardened by his past but not stony.
“With?”
“Bullet grazed my back. Can’t reach it myself.”
“Of course.”
You didn’t even hesitate, grabbing everything you needed with practised precision.
“Uniform off, please.”
“All of it?”
He turned to you with mischief slapped across his face, smirk getting bigger by the second.
“Just the top half. For now.”
You could meet him where he was. He liked you instantly.
You’d cleaned his graze methodically, taking your time. You weren’t sure when you’d see the ridiculously handsome Dr Abbot again, so you were in no rush.
“You’re wasted here,” he said lowly.
“Hmm?”
“This place is in fuckin’ shambles. It’s badly run, disorganised, and a health and safety nightmare for its staff.”
“Aren’t all emergency rooms?”
“Yes and no. They’re all dangerous, sure, but they’re not all badly run. The charge nurse over at the PTMC runs that place like the Navy. She prioritises the safety and the wellbeing of her doctors and nurses over everything else.”
“Really?”
It sounded like a fantasy to you - a place where you’d be valued, respected even.
“Really. I’m the night shift attending there. It’s the best emergency room in Pittsburgh, hands down.”
“Anywhere is better than here,” you’d muttered as you finish up on his back. “All done, Dr Abbot.”
“Thank you. You’re an angel.”
“Just doing my job.”
Jack sat and thought for a moment, before turning to face you.
“Come work with me.”
“What?”
“I mean it. Come work at the PTMC. They’d snap you up in a heartbeat. Come and work for a place that will actually recognise the work you do.”
“…It’s tempting.”
“You ever wanted to work the night shift?”
“Never really thought about it.”
“Well think about it. I’m serious. We could really use you.”
You stood and stared at him for a moment, confused as to how he’d entered your life an hour ago and immediately turned it upside down.
“Okay,” you’d said without even realising.
“Yeah?”
Jacks face had lit up, both with surprise and excitement.
“Yeah. Why not? I hate it here. I need a change.”
“Give me your phone number,” he’d said, standing up and suddenly towering over you, still shirtless. “I’ll call you later when I’ve spoken to the higher ups. They’ll be eager to have you, so we can move you really soon.”
“Poach me, you mean.”
“Exactly that,” he’d winked, cheeky and boyish.
That was all it took.
That night, you’d spent hours on the phone with the handsome Dr Abbot, discussing more than just the details of your move to the PTMC. The conversation had flowed so naturally, neither of you had realised that the evening had passed and the sun was about to rise.
“Sweet dreams, sweetheart,” he’d said as he hung up.
The line had replayed in your head for weeks afterwards.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
“I need-”
“Gauze, a ten gauge needle, saline and lidocaine. I got it.”
Jack looks at you in awe for a second before shaking his head, chuckling.
“How does she know that?” the med student asks to no one in particular.
“Those two read each others minds,” Whitaker says.
“Practise,” Robbie says at the same time.
Jack winks at you over the patient, smiling at the way you wink back immediately.
“I’m gonna leave you two to get on with it. Joy, Whitaker, come with me. We’ll check up on the farming burn victim.”
“I’m worried about him,” you say lowly when they’re gone. “The light in his eyes is fading.”
“I know,” Jack agrees, which takes you by surprise. You were expecting him to disagree. “I’ve tried talking to him, but it’s fallin’ on deaf ears.”
You chew at your lip, passing the Doctor what he needs and when.
“You should talk to him.”
“Me? … I don’t know.”
“He might just listen to you.”
“Jack, if he hasn’t listened to you, he sure as hell won’t listen to me.”
“He respects you.”
“No more than he respects you.”
“You two have something different.”
Jack finishes up, glancing at the pulse monitor briefly and nodding when he’s happy with what he sees. He throws his gloves in the trash, holding the pedal down with his foot so you can do the same.
“Different?”
“Yeah, you know. Him and I have got this whole brothers in arms thing going on. But it’s different with you. You’re his soft spot.”
“Dr Michael Robinavitch does not have soft spots for people.”
“He has one. You.”
“Jack-”
He gazes at you softly, gentle eyes silently pleading with you.
“I’m not a miracle worker.”
“Honey… if anyone I know could work a miracle, it’d be you.”
You tilt your head, chewing at your bottom lip.
“Okay, okay. I’ll talk to him when I get the chance, alright?”
“Thank you, angel. And good work earlier - you know, with the mind reading stuff.”
I wish I could read your mind, you think. I wish I knew exactly what you wanted.
Instead, you say,
“At least if I fail at being a doctor, I can become a psychic, right?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. If you fail at being a doctor, you’ll be a swimsuit model.”
He’s smirking something mischievous, looking you up and down completely non subtly.
“Shut the fuck up,” you’re laughing as you leave the cubicle, shoving his shoulder. “Don’t be such a guy.”
“You love it,” he’s teasing, shoving you back and immediately cupping your hip to make sure you don’t fall.
You roll your eyes but can’t help but smile, shaking your head.
“I’m going to check on my basketball player with the broken ankle.”
“Call me if he flirts with you again.”
“What you gonna do? Stare at him sternly? Tell him off?”
“Guess we’ll see,” he winks as he walks away.
Your heart is racing as you make your way towards your next patient. You take a few deep breaths outside the room, steadying yourself. Jack manages to throw off your centre of gravity with a simple look, a simple smile, a simple touch.
You’re in dangerous territory and you know it.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
“Jack?”
The night air sends goosebumps across your arms, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up. The chill of the wind whips around you, the darkness making it hard to see.
“Nope. Sorry to disappoint.”
“You’ve never disappointed me, Robby. Was just expecting Jack is all - this is where I usually find him.”
You join the man where he stands leaning against the railing, looking out onto the city lights.
“You know, if you want company on this little sabbatical trip you’re planning, Jack would be happy to tag along. It might be good for him, he’s overdue a vacation.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. He’s too addicted to quick adrenaline rushes. He needs to chill out.”
He laughs, all quick and unexpected, as if it’s taken him by surprise just as much as you.
“Not sure I can picture me and Jack holding onto each other on a motorcycle.”
“I can. Think I had that dream, once.”
He shakes his head in fake disapproval but he can’t hide the smile on his face.
“You’re unhinged.”
“Now you sound like Jack.”
“I’ll try not to take that as an insult.”
You turn so you’re facing him, looking at the older man intently.
“You know, a comparison to Jack is arguably the biggest compliment I could ever give you.”
His brows furrow in confusion.
“He might be my favourite person on the entire planet.”
When all that can be heard is the sound of traffic from the street below you, you continue.
“You wanna know why? Because despite it all, he chooses to be good. He is the kindest, most selfless person I have ever met. He has lived through the most awful things that can happen to someone, seen things no human should ever have to see, experienced the depths of hell in ways we could never even fathom. And yet… he chooses, everyday, to be good.”
He’s staring at you like it’s news. Like he had no idea you felt this way. Which is strange to you, because you feel it couldn’t be more obvious. To you, it’s a wonder he hasn’t called you up on it for all these years.
“And even if he has no reason to be good, no reason to carry on… he finds one. And then keeps on going.”
Robby opens his mouth to speak, but you keep talking.
“Do you know how hard it is to just be decent? He puts the effort in every single fucking day, despite what life has thrown at him, despite what this goddamn place throws at him. He goes to therapy, he saves lives, he finds joy in the tiny little moments. Because he chooses to.”
His face has gone soft, eyes gentle as he chews his bottom lip while he listens. His gaze hasn’t left yours this entire time.
“I know you’re struggling, Robby.”
He flinches like you’ve punched him in the gut.
“God knows I would be too, if I was you. People expect their attending to be invincible. Patients, med students, even nurses, forget that you’re human sometimes. They want you to solve all their problems, right? You’ve got to be the one to make the call. You’ve got to take over when things go wrong. You’ve got to have all the answers. I can’t imagine what that’s like. It must be heavy.”
Robby sways, gripping onto the railing next to him for dear life. He feels like you’ve knocked the wind out of him, like he might keel over any minute if you keep on talking.
“But you have to choose to live, Robby. Not just survive. If you feel like you don’t have a purpose, it’s your responsibility to find one. No one’s going to solve this for you. You have to make the choice to save yourself.”
He audibly exhales a breath, both hands clasping the cool metal as he folds himself over the rail. It’s as if it’s all too much for him to process.
“Okay, I - lecture over, alright? I just… you’ve got a lot of people worried, Robinavitch. And you can’t keep pretending you don’t know that.”
Silence. The sounds of the city are all that can be heard, ambulances flying in and out of the bay way below you.
You place your hand over his where it still rests, not feeling the need to say anything more. The two of you stay like that for a little while, breathing in the chilly night air.
“Ah, here you are,” a voice says from the fire exit door. “Been looking for the two of you.”
“Missed us, Dr Abbot?” you quip without turning around.
“Always.”
You can tell by the sound of his steps as he makes his way over that he’s tired, his legs working a fraction slower than usual.
He takes a quick glance at you and Robby’s hands, smiling gently as he brushes his fingers against your free ones when he passes.
“I’m gonna get back down there before Dana kills me.”
They both chuckle, knowing there’s too much truth in your words.
“See you down there, silver foxes.”
There’s more chuckling as you leave, bracing yourself for the inevitable chaos you’re about to walk into. When you’re gone, Jack goes to speak, but Robby gets there first.
“Marry that girl.”
The shorter man turns to face the taller one, eyebrows raised in questioning.
“There’s no one in this world quite like her.”
“You’re preaching to the choir, brother.”
They spend another ten minutes stood up on the rooftop. They don’t say anything else.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
You’re on hour eleven and a half of your shift when Jack finally gets the chance to talk to you for more than three seconds.
“Hey,” he says as he jogs to catch up with you. “You okay?”
You walk out of the front doors and into the ambulance bay, needing some fresh air to get through your last thirty minutes.
“As okay as I can be.”
“Me too, honey.”
You crane your head towards the sky, trying to spot any stars or the moon. When you turn around, Jacks looking at you intently.
“You talked to Robby.”
“Yeah. Did he say anything?”
“Only that I should marry you.”
Your breath catches in your throat, eyes going wide.
“I- sorry… what?”
“I think he might be right.”
Your brain can’t keep up with the conversation, lagging behind completely. One minute you’re talking about Robby, and the next… marriage?
You stare at each other as the cool night air chills both of your bones, the wind whipping around you. Yet neither of you feel cold. You’re both being warmed from the inside out by this feeling, this promise of something hopeful, something real, something alive.
Jack kisses you right there in the ambulance bay.
Hands cradling your face, chest pressed to your chest, lips soft at first but firmer when you reciprocate. He’s humming with contentment, the sound rumbling through you both as you tangle your fingers into his black scrubs and tug him impossibly closer. You want to climb into his ribcage, rest your head on his heart and close your eyes forever.
When he pulls away, his hazel eyes are glistening, glinting in the moonlight and filled with adoration.
“You wanna get breakfast after this?”
You laugh at the unexpectedness of his question, the sound echoing through the empty sky.
“Yes, I do. I want pancakes and stupid amounts of syrup and overly buttered toast and the coldest orange juice in the world.”
“I’ll give you anything you want,” he whispers as he leans in to press another tender kiss to your lips.
“Even hash browns?”
“Even hash browns,” he chuckles into your hair, pulling you into his side with a heavy arm around your shoulders.
Nothing will ever be the same.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
It’s a few days later, and Jack is making you laugh so hard while you’re charting that there are tears in your eyes.
He’s grinning at you, finding nothing more gratifying than seeing you smile. His entire face is lit up with joy as he looks at you, the happiness completely infectious.
Robby’s been watching the two of you for the last five minutes, eyes glued to the scene in front of him. He looks like he’s in pain, eyebrows furrowed and bottom lip caught between his teeth as he wrings his hands.
“What’s up with him?” Santos asks the group around her, all of them flicking between looking at their attending and looking at you and Jack. “He’s been staring at them for like twenty minutes.”
“He doesn’t know who he’s more jealous of.”
It’s Cassie who says it, everyone turning to face her with incredulous expressions.
“What? You all know I’m right.”
No one says anything else. They know she’s right.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
A month later, a man from your past shows up in the ER with no warning.
You and Robby march into the room as usual, ready to assess the patient, nothing out of the ordinary. And then he’s talking at you, but you can’t hear him. Because all you can focus on is that man’s face.
It looks the same as it did back then, with a little more age. He looks just as angry now as he did before. The view of him sat on the bed in front of you, injured foot elevated, is enough to have your ears ringing.
Robby’s saying your name but you can’t hear it.
“Hey.”
You feel a strong hand between your shoulder blades, warm and determined. He shields you from view of the guy on the gurney, looking down at you with worry in his eyes.
“Sir, we’ll be right back. We’ve got your chart mixed up with someone else’s. Just give us a second.”
Robby’s fingers wrap around your wrist, pulling you in front of him and out of the room without any resistance.
“What happened? You okay?”
He’s pulled you into the stairwell, cradling your face in his palms and forcing you to stare at him.
“He… he-”
“Take a breath. You’re okay.”
You do as he says, trusting him wholeheartedly always.
“Sorry, Robby.”
“What are you apologising for?”
“Having an unprofessional meltdown.”
“Hardly a meltdown, hon. Most people wouldn’t have even noticed.”
“But you’re not most people.”
There’s a silence, but it isn’t awkward. It’s charged with something.
“You know him.”
“You could say that.”
“He hurt you.”
A pause.
“…you could say that.”
“You don’t have to go back in there.”
“It’s fine,” you try to shake him off, but his hands stay firmly planted on your cheeks. “I can be professional.”
“This isn’t about professionalism, this is about protecting yourself. Sit here and take five minutes while I assess him, and then I’ll come back and get you.”
“We’ve already been out for five minutes. In fact, it’s been too long. You need to be out there.”
“What I need is to be here with you.”
You’re not going to argue with the tone, nor do you fancy arguing with the look in his eyes. Desperation, exhaustion and something else you can’t quite recognise.
“You’re not going anywhere near that man, understood?”
You nod. He nods. You look at each other for a minute before he leans down and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.
“Stay here while I examine him. Please.”
You sit down on a step without a word, and wait for him to get back.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
A week later, you walk into the ER ready for your night shift with 3 takeaway cups in your hands.
When you get to the nurses station, Jack takes his off you wordlessly, squeezing your side and pressing a kiss into your hair as a thank you. Like he’s done so many times before.
Robby appears in front of you, looking worn down and exhausted.
“Hey, you.”
“Hey. How’s the day shift been?”
“Same old shit.”
You hold out the last cup to him, tilting your head quizzically when he doesn’t immediately take it.
“Thanks, honey, but I don’t think I should be drinking coffee right now. I’m going straight to bed in approximately forty five minutes.”
“It’s not coffee,” you say as you push it towards him. “It’s herbal tea. It should help with the inevitable adrenaline crash you’re gonna have in approximately forty five minutes. It’ll start to wind you down, so you’ll be ready to sleep when you get home.”
He’s speechless for a long moment, looking at you incredulously.
“…You thought of everything.”
“No, Robby. I thought of you.”
He takes the tea and sips it, taking a deep exhale.
“Thank you,” he says, no more than a whisper.
You touch his bicep gently, staring at him with more care than he’s experienced in years. And then you walk off, leaving him questioning everything he thought he knew.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
It’s a Wednesday morning and you wake up in Jack’s bed.
On a rare occasion, you got out of work on time on Monday night. You spent all of Tuesday wrapped up in each other between running errands - laundry and cleaning and grocery shopping and vacuuming and eating grapes straight out of the carton.
You haven’t left each others side for the last 48 hours. It’s been bliss.
You open your eyes to the morning light and Jack’s arms wrapped around your middle. Legs tangled together, sheets ruffled across you, warm breath tickling the back of your neck.
Jack hums into your skin, pulling you closer, while you breathe him in, fighting to keep a smile off your face.
“You smell like sleep,” you whisper.
“You smell like the rest of my life,” he whispers back.
You try not to overthink it. You fail.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
On the day of Pittfest, Robby calls you in a panic.
“How fast can you get here?”
“What happened?”
“We need you.”
You’d jumped in the car without question, ringing Jack on the way over to find out he’d just arrived at the hospital to give a helping hand. You get there just in time for briefing, jeans on and bag slung over your back. Everyone’s gathered around the nurses station, and Jack gravitates towards you, gliding across the sea of people like there’s a magnetic pull between you. He links his fingers with yours, squeezing tightly as he hides your clasped hands from prying eyes.
An hour later, the hospital is filled with patients, people and gurneys as far as you can see.
You walk into Trauma One with your sleeves rolled up, scrubs painted red and hair flying in all directions. Jack’s wrist deep in a wound, calm and determined despite the chaos.
“You’re here,” he exhales, relief bleeding into his voice. “Can you donate for me?”
“Blood?”
“Honey, did you think I was going to ask you for a kidney?”
“Jack, if you needed a kidney, I’d give you one in a heartbeat.”
It’s a wholly too intimate moment for a busy ER. Time stops for a second as you take a breath with each other, grateful for a minute of peace in the least peaceful place on earth.
“My angel,” he breathes.
You smile at him gently, heart constricting at the softness in his face and in his voice.
“I can give blood if you need blood,” you prompt, bringing the conversation back to a professional level.
“You’re O Negative, right?”
“You remembered.”
“Course I did. Go find Dana and she’ll get you set up - you think you can donate as you go? I am,” he says as he pulls up his trouser leg, revealing a blood bag and and IV.
“Sure, yeah. I can do that.”
“Thank you.”
He gestures his chin in a come here motion, beckoning you over while his hands are busy. You step in close to him, trying to ignore the feeling in your chest when he presses a kiss to your temple, right there in the trauma room.
“Be careful,” he murmurs against your hair.
“Always am. You too.”
“Always am.”
Typically, that’d be a lie from him. But it doesn’t seem to be anymore.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
Two weeks later, you’re sitting on Jack’s kitchen counter while he cooks in preparation for Robby coming over for dinner.
He’s been meaning to approach the topic gracefully, but instead it just slips out.
“I quit the SWAT team.”
You’ve been absentmindedly stirring the sauce on the stovetop, movement immediately halting at his sudden confession.
“I noticed.”
“You did?”
You’re confused at his confusion.
“…Yeah? I pay attention you know, Jack.”
“I just… you didn’t say anything. Thought you didn’t know.”
“I’ve been waiting for you to bring it up. Figured you’d talk to me about it when you felt ready to explain everything.”
He moves to stand between your legs, thumbs rubbing circles into the bare skin of your thighs.
“You’re an angel. I hope you know that.”
“I’ve been told once or twice.”
You’re giggling as he leans in to kiss you, slow and gentle and oh so tender. He tenses suddenly, as if a thought has popped into his brain and disrupted his peace.
“What is it, Jack?”
“There’s something else I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”
You nod supportively, encouraging him to continue. Your fingers start to knead at his shoulders, trying to work some of the stress out of his tightly wound muscles.
“Have you noticed that I haven’t been wearing my wedding ring?”
You exhale carefully as you think of exactly what to say.
“Jack… I notice when you breathe a little faster than usual. I noticed when you tried a new body wash a few weeks back and then I noticed when you switched back to your old one. I notice when your hair gets to that length where it starts to annoy you, and then the very next time I see you you’ll have cut it. I notice when you’re tired and you walk a little slower and have to think about where you step. So… yes. I noticed. I notice everything.”
“Have you noticed that I love you?”
You’re stunned into silence.
“I knew the minute I met you that you’d be in my life forever, sweetheart. It was like some higher power sent you to me when I needed you most.”
“I love you so much, I could cry.”
He grins at you like a madman, all blinding and joyous.
“Yeah?”
“Oh yeah.”
You slide one hand into his hair to tug him closer to you, desperate to kiss him stupid right in the middle of the kitchen. Which is exactly what you do.
“You can wear your ring if you want to,” you murmur against his lips. “I understand it’s a complex situation for you.”
“It’s been a long time coming. I’ve done a lot of thinking and a lot of therapy - it’s taken me a while, but I haven’t done anything I’m not ready to do.”
“I’m really proud of you.”
He hasn’t heard those words in years. They slice him right through his heart.
“I couldn’t love you more if I tried.”
You’re about to kiss him again when there’s a knock at the front door.
“I forgot he’s always ridiculously early to stuff,” Jack laughs, pressing a kiss to your forehead before he leaves to greet your guest.
Robby doesn’t question why the two of you are floating on air all night.
He doesn’t understand what he’s feeling or why he’s feeling it, either.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
Later on that night, the three of you are sat on the couch outside on the porch, nursing beers and laughing until your sides hurt.
“Thanks for dinner, by the way,” Robby says after a minute or two of silence. “Who made the pasta?”
“It’s pretty girl’s recipe, from her grandma.”
“It was delicious. Is it sacred, or will you share it with me?”
“I’ll teach you some time,” you smile. “Sacred or not, she’d understand me giving it to you.”
“Thanks, hon.”
Robby’s big, calloused palm splays across your thigh, squeezing once in gratitude. Your eyes catch his, holding each other’s gaze for a heated moment as your breath hitches in your chest. His hand hasn’t moved - in fact, he’s gripping you tighter than before. Jack is watching the interaction with complete attention, mesmerised by the shift in the energy.
You rest your fingers over Robby’s, keeping them glued to your leg. The warmth from his skin is bleeding into yours, electricity crackling through your nerves. You turn to look at Jack, who’s enraptured. His eyes are dark and hooded, chest heaving as he surveys your body language. He nods at you almost imperceptibly, as if giving you permission to do whatever you need to do.
You spin back around to Robby, who hasn’t torn his stare from your face. His fingers dig into your soft flesh, tightening like he’s testing his own restraint. You take a deep breath, and so does Jack from behind you. He’s gotten closer, plastering himself to your back - one hand pressed into your hip, the other finding its way onto the back of your neck where it rests gently but firmly. Almost possessively. Almost.
The stars seem to shine a little brighter in the sky when you lean in to kiss Robby tentatively. He kisses you back softly, carefully, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to. He’s about to pull away when Jack’s hand tangles in the front of his shirt, pulling him back into you. Giving him the okay.
Robby moans into your mouth, cradling your face and licking at your bottom lip. Someone groans, and you’re not sure if it’s you or Jack.
“I- I’m sorry,” Robby murmurs as he pulls back. “Shit, Jack… I’m so sorry.”
“The fuck are you apologising for?” Abbot laughs, wrapping his arms around your middle from behind and pressing a kiss to your temple.
“What? I kissed your- girlfriend feels like the wrong word-”
“Yeah, we haven’t really labelled anything. Girlfriend feels a little high school,” you chuckle.
“How are you… how are you so… chilled about this, man?”
“Mike,” Jack levels. “We’re fine. Everything is fine. It’s a kiss, not a marriage proposal. It’s been a long time coming. And anyway, technically, she kissed you.”
You giggle and turn to press your lips to Jack’s, grateful you’re on the same page as per usual.
“Robby, relax. Please?”
He looks at you for a long moment, trying to find any kind of apprehension on your face. When he finds none whatsoever, he calms down, tension leaving his body. He settles back into the couch cushions, stretching his arm over and around you. You cuddle into his side, head resting on his chest as you tuck your legs into Jack’s lap.
Robby reaches over to rest a hand on his best friend’s shoulder, squeezing in silent conversation. He’s taken aback when Jack turns it over and presses a kiss into his open palm, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. He tries to ignore the way his heart skips a beat.
The three of you fall asleep on the porch under the canopy of stars, tucked under a blanket and warmed by each other.
It’s the easiest thing in the world.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
A month later, Jack has you trapped underneath him, buried to the hilt as his body weight presses you into the mattress.
His thrusts are slow and languid, neither of you in a hurry to get to the finish line.
“You always feel so good. Never gets old.”
He’s groaning in your ear, breath tickling your neck and making you shiver.
“Fuck, Jack.”
“Atta girl. Perfect, beautiful, angel girl.”
Your nails are raking down his back, legs tangled around his waist as you urge him deeper into you. You’re whining, panting, words coming out in shaky exhales as Jack rewires your brain chemistry.
He’s so in tune with you, it’s like he can sense the tiniest little change. Your mind wanders, losing your focus, and he clocks it immediately.
“You with me, honey?”
“Mhmmm.”
“Baby. Where’d you go, huh? Whatcha thinking about?”
Your voice comes out small and distant when you absentmindedly reply,
“Robby.”
Most people would be horrified if their partner said someone else’s name in bed, let alone confessed to thinking about them during sex. But Jack isn’t most people.
“Worrying about him?”
“Mhmm.”
“Wondering about him?”
“Mhmm.”
“Thinkin’ about what it’d be like if he were here?”
Your eyes finally meet the eyes of the man above you as you nod.
“All of that.”
“Let’s talk to him, yeah?” he says as he grips at your hips. “We’ll never know if we don’t ask.”
“I can’t believe we’re having this conversation during sex,” you breathily laugh.
He’s about to reply when there’s a knock at the front door, pulling you both from the love drunk haze you found yourselves in.
“It’s two in the morning,” you say with furrowed brows as you slip out of bed and shove a t shirt over your head.
“Wait for me, I’ll get it.”
“Baby, it’s okay. You don’t have to put your leg back on for like thirty seconds. Just stand at the top of the stairs.”
You pad down barefoot and swing the door open, to be met with the sight of the man in question.
Robby.
You’re about to speak, but he gets there first.
“I want to talk about that night on the porch.”
You’re formulating a reply when he continues.
“I can’t stop thinking about it. About you.” He pauses. “About Jack.”
Reaching out, you link your fingers with his and pull him inside, locking the door behind you. In the entryway, you toe at his boots to hint at him to kick them off while you shrug his jacket from his shoulders and hang it on the rack.
Guiding him through the house, he follows you obediently up the stairs and into your bedroom, where Jack has settled back against the headboard.
“Hey, brother.”
Robby’s a little stunned, like he’s worried he might be dreaming.
You undress Robby carefully, pulling off his Henley first, then his pants, leaving him in his boxers. You chuck your shirt off too, standing there in nothing but your panties looking at him as if this is a regular occurrence.
Jack shuffles over to make room for the two of you, allowing you to climb in first. You have to coax Robby in, his hesitance evident in the way he stands at the side of the bed, stiff as a board.
“We’ve been waiting for you,” you whisper so as not to spook him. “Since that night on the porch.”
“I… I was worried I’d ruined everything.”
“You haven’t ruined anything,” Jack reassures in that soothing, buttery tone of his. “In fact, you’ve made everything better.”
“I don’t-”
“Let’s talk about it properly tomorrow, yeah?”
He’s nodding, sliding into the open space you’ve left for him in the sheets. You pull him against you so your head is resting on his chest, just like that night a month ago. Jack presses into your side, slinging an arm over your middle and making sure his fingertips rest on Robby’s ribs.
All that can be heard is the sound of the cool breeze gently blowing the trees, the open window providing your soundtrack. An owl hoots, a car drives past, two people walk home together. The August night outside continues, as if the very foundation of three people’s lives isn’t rapidly changing between these four walls.
After what could have been five minutes or five hours, Robby speaks quietly into the darkness.
“I don’t wanna go on my sabbatical roadtrip anymore.”
You nod against his heart, listening to the way it thunders underneath your ear.
“Then don’t go. Stay.”
It’s Jack that says it, but it’s like he’s taken the words out of your mouth.
“Stay,” you repeat, voice hushed. “Stay. Please.”
Robby’s rapid heartbeat calms down.
“I’ll stay. I promise.”
And he will.
Forever.
for the full experience, listen to the great divide album by noah kahan while reading. especially end of august. <3
oh, the feeling of being alive for the first time in a long time.
doctor jack abbot x female doctor!reader x doctor michael ‘robby’ robinavitch
warnings - smut. cursing. average the pitt angst and sadness. slight hints at reader having a toxic past relationship. depressed robby (but no more than usual).
word count - 6k
authors note - this has taken me a little while longer than originally anticipated, but I have enjoyed every single second of writing it. it’s made me emotional, it’s brought me joy, and it’s become a story that i’m really proud of. the great divide has easily become a top 5 of all time album for me, and so many of those songs and lyrics scream jack and robby. I love feeling inspired. I love writing. and I love sexy old men.
masterlist. inbox.
It was the end of August by the time you realised something had changed.
Your sixth August knowing Jack. Your fifth knowing Robby.
The shift was so subtle that none of you noticed it. It happens like that. Slowly, gradually, like the morning sun stretching over the city. The warmth is measured, steady, incremental, until all of a sudden you’re shielding your eyes and panting as a bead of sweat drips down your spine.
You’d felt a certain way about Dr Jack Abbot for so long, you can’t remember ever feeling any differently. You can’t recall what it’s like to be strangers. You can’t even fathom a universe in which you don’t see each other everyday, or text each other on the days you don’t. He’s just there. A part of the foundation of the world you live in.
Robby, too. You’ve worked together so long, it’s like you’re starting to share one brain. Talking to each other without opening your mouths, communicating across a manic ER through eye contact and the occasional nod. The three of you are a well oiled machine, cogs turning night and day.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
You’d been fast friends, that first day you met. You were working at West Point Hospital, across the city from the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Centre. Jack had brought in a patient with the SWAT team, barging through the double doors and barking orders immediately. You didn’t know him, but you’d followed his lead instantly, trusting his clear authority and kind eyes. He had this presence. Everyone turned to look at him when he entered a room, and not just because he looked like that in uniform.
After you’d managed to stabilise the patient, Jack nodded his head to the side, signalling you into the empty room next door. You went in willingly, curious as to why he was closing the curtain behind him.
“Can you give me a hand with something? Please?”
His voice was gruff but gentle, hardened by his past but not stony.
“With?”
“Bullet grazed my back. Can’t reach it myself.”
“Of course.”
You didn’t even hesitate, grabbing everything you needed with practised precision.
“Uniform off, please.”
“All of it?”
He turned to you with mischief slapped across his face, smirk getting bigger by the second.
“Just the top half. For now.”
You could meet him where he was. He liked you instantly.
You’d cleaned his graze methodically, taking your time. You weren’t sure when you’d see the ridiculously handsome Dr Abbot again, so you were in no rush.
“You’re wasted here,” he said lowly.
“Hmm?”
“This place is in fuckin’ shambles. It’s badly run, disorganised, and a health and safety nightmare for its staff.”
“Aren’t all emergency rooms?”
“Yes and no. They’re all dangerous, sure, but they’re not all badly run. The charge nurse over at the PTMC runs that place like the Navy. She prioritises the safety and the wellbeing of her doctors and nurses over everything else.”
“Really?”
It sounded like a fantasy to you - a place where you’d be valued, respected even.
“Really. I’m the night shift attending there. It’s the best emergency room in Pittsburgh, hands down.”
“Anywhere is better than here,” you’d muttered as you finish up on his back. “All done, Dr Abbot.”
“Thank you. You’re an angel.”
“Just doing my job.”
Jack sat and thought for a moment, before turning to face you.
“Come work with me.”
“What?”
“I mean it. Come work at the PTMC. They’d snap you up in a heartbeat. Come and work for a place that will actually recognise the work you do.”
“…It’s tempting.”
“You ever wanted to work the night shift?”
“Never really thought about it.”
“Well think about it. I’m serious. We could really use you.”
You stood and stared at him for a moment, confused as to how he’d entered your life an hour ago and immediately turned it upside down.
“Okay,” you’d said without even realising.
“Yeah?”
Jacks face had lit up, both with surprise and excitement.
“Yeah. Why not? I hate it here. I need a change.”
“Give me your phone number,” he’d said, standing up and suddenly towering over you, still shirtless. “I’ll call you later when I’ve spoken to the higher ups. They’ll be eager to have you, so we can move you really soon.”
“Poach me, you mean.”
“Exactly that,” he’d winked, cheeky and boyish.
That was all it took.
That night, you’d spent hours on the phone with the handsome Dr Abbot, discussing more than just the details of your move to the PTMC. The conversation had flowed so naturally, neither of you had realised that the evening had passed and the sun was about to rise.
“Sweet dreams, sweetheart,” he’d said as he hung up.
The line had replayed in your head for weeks afterwards.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
“I need-”
“Gauze, a ten gauge needle, saline and lidocaine. I got it.”
Jack looks at you in awe for a second before shaking his head, chuckling.
“How does she know that?” the med student asks to no one in particular.
“Those two read each others minds,” Whitaker says.
“Practise,” Robbie says at the same time.
Jack winks at you over the patient, smiling at the way you wink back immediately.
“I’m gonna leave you two to get on with it. Joy, Whitaker, come with me. We’ll check up on the farming burn victim.”
“I’m worried about him,” you say lowly when they’re gone. “The light in his eyes is fading.”
“I know,” Jack agrees, which takes you by surprise. You were expecting him to disagree. “I’ve tried talking to him, but it’s fallin’ on deaf ears.”
You chew at your lip, passing the Doctor what he needs and when.
“You should talk to him.”
“Me? … I don’t know.”
“He might just listen to you.”
“Jack, if he hasn’t listened to you, he sure as hell won’t listen to me.”
“He respects you.”
“No more than he respects you.”
“You two have something different.”
Jack finishes up, glancing at the pulse monitor briefly and nodding when he’s happy with what he sees. He throws his gloves in the trash, holding the pedal down with his foot so you can do the same.
“Different?”
“Yeah, you know. Him and I have got this whole brothers in arms thing going on. But it’s different with you. You’re his soft spot.”
“Dr Michael Robinavitch does not have soft spots for people.”
“He has one. You.”
“Jack-”
He gazes at you softly, gentle eyes silently pleading with you.
“I’m not a miracle worker.”
“Honey… if anyone I know could work a miracle, it’d be you.”
You tilt your head, chewing at your bottom lip.
“Okay, okay. I’ll talk to him when I get the chance, alright?”
“Thank you, angel. And good work earlier - you know, with the mind reading stuff.”
I wish I could read your mind, you think. I wish I knew exactly what you wanted.
Instead, you say,
“At least if I fail at being a doctor, I can become a psychic, right?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. If you fail at being a doctor, you’ll be a swimsuit model.”
He’s smirking something mischievous, looking you up and down completely non subtly.
“Shut the fuck up,” you’re laughing as you leave the cubicle, shoving his shoulder. “Don’t be such a guy.”
“You love it,” he’s teasing, shoving you back and immediately cupping your hip to make sure you don’t fall.
You roll your eyes but can’t help but smile, shaking your head.
“I’m going to check on my basketball player with the broken ankle.”
“Call me if he flirts with you again.”
“What you gonna do? Stare at him sternly? Tell him off?”
“Guess we’ll see,” he winks as he walks away.
Your heart is racing as you make your way towards your next patient. You take a few deep breaths outside the room, steadying yourself. Jack manages to throw off your centre of gravity with a simple look, a simple smile, a simple touch.
You’re in dangerous territory and you know it.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
“Jack?”
The night air sends goosebumps across your arms, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up. The chill of the wind whips around you, the darkness making it hard to see.
“Nope. Sorry to disappoint.”
“You’ve never disappointed me, Robby. Was just expecting Jack is all - this is where I usually find him.”
You join the man where he stands leaning against the railing, looking out onto the city lights.
“You know, if you want company on this little sabbatical trip you’re planning, Jack would be happy to tag along. It might be good for him, he’s overdue a vacation.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. He’s too addicted to quick adrenaline rushes. He needs to chill out.”
He laughs, all quick and unexpected, as if it’s taken him by surprise just as much as you.
“Not sure I can picture me and Jack holding onto each other on a motorcycle.”
“I can. Think I had that dream, once.”
He shakes his head in fake disapproval but he can’t hide the smile on his face.
“You’re unhinged.”
“Now you sound like Jack.”
“I’ll try not to take that as an insult.”
You turn so you’re facing him, looking at the older man intently.
“You know, a comparison to Jack is arguably the biggest compliment I could ever give you.”
His brows furrow in confusion.
“He might be my favourite person on the entire planet.”
When all that can be heard is the sound of traffic from the street below you, you continue.
“You wanna know why? Because despite it all, he chooses to be good. He is the kindest, most selfless person I have ever met. He has lived through the most awful things that can happen to someone, seen things no human should ever have to see, experienced the depths of hell in ways we could never even fathom. And yet… he chooses, everyday, to be good.”
He’s staring at you like it’s news. Like he had no idea you felt this way. Which is strange to you, because you feel it couldn’t be more obvious. To you, it’s a wonder he hasn’t called you up on it for all these years.
“And even if he has no reason to be good, no reason to carry on… he finds one. And then keeps on going.”
Robby opens his mouth to speak, but you keep talking.
“Do you know how hard it is to just be decent? He puts the effort in every single fucking day, despite what life has thrown at him, despite what this goddamn place throws at him. He goes to therapy, he saves lives, he finds joy in the tiny little moments. Because he chooses to.”
His face has gone soft, eyes gentle as he chews his bottom lip while he listens. His gaze hasn’t left yours this entire time.
“I know you’re struggling, Robby.”
He flinches like you’ve punched him in the gut.
“God knows I would be too, if I was you. People expect their attending to be invincible. Patients, med students, even nurses, forget that you’re human sometimes. They want you to solve all their problems, right? You’ve got to be the one to make the call. You’ve got to take over when things go wrong. You’ve got to have all the answers. I can’t imagine what that’s like. It must be heavy.”
Robby sways, gripping onto the railing next to him for dear life. He feels like you’ve knocked the wind out of him, like he might keel over any minute if you keep on talking.
“But you have to choose to live, Robby. Not just survive. If you feel like you don’t have a purpose, it’s your responsibility to find one. No one’s going to solve this for you. You have to make the choice to save yourself.”
He audibly exhales a breath, both hands clasping the cool metal as he folds himself over the rail. It’s as if it’s all too much for him to process.
“Okay, I - lecture over, alright? I just… you’ve got a lot of people worried, Robinavitch. And you can’t keep pretending you don’t know that.”
Silence. The sounds of the city are all that can be heard, ambulances flying in and out of the bay way below you.
You place your hand over his where it still rests, not feeling the need to say anything more. The two of you stay like that for a little while, breathing in the chilly night air.
“Ah, here you are,” a voice says from the fire exit door. “Been looking for the two of you.”
“Missed us, Dr Abbot?” you quip without turning around.
“Always.”
You can tell by the sound of his steps as he makes his way over that he’s tired, his legs working a fraction slower than usual.
He takes a quick glance at you and Robby’s hands, smiling gently as he brushes his fingers against your free ones when he passes.
“I’m gonna get back down there before Dana kills me.”
They both chuckle, knowing there’s too much truth in your words.
“See you down there, silver foxes.”
There’s more chuckling as you leave, bracing yourself for the inevitable chaos you’re about to walk into. When you’re gone, Jack goes to speak, but Robby gets there first.
“Marry that girl.”
The shorter man turns to face the taller one, eyebrows raised in questioning.
“There’s no one in this world quite like her.”
“You’re preaching to the choir, brother.”
They spend another ten minutes stood up on the rooftop. They don’t say anything else.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
You’re on hour eleven and a half of your shift when Jack finally gets the chance to talk to you for more than three seconds.
“Hey,” he says as he jogs to catch up with you. “You okay?”
You walk out of the front doors and into the ambulance bay, needing some fresh air to get through your last thirty minutes.
“As okay as I can be.”
“Me too, honey.”
You crane your head towards the sky, trying to spot any stars or the moon. When you turn around, Jacks looking at you intently.
“You talked to Robby.”
“Yeah. Did he say anything?”
“Only that I should marry you.”
Your breath catches in your throat, eyes going wide.
“I- sorry… what?”
“I think he might be right.”
Your brain can’t keep up with the conversation, lagging behind completely. One minute you’re talking about Robby, and the next… marriage?
You stare at each other as the cool night air chills both of your bones, the wind whipping around you. Yet neither of you feel cold. You’re both being warmed from the inside out by this feeling, this promise of something hopeful, something real, something alive.
Jack kisses you right there in the ambulance bay.
Hands cradling your face, chest pressed to your chest, lips soft at first but firmer when you reciprocate. He’s humming with contentment, the sound rumbling through you both as you tangle your fingers into his black scrubs and tug him impossibly closer. You want to climb into his ribcage, rest your head on his heart and close your eyes forever.
When he pulls away, his hazel eyes are glistening, glinting in the moonlight and filled with adoration.
“You wanna get breakfast after this?”
You laugh at the unexpectedness of his question, the sound echoing through the empty sky.
“Yes, I do. I want pancakes and stupid amounts of syrup and overly buttered toast and the coldest orange juice in the world.”
“I’ll give you anything you want,” he whispers as he leans in to press another tender kiss to your lips.
“Even hash browns?”
“Even hash browns,” he chuckles into your hair, pulling you into his side with a heavy arm around your shoulders.
Nothing will ever be the same.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
It’s a few days later, and Jack is making you laugh so hard while you’re charting that there are tears in your eyes.
He’s grinning at you, finding nothing more gratifying than seeing you smile. His entire face is lit up with joy as he looks at you, the happiness completely infectious.
Robby’s been watching the two of you for the last five minutes, eyes glued to the scene in front of him. He looks like he’s in pain, eyebrows furrowed and bottom lip caught between his teeth as he wrings his hands.
“What’s up with him?” Santos asks the group around her, all of them flicking between looking at their attending and looking at you and Jack. “He’s been staring at them for like twenty minutes.”
“He doesn’t know who he’s more jealous of.”
It’s Cassie who says it, everyone turning to face her with incredulous expressions.
“What? You all know I’m right.”
No one says anything else. They know she’s right.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
A month later, a man from your past shows up in the ER with no warning.
You and Robby march into the room as usual, ready to assess the patient, nothing out of the ordinary. And then he’s talking at you, but you can’t hear him. Because all you can focus on is that man’s face.
It looks the same as it did back then, with a little more age. He looks just as angry now as he did before. The view of him sat on the bed in front of you, injured foot elevated, is enough to have your ears ringing.
Robby’s saying your name but you can’t hear it.
“Hey.”
You feel a strong hand between your shoulder blades, warm and determined. He shields you from view of the guy on the gurney, looking down at you with worry in his eyes.
“Sir, we’ll be right back. We’ve got your chart mixed up with someone else’s. Just give us a second.”
Robby’s fingers wrap around your wrist, pulling you in front of him and out of the room without any resistance.
“What happened? You okay?”
He’s pulled you into the stairwell, cradling your face in his palms and forcing you to stare at him.
“He… he-”
“Take a breath. You’re okay.”
You do as he says, trusting him wholeheartedly always.
“Sorry, Robby.”
“What are you apologising for?”
“Having an unprofessional meltdown.”
“Hardly a meltdown, hon. Most people wouldn’t have even noticed.”
“But you’re not most people.”
There’s a silence, but it isn’t awkward. It’s charged with something.
“You know him.”
“You could say that.”
“He hurt you.”
A pause.
“…you could say that.”
“You don’t have to go back in there.”
“It’s fine,” you try to shake him off, but his hands stay firmly planted on your cheeks. “I can be professional.”
“This isn’t about professionalism, this is about protecting yourself. Sit here and take five minutes while I assess him, and then I’ll come back and get you.”
“We’ve already been out for five minutes. In fact, it’s been too long. You need to be out there.”
“What I need is to be here with you.”
You’re not going to argue with the tone, nor do you fancy arguing with the look in his eyes. Desperation, exhaustion and something else you can’t quite recognise.
“You’re not going anywhere near that man, understood?”
You nod. He nods. You look at each other for a minute before he leans down and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.
“Stay here while I examine him. Please.”
You sit down on a step without a word, and wait for him to get back.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
A week later, you walk into the ER ready for your night shift with 3 takeaway cups in your hands.
When you get to the nurses station, Jack takes his off you wordlessly, squeezing your side and pressing a kiss into your hair as a thank you. Like he’s done so many times before.
Robby appears in front of you, looking worn down and exhausted.
“Hey, you.”
“Hey. How’s the day shift been?”
“Same old shit.”
You hold out the last cup to him, tilting your head quizzically when he doesn’t immediately take it.
“Thanks, honey, but I don’t think I should be drinking coffee right now. I’m going straight to bed in approximately forty five minutes.”
“It’s not coffee,” you say as you push it towards him. “It’s herbal tea. It should help with the inevitable adrenaline crash you’re gonna have in approximately forty five minutes. It’ll start to wind you down, so you’ll be ready to sleep when you get home.”
He’s speechless for a long moment, looking at you incredulously.
“…You thought of everything.”
“No, Robby. I thought of you.”
He takes the tea and sips it, taking a deep exhale.
“Thank you,” he says, no more than a whisper.
You touch his bicep gently, staring at him with more care than he’s experienced in years. And then you walk off, leaving him questioning everything he thought he knew.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
It’s a Wednesday morning and you wake up in Jack’s bed.
On a rare occasion, you got out of work on time on Monday night. You spent all of Tuesday wrapped up in each other between running errands - laundry and cleaning and grocery shopping and vacuuming and eating grapes straight out of the carton.
You haven’t left each others side for the last 48 hours. It’s been bliss.
You open your eyes to the morning light and Jack’s arms wrapped around your middle. Legs tangled together, sheets ruffled across you, warm breath tickling the back of your neck.
Jack hums into your skin, pulling you closer, while you breathe him in, fighting to keep a smile off your face.
“You smell like sleep,” you whisper.
“You smell like the rest of my life,” he whispers back.
You try not to overthink it. You fail.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
On the day of Pittfest, Robby calls you in a panic.
“How fast can you get here?”
“What happened?”
“We need you.”
You’d jumped in the car without question, ringing Jack on the way over to find out he’d just arrived at the hospital to give a helping hand. You get there just in time for briefing, jeans on and bag slung over your back. Everyone’s gathered around the nurses station, and Jack gravitates towards you, gliding across the sea of people like there’s a magnetic pull between you. He links his fingers with yours, squeezing tightly as he hides your clasped hands from prying eyes.
An hour later, the hospital is filled with patients, people and gurneys as far as you can see.
You walk into Trauma One with your sleeves rolled up, scrubs painted red and hair flying in all directions. Jack’s wrist deep in a wound, calm and determined despite the chaos.
“You’re here,” he exhales, relief bleeding into his voice. “Can you donate for me?”
“Blood?”
“Honey, did you think I was going to ask you for a kidney?”
“Jack, if you needed a kidney, I’d give you one in a heartbeat.”
It’s a wholly too intimate moment for a busy ER. Time stops for a second as you take a breath with each other, grateful for a minute of peace in the least peaceful place on earth.
“My angel,” he breathes.
You smile at him gently, heart constricting at the softness in his face and in his voice.
“I can give blood if you need blood,” you prompt, bringing the conversation back to a professional level.
“You’re O Negative, right?”
“You remembered.”
“Course I did. Go find Dana and she’ll get you set up - you think you can donate as you go? I am,” he says as he pulls up his trouser leg, revealing a blood bag and and IV.
“Sure, yeah. I can do that.”
“Thank you.”
He gestures his chin in a come here motion, beckoning you over while his hands are busy. You step in close to him, trying to ignore the feeling in your chest when he presses a kiss to your temple, right there in the trauma room.
“Be careful,” he murmurs against your hair.
“Always am. You too.”
“Always am.”
Typically, that’d be a lie from him. But it doesn’t seem to be anymore.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
Two weeks later, you’re sitting on Jack’s kitchen counter while he cooks in preparation for Robby coming over for dinner.
He’s been meaning to approach the topic gracefully, but instead it just slips out.
“I quit the SWAT team.”
You’ve been absentmindedly stirring the sauce on the stovetop, movement immediately halting at his sudden confession.
“I noticed.”
“You did?”
You’re confused at his confusion.
“…Yeah? I pay attention you know, Jack.”
“I just… you didn’t say anything. Thought you didn’t know.”
“I’ve been waiting for you to bring it up. Figured you’d talk to me about it when you felt ready to explain everything.”
He moves to stand between your legs, thumbs rubbing circles into the bare skin of your thighs.
“You’re an angel. I hope you know that.”
“I’ve been told once or twice.”
You’re giggling as he leans in to kiss you, slow and gentle and oh so tender. He tenses suddenly, as if a thought has popped into his brain and disrupted his peace.
“What is it, Jack?”
“There’s something else I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”
You nod supportively, encouraging him to continue. Your fingers start to knead at his shoulders, trying to work some of the stress out of his tightly wound muscles.
“Have you noticed that I haven’t been wearing my wedding ring?”
You exhale carefully as you think of exactly what to say.
“Jack… I notice when you breathe a little faster than usual. I noticed when you tried a new body wash a few weeks back and then I noticed when you switched back to your old one. I notice when your hair gets to that length where it starts to annoy you, and then the very next time I see you you’ll have cut it. I notice when you’re tired and you walk a little slower and have to think about where you step. So… yes. I noticed. I notice everything.”
“Have you noticed that I love you?”
You’re stunned into silence.
“I knew the minute I met you that you’d be in my life forever, sweetheart. It was like some higher power sent you to me when I needed you most.”
“I love you so much, I could cry.”
He grins at you like a madman, all blinding and joyous.
“Yeah?”
“Oh yeah.”
You slide one hand into his hair to tug him closer to you, desperate to kiss him stupid right in the middle of the kitchen. Which is exactly what you do.
“You can wear your ring if you want to,” you murmur against his lips. “I understand it’s a complex situation for you.”
“It’s been a long time coming. I’ve done a lot of thinking and a lot of therapy - it’s taken me a while, but I haven’t done anything I’m not ready to do.”
“I’m really proud of you.”
He hasn’t heard those words in years. They slice him right through his heart.
“I couldn’t love you more if I tried.”
You’re about to kiss him again when there’s a knock at the front door.
“I forgot he’s always ridiculously early to stuff,” Jack laughs, pressing a kiss to your forehead before he leaves to greet your guest.
Robby doesn’t question why the two of you are floating on air all night.
He doesn’t understand what he’s feeling or why he’s feeling it, either.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
Later on that night, the three of you are sat on the couch outside on the porch, nursing beers and laughing until your sides hurt.
“Thanks for dinner, by the way,” Robby says after a minute or two of silence. “Who made the pasta?”
“It’s pretty girl’s recipe, from her grandma.”
“It was delicious. Is it sacred, or will you share it with me?”
“I’ll teach you some time,” you smile. “Sacred or not, she’d understand me giving it to you.”
“Thanks, hon.”
Robby’s big, calloused palm splays across your thigh, squeezing once in gratitude. Your eyes catch his, holding each other’s gaze for a heated moment as your breath hitches in your chest. His hand hasn’t moved - in fact, he’s gripping you tighter than before. Jack is watching the interaction with complete attention, mesmerised by the shift in the energy.
You rest your fingers over Robby’s, keeping them glued to your leg. The warmth from his skin is bleeding into yours, electricity crackling through your nerves. You turn to look at Jack, who’s enraptured. His eyes are dark and hooded, chest heaving as he surveys your body language. He nods at you almost imperceptibly, as if giving you permission to do whatever you need to do.
You spin back around to Robby, who hasn’t torn his stare from your face. His fingers dig into your soft flesh, tightening like he’s testing his own restraint. You take a deep breath, and so does Jack from behind you. He’s gotten closer, plastering himself to your back - one hand pressed into your hip, the other finding its way onto the back of your neck where it rests gently but firmly. Almost possessively. Almost.
The stars seem to shine a little brighter in the sky when you lean in to kiss Robby tentatively. He kisses you back softly, carefully, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to. He’s about to pull away when Jack’s hand tangles in the front of his shirt, pulling him back into you. Giving him the okay.
Robby moans into your mouth, cradling your face and licking at your bottom lip. Someone groans, and you’re not sure if it’s you or Jack.
“I- I’m sorry,” Robby murmurs as he pulls back. “Shit, Jack… I’m so sorry.”
“The fuck are you apologising for?” Abbot laughs, wrapping his arms around your middle from behind and pressing a kiss to your temple.
“What? I kissed your- girlfriend feels like the wrong word-”
“Yeah, we haven’t really labelled anything. Girlfriend feels a little high school,” you chuckle.
“How are you… how are you so… chilled about this, man?”
“Mike,” Jack levels. “We’re fine. Everything is fine. It’s a kiss, not a marriage proposal. It’s been a long time coming. And anyway, technically, she kissed you.”
You giggle and turn to press your lips to Jack’s, grateful you’re on the same page as per usual.
“Robby, relax. Please?”
He looks at you for a long moment, trying to find any kind of apprehension on your face. When he finds none whatsoever, he calms down, tension leaving his body. He settles back into the couch cushions, stretching his arm over and around you. You cuddle into his side, head resting on his chest as you tuck your legs into Jack’s lap.
Robby reaches over to rest a hand on his best friend’s shoulder, squeezing in silent conversation. He’s taken aback when Jack turns it over and presses a kiss into his open palm, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. He tries to ignore the way his heart skips a beat.
The three of you fall asleep on the porch under the canopy of stars, tucked under a blanket and warmed by each other.
It’s the easiest thing in the world.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
A month later, Jack has you trapped underneath him, buried to the hilt as his body weight presses you into the mattress.
His thrusts are slow and languid, neither of you in a hurry to get to the finish line.
“You always feel so good. Never gets old.”
He’s groaning in your ear, breath tickling your neck and making you shiver.
“Fuck, Jack.”
“Atta girl. Perfect, beautiful, angel girl.”
Your nails are raking down his back, legs tangled around his waist as you urge him deeper into you. You’re whining, panting, words coming out in shaky exhales as Jack rewires your brain chemistry.
He’s so in tune with you, it’s like he can sense the tiniest little change. Your mind wanders, losing your focus, and he clocks it immediately.
“You with me, honey?”
“Mhmmm.”
“Baby. Where’d you go, huh? Whatcha thinking about?”
Your voice comes out small and distant when you absentmindedly reply,
“Robby.”
Most people would be horrified if their partner said someone else’s name in bed, let alone confessed to thinking about them during sex. But Jack isn’t most people.
“Worrying about him?”
“Mhmm.”
“Wondering about him?”
“Mhmm.”
“Thinkin’ about what it’d be like if he were here?”
Your eyes finally meet the eyes of the man above you as you nod.
“All of that.”
“Let’s talk to him, yeah?” he says as he grips at your hips. “We’ll never know if we don’t ask.”
“I can’t believe we’re having this conversation during sex,” you breathily laugh.
He’s about to reply when there’s a knock at the front door, pulling you both from the love drunk haze you found yourselves in.
“It’s two in the morning,” you say with furrowed brows as you slip out of bed and shove a t shirt over your head.
“Wait for me, I’ll get it.”
“Baby, it’s okay. You don’t have to put your leg back on for like thirty seconds. Just stand at the top of the stairs.”
You pad down barefoot and swing the door open, to be met with the sight of the man in question.
Robby.
You’re about to speak, but he gets there first.
“I want to talk about that night on the porch.”
You’re formulating a reply when he continues.
“I can’t stop thinking about it. About you.” He pauses. “About Jack.”
Reaching out, you link your fingers with his and pull him inside, locking the door behind you. In the entryway, you toe at his boots to hint at him to kick them off while you shrug his jacket from his shoulders and hang it on the rack.
Guiding him through the house, he follows you obediently up the stairs and into your bedroom, where Jack has settled back against the headboard.
“Hey, brother.”
Robby’s a little stunned, like he’s worried he might be dreaming.
You undress Robby carefully, pulling off his Henley first, then his pants, leaving him in his boxers. You chuck your shirt off too, standing there in nothing but your panties looking at him as if this is a regular occurrence.
Jack shuffles over to make room for the two of you, allowing you to climb in first. You have to coax Robby in, his hesitance evident in the way he stands at the side of the bed, stiff as a board.
“We’ve been waiting for you,” you whisper so as not to spook him. “Since that night on the porch.”
“I… I was worried I’d ruined everything.”
“You haven’t ruined anything,” Jack reassures in that soothing, buttery tone of his. “In fact, you’ve made everything better.”
“I don’t-”
“Let’s talk about it properly tomorrow, yeah?”
He’s nodding, sliding into the open space you’ve left for him in the sheets. You pull him against you so your head is resting on his chest, just like that night a month ago. Jack presses into your side, slinging an arm over your middle and making sure his fingertips rest on Robby’s ribs.
All that can be heard is the sound of the cool breeze gently blowing the trees, the open window providing your soundtrack. An owl hoots, a car drives past, two people walk home together. The August night outside continues, as if the very foundation of three people’s lives isn’t rapidly changing between these four walls.
After what could have been five minutes or five hours, Robby speaks quietly into the darkness.
“I don’t wanna go on my sabbatical roadtrip anymore.”
You nod against his heart, listening to the way it thunders underneath your ear.
“Then don’t go. Stay.”
It’s Jack that says it, but it’s like he’s taken the words out of your mouth.
“Stay,” you repeat, voice hushed. “Stay. Please.”
Robby’s rapid heartbeat calms down.
“I’ll stay. I promise.”
And he will.
Forever.
for the full experience, listen to the great divide album by noah kahan while reading. especially end of august. <3
oh, the feeling of being alive for the first time in a long time.
doctor jack abbot x female doctor!reader x doctor michael ‘robby’ robinavitch
warnings - smut. cursing. average the pitt angst and sadness. slight hints at reader having a toxic past relationship. depressed robby (but no more than usual).
word count - 6k
authors note - this has taken me a little while longer than originally anticipated, but I have enjoyed every single second of writing it. it’s made me emotional, it’s brought me joy, and it’s become a story that i’m really proud of. the great divide has easily become a top 5 of all time album for me, and so many of those songs and lyrics scream jack and robby. I love feeling inspired. I love writing. and I love sexy old men.
masterlist. inbox.
It was the end of August by the time you realised something had changed.
Your sixth August knowing Jack. Your fifth knowing Robby.
The shift was so subtle that none of you noticed it. It happens like that. Slowly, gradually, like the morning sun stretching over the city. The warmth is measured, steady, incremental, until all of a sudden you’re shielding your eyes and panting as a bead of sweat drips down your spine.
You’d felt a certain way about Dr Jack Abbot for so long, you can’t remember ever feeling any differently. You can’t recall what it’s like to be strangers. You can’t even fathom a universe in which you don’t see each other everyday, or text each other on the days you don’t. He’s just there. A part of the foundation of the world you live in.
Robby, too. You’ve worked together so long, it’s like you’re starting to share one brain. Talking to each other without opening your mouths, communicating across a manic ER through eye contact and the occasional nod. The three of you are a well oiled machine, cogs turning night and day.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
You’d been fast friends, that first day you met. You were working at West Point Hospital, across the city from the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Centre. Jack had brought in a patient with the SWAT team, barging through the double doors and barking orders immediately. You didn’t know him, but you’d followed his lead instantly, trusting his clear authority and kind eyes. He had this presence. Everyone turned to look at him when he entered a room, and not just because he looked like that in uniform.
After you’d managed to stabilise the patient, Jack nodded his head to the side, signalling you into the empty room next door. You went in willingly, curious as to why he was closing the curtain behind him.
“Can you give me a hand with something? Please?”
His voice was gruff but gentle, hardened by his past but not stony.
“With?”
“Bullet grazed my back. Can’t reach it myself.”
“Of course.”
You didn’t even hesitate, grabbing everything you needed with practised precision.
“Uniform off, please.”
“All of it?”
He turned to you with mischief slapped across his face, smirk getting bigger by the second.
“Just the top half. For now.”
You could meet him where he was. He liked you instantly.
You’d cleaned his graze methodically, taking your time. You weren’t sure when you’d see the ridiculously handsome Dr Abbot again, so you were in no rush.
“You’re wasted here,” he said lowly.
“Hmm?”
“This place is in fuckin’ shambles. It’s badly run, disorganised, and a health and safety nightmare for its staff.”
“Aren’t all emergency rooms?”
“Yes and no. They’re all dangerous, sure, but they’re not all badly run. The charge nurse over at the PTMC runs that place like the Navy. She prioritises the safety and the wellbeing of her doctors and nurses over everything else.”
“Really?”
It sounded like a fantasy to you - a place where you’d be valued, respected even.
“Really. I’m the night shift attending there. It’s the best emergency room in Pittsburgh, hands down.”
“Anywhere is better than here,” you’d muttered as you finish up on his back. “All done, Dr Abbot.”
“Thank you. You’re an angel.”
“Just doing my job.”
Jack sat and thought for a moment, before turning to face you.
“Come work with me.”
“What?”
“I mean it. Come work at the PTMC. They’d snap you up in a heartbeat. Come and work for a place that will actually recognise the work you do.”
“…It’s tempting.”
“You ever wanted to work the night shift?”
“Never really thought about it.”
“Well think about it. I’m serious. We could really use you.”
You stood and stared at him for a moment, confused as to how he’d entered your life an hour ago and immediately turned it upside down.
“Okay,” you’d said without even realising.
“Yeah?”
Jacks face had lit up, both with surprise and excitement.
“Yeah. Why not? I hate it here. I need a change.”
“Give me your phone number,” he’d said, standing up and suddenly towering over you, still shirtless. “I’ll call you later when I’ve spoken to the higher ups. They’ll be eager to have you, so we can move you really soon.”
“Poach me, you mean.”
“Exactly that,” he’d winked, cheeky and boyish.
That was all it took.
That night, you’d spent hours on the phone with the handsome Dr Abbot, discussing more than just the details of your move to the PTMC. The conversation had flowed so naturally, neither of you had realised that the evening had passed and the sun was about to rise.
“Sweet dreams, sweetheart,” he’d said as he hung up.
The line had replayed in your head for weeks afterwards.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
“I need-”
“Gauze, a ten gauge needle, saline and lidocaine. I got it.”
Jack looks at you in awe for a second before shaking his head, chuckling.
“How does she know that?” the med student asks to no one in particular.
“Those two read each others minds,” Whitaker says.
“Practise,” Robbie says at the same time.
Jack winks at you over the patient, smiling at the way you wink back immediately.
“I’m gonna leave you two to get on with it. Joy, Whitaker, come with me. We’ll check up on the farming burn victim.”
“I’m worried about him,” you say lowly when they’re gone. “The light in his eyes is fading.”
“I know,” Jack agrees, which takes you by surprise. You were expecting him to disagree. “I’ve tried talking to him, but it’s fallin’ on deaf ears.”
You chew at your lip, passing the Doctor what he needs and when.
“You should talk to him.”
“Me? … I don’t know.”
“He might just listen to you.”
“Jack, if he hasn’t listened to you, he sure as hell won’t listen to me.”
“He respects you.”
“No more than he respects you.”
“You two have something different.”
Jack finishes up, glancing at the pulse monitor briefly and nodding when he’s happy with what he sees. He throws his gloves in the trash, holding the pedal down with his foot so you can do the same.
“Different?”
“Yeah, you know. Him and I have got this whole brothers in arms thing going on. But it’s different with you. You’re his soft spot.”
“Dr Michael Robinavitch does not have soft spots for people.”
“He has one. You.”
“Jack-”
He gazes at you softly, gentle eyes silently pleading with you.
“I’m not a miracle worker.”
“Honey… if anyone I know could work a miracle, it’d be you.”
You tilt your head, chewing at your bottom lip.
“Okay, okay. I’ll talk to him when I get the chance, alright?”
“Thank you, angel. And good work earlier - you know, with the mind reading stuff.”
I wish I could read your mind, you think. I wish I knew exactly what you wanted.
Instead, you say,
“At least if I fail at being a doctor, I can become a psychic, right?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. If you fail at being a doctor, you’ll be a swimsuit model.”
He’s smirking something mischievous, looking you up and down completely non subtly.
“Shut the fuck up,” you’re laughing as you leave the cubicle, shoving his shoulder. “Don’t be such a guy.”
“You love it,” he’s teasing, shoving you back and immediately cupping your hip to make sure you don’t fall.
You roll your eyes but can’t help but smile, shaking your head.
“I’m going to check on my basketball player with the broken ankle.”
“Call me if he flirts with you again.”
“What you gonna do? Stare at him sternly? Tell him off?”
“Guess we’ll see,” he winks as he walks away.
Your heart is racing as you make your way towards your next patient. You take a few deep breaths outside the room, steadying yourself. Jack manages to throw off your centre of gravity with a simple look, a simple smile, a simple touch.
You’re in dangerous territory and you know it.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
“Jack?”
The night air sends goosebumps across your arms, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up. The chill of the wind whips around you, the darkness making it hard to see.
“Nope. Sorry to disappoint.”
“You’ve never disappointed me, Robby. Was just expecting Jack is all - this is where I usually find him.”
You join the man where he stands leaning against the railing, looking out onto the city lights.
“You know, if you want company on this little sabbatical trip you’re planning, Jack would be happy to tag along. It might be good for him, he’s overdue a vacation.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. He’s too addicted to quick adrenaline rushes. He needs to chill out.”
He laughs, all quick and unexpected, as if it’s taken him by surprise just as much as you.
“Not sure I can picture me and Jack holding onto each other on a motorcycle.”
“I can. Think I had that dream, once.”
He shakes his head in fake disapproval but he can’t hide the smile on his face.
“You’re unhinged.”
“Now you sound like Jack.”
“I’ll try not to take that as an insult.”
You turn so you’re facing him, looking at the older man intently.
“You know, a comparison to Jack is arguably the biggest compliment I could ever give you.”
His brows furrow in confusion.
“He might be my favourite person on the entire planet.”
When all that can be heard is the sound of traffic from the street below you, you continue.
“You wanna know why? Because despite it all, he chooses to be good. He is the kindest, most selfless person I have ever met. He has lived through the most awful things that can happen to someone, seen things no human should ever have to see, experienced the depths of hell in ways we could never even fathom. And yet… he chooses, everyday, to be good.”
He’s staring at you like it’s news. Like he had no idea you felt this way. Which is strange to you, because you feel it couldn’t be more obvious. To you, it’s a wonder he hasn’t called you up on it for all these years.
“And even if he has no reason to be good, no reason to carry on… he finds one. And then keeps on going.”
Robby opens his mouth to speak, but you keep talking.
“Do you know how hard it is to just be decent? He puts the effort in every single fucking day, despite what life has thrown at him, despite what this goddamn place throws at him. He goes to therapy, he saves lives, he finds joy in the tiny little moments. Because he chooses to.”
His face has gone soft, eyes gentle as he chews his bottom lip while he listens. His gaze hasn’t left yours this entire time.
“I know you’re struggling, Robby.”
He flinches like you’ve punched him in the gut.
“God knows I would be too, if I was you. People expect their attending to be invincible. Patients, med students, even nurses, forget that you’re human sometimes. They want you to solve all their problems, right? You’ve got to be the one to make the call. You’ve got to take over when things go wrong. You’ve got to have all the answers. I can’t imagine what that’s like. It must be heavy.”
Robby sways, gripping onto the railing next to him for dear life. He feels like you’ve knocked the wind out of him, like he might keel over any minute if you keep on talking.
“But you have to choose to live, Robby. Not just survive. If you feel like you don’t have a purpose, it’s your responsibility to find one. No one’s going to solve this for you. You have to make the choice to save yourself.”
He audibly exhales a breath, both hands clasping the cool metal as he folds himself over the rail. It’s as if it’s all too much for him to process.
“Okay, I - lecture over, alright? I just… you’ve got a lot of people worried, Robinavitch. And you can’t keep pretending you don’t know that.”
Silence. The sounds of the city are all that can be heard, ambulances flying in and out of the bay way below you.
You place your hand over his where it still rests, not feeling the need to say anything more. The two of you stay like that for a little while, breathing in the chilly night air.
“Ah, here you are,” a voice says from the fire exit door. “Been looking for the two of you.”
“Missed us, Dr Abbot?” you quip without turning around.
“Always.”
You can tell by the sound of his steps as he makes his way over that he’s tired, his legs working a fraction slower than usual.
He takes a quick glance at you and Robby’s hands, smiling gently as he brushes his fingers against your free ones when he passes.
“I’m gonna get back down there before Dana kills me.”
They both chuckle, knowing there’s too much truth in your words.
“See you down there, silver foxes.”
There’s more chuckling as you leave, bracing yourself for the inevitable chaos you’re about to walk into. When you’re gone, Jack goes to speak, but Robby gets there first.
“Marry that girl.”
The shorter man turns to face the taller one, eyebrows raised in questioning.
“There’s no one in this world quite like her.”
“You’re preaching to the choir, brother.”
They spend another ten minutes stood up on the rooftop. They don’t say anything else.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
You’re on hour eleven and a half of your shift when Jack finally gets the chance to talk to you for more than three seconds.
“Hey,” he says as he jogs to catch up with you. “You okay?”
You walk out of the front doors and into the ambulance bay, needing some fresh air to get through your last thirty minutes.
“As okay as I can be.”
“Me too, honey.”
You crane your head towards the sky, trying to spot any stars or the moon. When you turn around, Jacks looking at you intently.
“You talked to Robby.”
“Yeah. Did he say anything?”
“Only that I should marry you.”
Your breath catches in your throat, eyes going wide.
“I- sorry… what?”
“I think he might be right.”
Your brain can’t keep up with the conversation, lagging behind completely. One minute you’re talking about Robby, and the next… marriage?
You stare at each other as the cool night air chills both of your bones, the wind whipping around you. Yet neither of you feel cold. You’re both being warmed from the inside out by this feeling, this promise of something hopeful, something real, something alive.
Jack kisses you right there in the ambulance bay.
Hands cradling your face, chest pressed to your chest, lips soft at first but firmer when you reciprocate. He’s humming with contentment, the sound rumbling through you both as you tangle your fingers into his black scrubs and tug him impossibly closer. You want to climb into his ribcage, rest your head on his heart and close your eyes forever.
When he pulls away, his hazel eyes are glistening, glinting in the moonlight and filled with adoration.
“You wanna get breakfast after this?”
You laugh at the unexpectedness of his question, the sound echoing through the empty sky.
“Yes, I do. I want pancakes and stupid amounts of syrup and overly buttered toast and the coldest orange juice in the world.”
“I’ll give you anything you want,” he whispers as he leans in to press another tender kiss to your lips.
“Even hash browns?”
“Even hash browns,” he chuckles into your hair, pulling you into his side with a heavy arm around your shoulders.
Nothing will ever be the same.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
It’s a few days later, and Jack is making you laugh so hard while you’re charting that there are tears in your eyes.
He’s grinning at you, finding nothing more gratifying than seeing you smile. His entire face is lit up with joy as he looks at you, the happiness completely infectious.
Robby’s been watching the two of you for the last five minutes, eyes glued to the scene in front of him. He looks like he’s in pain, eyebrows furrowed and bottom lip caught between his teeth as he wrings his hands.
“What’s up with him?” Santos asks the group around her, all of them flicking between looking at their attending and looking at you and Jack. “He’s been staring at them for like twenty minutes.”
“He doesn’t know who he’s more jealous of.”
It’s Cassie who says it, everyone turning to face her with incredulous expressions.
“What? You all know I’m right.”
No one says anything else. They know she’s right.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
A month later, a man from your past shows up in the ER with no warning.
You and Robby march into the room as usual, ready to assess the patient, nothing out of the ordinary. And then he’s talking at you, but you can’t hear him. Because all you can focus on is that man’s face.
It looks the same as it did back then, with a little more age. He looks just as angry now as he did before. The view of him sat on the bed in front of you, injured foot elevated, is enough to have your ears ringing.
Robby’s saying your name but you can’t hear it.
“Hey.”
You feel a strong hand between your shoulder blades, warm and determined. He shields you from view of the guy on the gurney, looking down at you with worry in his eyes.
“Sir, we’ll be right back. We’ve got your chart mixed up with someone else’s. Just give us a second.”
Robby’s fingers wrap around your wrist, pulling you in front of him and out of the room without any resistance.
“What happened? You okay?”
He’s pulled you into the stairwell, cradling your face in his palms and forcing you to stare at him.
“He… he-”
“Take a breath. You’re okay.”
You do as he says, trusting him wholeheartedly always.
“Sorry, Robby.”
“What are you apologising for?”
“Having an unprofessional meltdown.”
“Hardly a meltdown, hon. Most people wouldn’t have even noticed.”
“But you’re not most people.”
There’s a silence, but it isn’t awkward. It’s charged with something.
“You know him.”
“You could say that.”
“He hurt you.”
A pause.
“…you could say that.”
“You don’t have to go back in there.”
“It’s fine,” you try to shake him off, but his hands stay firmly planted on your cheeks. “I can be professional.”
“This isn’t about professionalism, this is about protecting yourself. Sit here and take five minutes while I assess him, and then I’ll come back and get you.”
“We’ve already been out for five minutes. In fact, it’s been too long. You need to be out there.”
“What I need is to be here with you.”
You’re not going to argue with the tone, nor do you fancy arguing with the look in his eyes. Desperation, exhaustion and something else you can’t quite recognise.
“You’re not going anywhere near that man, understood?”
You nod. He nods. You look at each other for a minute before he leans down and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.
“Stay here while I examine him. Please.”
You sit down on a step without a word, and wait for him to get back.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
A week later, you walk into the ER ready for your night shift with 3 takeaway cups in your hands.
When you get to the nurses station, Jack takes his off you wordlessly, squeezing your side and pressing a kiss into your hair as a thank you. Like he’s done so many times before.
Robby appears in front of you, looking worn down and exhausted.
“Hey, you.”
“Hey. How’s the day shift been?”
“Same old shit.”
You hold out the last cup to him, tilting your head quizzically when he doesn’t immediately take it.
“Thanks, honey, but I don’t think I should be drinking coffee right now. I’m going straight to bed in approximately forty five minutes.”
“It’s not coffee,” you say as you push it towards him. “It’s herbal tea. It should help with the inevitable adrenaline crash you’re gonna have in approximately forty five minutes. It’ll start to wind you down, so you’ll be ready to sleep when you get home.”
He’s speechless for a long moment, looking at you incredulously.
“…You thought of everything.”
“No, Robby. I thought of you.”
He takes the tea and sips it, taking a deep exhale.
“Thank you,” he says, no more than a whisper.
You touch his bicep gently, staring at him with more care than he’s experienced in years. And then you walk off, leaving him questioning everything he thought he knew.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
It’s a Wednesday morning and you wake up in Jack’s bed.
On a rare occasion, you got out of work on time on Monday night. You spent all of Tuesday wrapped up in each other between running errands - laundry and cleaning and grocery shopping and vacuuming and eating grapes straight out of the carton.
You haven’t left each others side for the last 48 hours. It’s been bliss.
You open your eyes to the morning light and Jack’s arms wrapped around your middle. Legs tangled together, sheets ruffled across you, warm breath tickling the back of your neck.
Jack hums into your skin, pulling you closer, while you breathe him in, fighting to keep a smile off your face.
“You smell like sleep,” you whisper.
“You smell like the rest of my life,” he whispers back.
You try not to overthink it. You fail.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
On the day of Pittfest, Robby calls you in a panic.
“How fast can you get here?”
“What happened?”
“We need you.”
You’d jumped in the car without question, ringing Jack on the way over to find out he’d just arrived at the hospital to give a helping hand. You get there just in time for briefing, jeans on and bag slung over your back. Everyone’s gathered around the nurses station, and Jack gravitates towards you, gliding across the sea of people like there’s a magnetic pull between you. He links his fingers with yours, squeezing tightly as he hides your clasped hands from prying eyes.
An hour later, the hospital is filled with patients, people and gurneys as far as you can see.
You walk into Trauma One with your sleeves rolled up, scrubs painted red and hair flying in all directions. Jack’s wrist deep in a wound, calm and determined despite the chaos.
“You’re here,” he exhales, relief bleeding into his voice. “Can you donate for me?”
“Blood?”
“Honey, did you think I was going to ask you for a kidney?”
“Jack, if you needed a kidney, I’d give you one in a heartbeat.”
It’s a wholly too intimate moment for a busy ER. Time stops for a second as you take a breath with each other, grateful for a minute of peace in the least peaceful place on earth.
“My angel,” he breathes.
You smile at him gently, heart constricting at the softness in his face and in his voice.
“I can give blood if you need blood,” you prompt, bringing the conversation back to a professional level.
“You’re O Negative, right?”
“You remembered.”
“Course I did. Go find Dana and she’ll get you set up - you think you can donate as you go? I am,” he says as he pulls up his trouser leg, revealing a blood bag and and IV.
“Sure, yeah. I can do that.”
“Thank you.”
He gestures his chin in a come here motion, beckoning you over while his hands are busy. You step in close to him, trying to ignore the feeling in your chest when he presses a kiss to your temple, right there in the trauma room.
“Be careful,” he murmurs against your hair.
“Always am. You too.”
“Always am.”
Typically, that’d be a lie from him. But it doesn’t seem to be anymore.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
Two weeks later, you’re sitting on Jack’s kitchen counter while he cooks in preparation for Robby coming over for dinner.
He’s been meaning to approach the topic gracefully, but instead it just slips out.
“I quit the SWAT team.”
You’ve been absentmindedly stirring the sauce on the stovetop, movement immediately halting at his sudden confession.
“I noticed.”
“You did?”
You’re confused at his confusion.
“…Yeah? I pay attention you know, Jack.”
“I just… you didn’t say anything. Thought you didn’t know.”
“I’ve been waiting for you to bring it up. Figured you’d talk to me about it when you felt ready to explain everything.”
He moves to stand between your legs, thumbs rubbing circles into the bare skin of your thighs.
“You’re an angel. I hope you know that.”
“I’ve been told once or twice.”
You’re giggling as he leans in to kiss you, slow and gentle and oh so tender. He tenses suddenly, as if a thought has popped into his brain and disrupted his peace.
“What is it, Jack?”
“There’s something else I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”
You nod supportively, encouraging him to continue. Your fingers start to knead at his shoulders, trying to work some of the stress out of his tightly wound muscles.
“Have you noticed that I haven’t been wearing my wedding ring?”
You exhale carefully as you think of exactly what to say.
“Jack… I notice when you breathe a little faster than usual. I noticed when you tried a new body wash a few weeks back and then I noticed when you switched back to your old one. I notice when your hair gets to that length where it starts to annoy you, and then the very next time I see you you’ll have cut it. I notice when you’re tired and you walk a little slower and have to think about where you step. So… yes. I noticed. I notice everything.”
“Have you noticed that I love you?”
You’re stunned into silence.
“I knew the minute I met you that you’d be in my life forever, sweetheart. It was like some higher power sent you to me when I needed you most.”
“I love you so much, I could cry.”
He grins at you like a madman, all blinding and joyous.
“Yeah?”
“Oh yeah.”
You slide one hand into his hair to tug him closer to you, desperate to kiss him stupid right in the middle of the kitchen. Which is exactly what you do.
“You can wear your ring if you want to,” you murmur against his lips. “I understand it’s a complex situation for you.”
“It’s been a long time coming. I’ve done a lot of thinking and a lot of therapy - it’s taken me a while, but I haven’t done anything I’m not ready to do.”
“I’m really proud of you.”
He hasn’t heard those words in years. They slice him right through his heart.
“I couldn’t love you more if I tried.”
You’re about to kiss him again when there’s a knock at the front door.
“I forgot he’s always ridiculously early to stuff,” Jack laughs, pressing a kiss to your forehead before he leaves to greet your guest.
Robby doesn’t question why the two of you are floating on air all night.
He doesn’t understand what he’s feeling or why he’s feeling it, either.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
Later on that night, the three of you are sat on the couch outside on the porch, nursing beers and laughing until your sides hurt.
“Thanks for dinner, by the way,” Robby says after a minute or two of silence. “Who made the pasta?”
“It’s pretty girl’s recipe, from her grandma.”
“It was delicious. Is it sacred, or will you share it with me?”
“I’ll teach you some time,” you smile. “Sacred or not, she’d understand me giving it to you.”
“Thanks, hon.”
Robby’s big, calloused palm splays across your thigh, squeezing once in gratitude. Your eyes catch his, holding each other’s gaze for a heated moment as your breath hitches in your chest. His hand hasn’t moved - in fact, he’s gripping you tighter than before. Jack is watching the interaction with complete attention, mesmerised by the shift in the energy.
You rest your fingers over Robby’s, keeping them glued to your leg. The warmth from his skin is bleeding into yours, electricity crackling through your nerves. You turn to look at Jack, who’s enraptured. His eyes are dark and hooded, chest heaving as he surveys your body language. He nods at you almost imperceptibly, as if giving you permission to do whatever you need to do.
You spin back around to Robby, who hasn’t torn his stare from your face. His fingers dig into your soft flesh, tightening like he’s testing his own restraint. You take a deep breath, and so does Jack from behind you. He’s gotten closer, plastering himself to your back - one hand pressed into your hip, the other finding its way onto the back of your neck where it rests gently but firmly. Almost possessively. Almost.
The stars seem to shine a little brighter in the sky when you lean in to kiss Robby tentatively. He kisses you back softly, carefully, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to. He’s about to pull away when Jack’s hand tangles in the front of his shirt, pulling him back into you. Giving him the okay.
Robby moans into your mouth, cradling your face and licking at your bottom lip. Someone groans, and you’re not sure if it’s you or Jack.
“I- I’m sorry,” Robby murmurs as he pulls back. “Shit, Jack… I’m so sorry.”
“The fuck are you apologising for?” Abbot laughs, wrapping his arms around your middle from behind and pressing a kiss to your temple.
“What? I kissed your- girlfriend feels like the wrong word-”
“Yeah, we haven’t really labelled anything. Girlfriend feels a little high school,” you chuckle.
“How are you… how are you so… chilled about this, man?”
“Mike,” Jack levels. “We’re fine. Everything is fine. It’s a kiss, not a marriage proposal. It’s been a long time coming. And anyway, technically, she kissed you.”
You giggle and turn to press your lips to Jack’s, grateful you’re on the same page as per usual.
“Robby, relax. Please?”
He looks at you for a long moment, trying to find any kind of apprehension on your face. When he finds none whatsoever, he calms down, tension leaving his body. He settles back into the couch cushions, stretching his arm over and around you. You cuddle into his side, head resting on his chest as you tuck your legs into Jack’s lap.
Robby reaches over to rest a hand on his best friend’s shoulder, squeezing in silent conversation. He’s taken aback when Jack turns it over and presses a kiss into his open palm, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. He tries to ignore the way his heart skips a beat.
The three of you fall asleep on the porch under the canopy of stars, tucked under a blanket and warmed by each other.
It’s the easiest thing in the world.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
A month later, Jack has you trapped underneath him, buried to the hilt as his body weight presses you into the mattress.
His thrusts are slow and languid, neither of you in a hurry to get to the finish line.
“You always feel so good. Never gets old.”
He’s groaning in your ear, breath tickling your neck and making you shiver.
“Fuck, Jack.”
“Atta girl. Perfect, beautiful, angel girl.”
Your nails are raking down his back, legs tangled around his waist as you urge him deeper into you. You’re whining, panting, words coming out in shaky exhales as Jack rewires your brain chemistry.
He’s so in tune with you, it’s like he can sense the tiniest little change. Your mind wanders, losing your focus, and he clocks it immediately.
“You with me, honey?”
“Mhmmm.”
“Baby. Where’d you go, huh? Whatcha thinking about?”
Your voice comes out small and distant when you absentmindedly reply,
“Robby.”
Most people would be horrified if their partner said someone else’s name in bed, let alone confessed to thinking about them during sex. But Jack isn’t most people.
“Worrying about him?”
“Mhmm.”
“Wondering about him?”
“Mhmm.”
“Thinkin’ about what it’d be like if he were here?”
Your eyes finally meet the eyes of the man above you as you nod.
“All of that.”
“Let’s talk to him, yeah?” he says as he grips at your hips. “We’ll never know if we don’t ask.”
“I can’t believe we’re having this conversation during sex,” you breathily laugh.
He’s about to reply when there’s a knock at the front door, pulling you both from the love drunk haze you found yourselves in.
“It’s two in the morning,” you say with furrowed brows as you slip out of bed and shove a t shirt over your head.
“Wait for me, I’ll get it.”
“Baby, it’s okay. You don’t have to put your leg back on for like thirty seconds. Just stand at the top of the stairs.”
You pad down barefoot and swing the door open, to be met with the sight of the man in question.
Robby.
You’re about to speak, but he gets there first.
“I want to talk about that night on the porch.”
You’re formulating a reply when he continues.
“I can’t stop thinking about it. About you.” He pauses. “About Jack.”
Reaching out, you link your fingers with his and pull him inside, locking the door behind you. In the entryway, you toe at his boots to hint at him to kick them off while you shrug his jacket from his shoulders and hang it on the rack.
Guiding him through the house, he follows you obediently up the stairs and into your bedroom, where Jack has settled back against the headboard.
“Hey, brother.”
Robby’s a little stunned, like he’s worried he might be dreaming.
You undress Robby carefully, pulling off his Henley first, then his pants, leaving him in his boxers. You chuck your shirt off too, standing there in nothing but your panties looking at him as if this is a regular occurrence.
Jack shuffles over to make room for the two of you, allowing you to climb in first. You have to coax Robby in, his hesitance evident in the way he stands at the side of the bed, stiff as a board.
“We’ve been waiting for you,” you whisper so as not to spook him. “Since that night on the porch.”
“I… I was worried I’d ruined everything.”
“You haven’t ruined anything,” Jack reassures in that soothing, buttery tone of his. “In fact, you’ve made everything better.”
“I don’t-”
“Let’s talk about it properly tomorrow, yeah?”
He’s nodding, sliding into the open space you’ve left for him in the sheets. You pull him against you so your head is resting on his chest, just like that night a month ago. Jack presses into your side, slinging an arm over your middle and making sure his fingertips rest on Robby’s ribs.
All that can be heard is the sound of the cool breeze gently blowing the trees, the open window providing your soundtrack. An owl hoots, a car drives past, two people walk home together. The August night outside continues, as if the very foundation of three people’s lives isn’t rapidly changing between these four walls.
After what could have been five minutes or five hours, Robby speaks quietly into the darkness.
“I don’t wanna go on my sabbatical roadtrip anymore.”
You nod against his heart, listening to the way it thunders underneath your ear.
“Then don’t go. Stay.”
It’s Jack that says it, but it’s like he’s taken the words out of your mouth.
“Stay,” you repeat, voice hushed. “Stay. Please.”
Robby’s rapid heartbeat calms down.
“I’ll stay. I promise.”
And he will.
Forever.
for the full experience, listen to the great divide album by noah kahan while reading. especially end of august. <3
oh, the feeling of being alive for the first time in a long time.
doctor jack abbot x female doctor!reader x doctor michael ‘robby’ robinavitch
warnings - smut. cursing. average the pitt angst and sadness. slight hints at reader having a toxic past relationship. depressed robby (but no more than usual).
word count - 6k
authors note - this has taken me a little while longer than originally anticipated, but I have enjoyed every single second of writing it. it’s made me emotional, it’s brought me joy, and it’s become a story that i’m really proud of. the great divide has easily become a top 5 of all time album for me, and so many of those songs and lyrics scream jack and robby. I love feeling inspired. I love writing. and I love sexy old men.
masterlist. inbox.
It was the end of August by the time you realised something had changed.
Your sixth August knowing Jack. Your fifth knowing Robby.
The shift was so subtle that none of you noticed it. It happens like that. Slowly, gradually, like the morning sun stretching over the city. The warmth is measured, steady, incremental, until all of a sudden you’re shielding your eyes and panting as a bead of sweat drips down your spine.
You’d felt a certain way about Dr Jack Abbot for so long, you can’t remember ever feeling any differently. You can’t recall what it’s like to be strangers. You can’t even fathom a universe in which you don’t see each other everyday, or text each other on the days you don’t. He’s just there. A part of the foundation of the world you live in.
Robby, too. You’ve worked together so long, it’s like you’re starting to share one brain. Talking to each other without opening your mouths, communicating across a manic ER through eye contact and the occasional nod. The three of you are a well oiled machine, cogs turning night and day.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
You’d been fast friends, that first day you met. You were working at West Point Hospital, across the city from the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Centre. Jack had brought in a patient with the SWAT team, barging through the double doors and barking orders immediately. You didn’t know him, but you’d followed his lead instantly, trusting his clear authority and kind eyes. He had this presence. Everyone turned to look at him when he entered a room, and not just because he looked like that in uniform.
After you’d managed to stabilise the patient, Jack nodded his head to the side, signalling you into the empty room next door. You went in willingly, curious as to why he was closing the curtain behind him.
“Can you give me a hand with something? Please?”
His voice was gruff but gentle, hardened by his past but not stony.
“With?”
“Bullet grazed my back. Can’t reach it myself.”
“Of course.”
You didn’t even hesitate, grabbing everything you needed with practised precision.
“Uniform off, please.”
“All of it?”
He turned to you with mischief slapped across his face, smirk getting bigger by the second.
“Just the top half. For now.”
You could meet him where he was. He liked you instantly.
You’d cleaned his graze methodically, taking your time. You weren’t sure when you’d see the ridiculously handsome Dr Abbot again, so you were in no rush.
“You’re wasted here,” he said lowly.
“Hmm?”
“This place is in fuckin’ shambles. It’s badly run, disorganised, and a health and safety nightmare for its staff.”
“Aren’t all emergency rooms?”
“Yes and no. They’re all dangerous, sure, but they’re not all badly run. The charge nurse over at the PTMC runs that place like the Navy. She prioritises the safety and the wellbeing of her doctors and nurses over everything else.”
“Really?”
It sounded like a fantasy to you - a place where you’d be valued, respected even.
“Really. I’m the night shift attending there. It’s the best emergency room in Pittsburgh, hands down.”
“Anywhere is better than here,” you’d muttered as you finish up on his back. “All done, Dr Abbot.”
“Thank you. You’re an angel.”
“Just doing my job.”
Jack sat and thought for a moment, before turning to face you.
“Come work with me.”
“What?”
“I mean it. Come work at the PTMC. They’d snap you up in a heartbeat. Come and work for a place that will actually recognise the work you do.”
“…It’s tempting.”
“You ever wanted to work the night shift?”
“Never really thought about it.”
“Well think about it. I’m serious. We could really use you.”
You stood and stared at him for a moment, confused as to how he’d entered your life an hour ago and immediately turned it upside down.
“Okay,” you’d said without even realising.
“Yeah?”
Jacks face had lit up, both with surprise and excitement.
“Yeah. Why not? I hate it here. I need a change.”
“Give me your phone number,” he’d said, standing up and suddenly towering over you, still shirtless. “I’ll call you later when I’ve spoken to the higher ups. They’ll be eager to have you, so we can move you really soon.”
“Poach me, you mean.”
“Exactly that,” he’d winked, cheeky and boyish.
That was all it took.
That night, you’d spent hours on the phone with the handsome Dr Abbot, discussing more than just the details of your move to the PTMC. The conversation had flowed so naturally, neither of you had realised that the evening had passed and the sun was about to rise.
“Sweet dreams, sweetheart,” he’d said as he hung up.
The line had replayed in your head for weeks afterwards.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
“I need-”
“Gauze, a ten gauge needle, saline and lidocaine. I got it.”
Jack looks at you in awe for a second before shaking his head, chuckling.
“How does she know that?” the med student asks to no one in particular.
“Those two read each others minds,” Whitaker says.
“Practise,” Robbie says at the same time.
Jack winks at you over the patient, smiling at the way you wink back immediately.
“I’m gonna leave you two to get on with it. Joy, Whitaker, come with me. We’ll check up on the farming burn victim.”
“I’m worried about him,” you say lowly when they’re gone. “The light in his eyes is fading.”
“I know,” Jack agrees, which takes you by surprise. You were expecting him to disagree. “I’ve tried talking to him, but it’s fallin’ on deaf ears.”
You chew at your lip, passing the Doctor what he needs and when.
“You should talk to him.”
“Me? … I don’t know.”
“He might just listen to you.”
“Jack, if he hasn’t listened to you, he sure as hell won’t listen to me.”
“He respects you.”
“No more than he respects you.”
“You two have something different.”
Jack finishes up, glancing at the pulse monitor briefly and nodding when he’s happy with what he sees. He throws his gloves in the trash, holding the pedal down with his foot so you can do the same.
“Different?”
“Yeah, you know. Him and I have got this whole brothers in arms thing going on. But it’s different with you. You’re his soft spot.”
“Dr Michael Robinavitch does not have soft spots for people.”
“He has one. You.”
“Jack-”
He gazes at you softly, gentle eyes silently pleading with you.
“I’m not a miracle worker.”
“Honey… if anyone I know could work a miracle, it’d be you.”
You tilt your head, chewing at your bottom lip.
“Okay, okay. I’ll talk to him when I get the chance, alright?”
“Thank you, angel. And good work earlier - you know, with the mind reading stuff.”
I wish I could read your mind, you think. I wish I knew exactly what you wanted.
Instead, you say,
“At least if I fail at being a doctor, I can become a psychic, right?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. If you fail at being a doctor, you’ll be a swimsuit model.”
He’s smirking something mischievous, looking you up and down completely non subtly.
“Shut the fuck up,” you’re laughing as you leave the cubicle, shoving his shoulder. “Don’t be such a guy.”
“You love it,” he’s teasing, shoving you back and immediately cupping your hip to make sure you don’t fall.
You roll your eyes but can’t help but smile, shaking your head.
“I’m going to check on my basketball player with the broken ankle.”
“Call me if he flirts with you again.”
“What you gonna do? Stare at him sternly? Tell him off?”
“Guess we’ll see,” he winks as he walks away.
Your heart is racing as you make your way towards your next patient. You take a few deep breaths outside the room, steadying yourself. Jack manages to throw off your centre of gravity with a simple look, a simple smile, a simple touch.
You’re in dangerous territory and you know it.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
“Jack?”
The night air sends goosebumps across your arms, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up. The chill of the wind whips around you, the darkness making it hard to see.
“Nope. Sorry to disappoint.”
“You’ve never disappointed me, Robby. Was just expecting Jack is all - this is where I usually find him.”
You join the man where he stands leaning against the railing, looking out onto the city lights.
“You know, if you want company on this little sabbatical trip you’re planning, Jack would be happy to tag along. It might be good for him, he’s overdue a vacation.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. He’s too addicted to quick adrenaline rushes. He needs to chill out.”
He laughs, all quick and unexpected, as if it’s taken him by surprise just as much as you.
“Not sure I can picture me and Jack holding onto each other on a motorcycle.”
“I can. Think I had that dream, once.”
He shakes his head in fake disapproval but he can’t hide the smile on his face.
“You’re unhinged.”
“Now you sound like Jack.”
“I’ll try not to take that as an insult.”
You turn so you’re facing him, looking at the older man intently.
“You know, a comparison to Jack is arguably the biggest compliment I could ever give you.”
His brows furrow in confusion.
“He might be my favourite person on the entire planet.”
When all that can be heard is the sound of traffic from the street below you, you continue.
“You wanna know why? Because despite it all, he chooses to be good. He is the kindest, most selfless person I have ever met. He has lived through the most awful things that can happen to someone, seen things no human should ever have to see, experienced the depths of hell in ways we could never even fathom. And yet… he chooses, everyday, to be good.”
He’s staring at you like it’s news. Like he had no idea you felt this way. Which is strange to you, because you feel it couldn’t be more obvious. To you, it’s a wonder he hasn’t called you up on it for all these years.
“And even if he has no reason to be good, no reason to carry on… he finds one. And then keeps on going.”
Robby opens his mouth to speak, but you keep talking.
“Do you know how hard it is to just be decent? He puts the effort in every single fucking day, despite what life has thrown at him, despite what this goddamn place throws at him. He goes to therapy, he saves lives, he finds joy in the tiny little moments. Because he chooses to.”
His face has gone soft, eyes gentle as he chews his bottom lip while he listens. His gaze hasn’t left yours this entire time.
“I know you’re struggling, Robby.”
He flinches like you’ve punched him in the gut.
“God knows I would be too, if I was you. People expect their attending to be invincible. Patients, med students, even nurses, forget that you’re human sometimes. They want you to solve all their problems, right? You’ve got to be the one to make the call. You’ve got to take over when things go wrong. You’ve got to have all the answers. I can’t imagine what that’s like. It must be heavy.”
Robby sways, gripping onto the railing next to him for dear life. He feels like you’ve knocked the wind out of him, like he might keel over any minute if you keep on talking.
“But you have to choose to live, Robby. Not just survive. If you feel like you don’t have a purpose, it’s your responsibility to find one. No one’s going to solve this for you. You have to make the choice to save yourself.”
He audibly exhales a breath, both hands clasping the cool metal as he folds himself over the rail. It’s as if it’s all too much for him to process.
“Okay, I - lecture over, alright? I just… you’ve got a lot of people worried, Robinavitch. And you can’t keep pretending you don’t know that.”
Silence. The sounds of the city are all that can be heard, ambulances flying in and out of the bay way below you.
You place your hand over his where it still rests, not feeling the need to say anything more. The two of you stay like that for a little while, breathing in the chilly night air.
“Ah, here you are,” a voice says from the fire exit door. “Been looking for the two of you.”
“Missed us, Dr Abbot?” you quip without turning around.
“Always.”
You can tell by the sound of his steps as he makes his way over that he’s tired, his legs working a fraction slower than usual.
He takes a quick glance at you and Robby’s hands, smiling gently as he brushes his fingers against your free ones when he passes.
“I’m gonna get back down there before Dana kills me.”
They both chuckle, knowing there’s too much truth in your words.
“See you down there, silver foxes.”
There’s more chuckling as you leave, bracing yourself for the inevitable chaos you’re about to walk into. When you’re gone, Jack goes to speak, but Robby gets there first.
“Marry that girl.”
The shorter man turns to face the taller one, eyebrows raised in questioning.
“There’s no one in this world quite like her.”
“You’re preaching to the choir, brother.”
They spend another ten minutes stood up on the rooftop. They don’t say anything else.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
You’re on hour eleven and a half of your shift when Jack finally gets the chance to talk to you for more than three seconds.
“Hey,” he says as he jogs to catch up with you. “You okay?”
You walk out of the front doors and into the ambulance bay, needing some fresh air to get through your last thirty minutes.
“As okay as I can be.”
“Me too, honey.”
You crane your head towards the sky, trying to spot any stars or the moon. When you turn around, Jacks looking at you intently.
“You talked to Robby.”
“Yeah. Did he say anything?”
“Only that I should marry you.”
Your breath catches in your throat, eyes going wide.
“I- sorry… what?”
“I think he might be right.”
Your brain can’t keep up with the conversation, lagging behind completely. One minute you’re talking about Robby, and the next… marriage?
You stare at each other as the cool night air chills both of your bones, the wind whipping around you. Yet neither of you feel cold. You’re both being warmed from the inside out by this feeling, this promise of something hopeful, something real, something alive.
Jack kisses you right there in the ambulance bay.
Hands cradling your face, chest pressed to your chest, lips soft at first but firmer when you reciprocate. He’s humming with contentment, the sound rumbling through you both as you tangle your fingers into his black scrubs and tug him impossibly closer. You want to climb into his ribcage, rest your head on his heart and close your eyes forever.
When he pulls away, his hazel eyes are glistening, glinting in the moonlight and filled with adoration.
“You wanna get breakfast after this?”
You laugh at the unexpectedness of his question, the sound echoing through the empty sky.
“Yes, I do. I want pancakes and stupid amounts of syrup and overly buttered toast and the coldest orange juice in the world.”
“I’ll give you anything you want,” he whispers as he leans in to press another tender kiss to your lips.
“Even hash browns?”
“Even hash browns,” he chuckles into your hair, pulling you into his side with a heavy arm around your shoulders.
Nothing will ever be the same.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
It’s a few days later, and Jack is making you laugh so hard while you’re charting that there are tears in your eyes.
He’s grinning at you, finding nothing more gratifying than seeing you smile. His entire face is lit up with joy as he looks at you, the happiness completely infectious.
Robby’s been watching the two of you for the last five minutes, eyes glued to the scene in front of him. He looks like he’s in pain, eyebrows furrowed and bottom lip caught between his teeth as he wrings his hands.
“What’s up with him?” Santos asks the group around her, all of them flicking between looking at their attending and looking at you and Jack. “He’s been staring at them for like twenty minutes.”
“He doesn’t know who he’s more jealous of.”
It’s Cassie who says it, everyone turning to face her with incredulous expressions.
“What? You all know I’m right.”
No one says anything else. They know she’s right.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
A month later, a man from your past shows up in the ER with no warning.
You and Robby march into the room as usual, ready to assess the patient, nothing out of the ordinary. And then he’s talking at you, but you can’t hear him. Because all you can focus on is that man’s face.
It looks the same as it did back then, with a little more age. He looks just as angry now as he did before. The view of him sat on the bed in front of you, injured foot elevated, is enough to have your ears ringing.
Robby’s saying your name but you can’t hear it.
“Hey.”
You feel a strong hand between your shoulder blades, warm and determined. He shields you from view of the guy on the gurney, looking down at you with worry in his eyes.
“Sir, we’ll be right back. We’ve got your chart mixed up with someone else’s. Just give us a second.”
Robby’s fingers wrap around your wrist, pulling you in front of him and out of the room without any resistance.
“What happened? You okay?”
He’s pulled you into the stairwell, cradling your face in his palms and forcing you to stare at him.
“He… he-”
“Take a breath. You’re okay.”
You do as he says, trusting him wholeheartedly always.
“Sorry, Robby.”
“What are you apologising for?”
“Having an unprofessional meltdown.”
“Hardly a meltdown, hon. Most people wouldn’t have even noticed.”
“But you’re not most people.”
There’s a silence, but it isn’t awkward. It’s charged with something.
“You know him.”
“You could say that.”
“He hurt you.”
A pause.
“…you could say that.”
“You don’t have to go back in there.”
“It’s fine,” you try to shake him off, but his hands stay firmly planted on your cheeks. “I can be professional.”
“This isn’t about professionalism, this is about protecting yourself. Sit here and take five minutes while I assess him, and then I’ll come back and get you.”
“We’ve already been out for five minutes. In fact, it’s been too long. You need to be out there.”
“What I need is to be here with you.”
You’re not going to argue with the tone, nor do you fancy arguing with the look in his eyes. Desperation, exhaustion and something else you can’t quite recognise.
“You’re not going anywhere near that man, understood?”
You nod. He nods. You look at each other for a minute before he leans down and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.
“Stay here while I examine him. Please.”
You sit down on a step without a word, and wait for him to get back.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
A week later, you walk into the ER ready for your night shift with 3 takeaway cups in your hands.
When you get to the nurses station, Jack takes his off you wordlessly, squeezing your side and pressing a kiss into your hair as a thank you. Like he’s done so many times before.
Robby appears in front of you, looking worn down and exhausted.
“Hey, you.”
“Hey. How’s the day shift been?”
“Same old shit.”
You hold out the last cup to him, tilting your head quizzically when he doesn’t immediately take it.
“Thanks, honey, but I don’t think I should be drinking coffee right now. I’m going straight to bed in approximately forty five minutes.”
“It’s not coffee,” you say as you push it towards him. “It’s herbal tea. It should help with the inevitable adrenaline crash you’re gonna have in approximately forty five minutes. It’ll start to wind you down, so you’ll be ready to sleep when you get home.”
He’s speechless for a long moment, looking at you incredulously.
“…You thought of everything.”
“No, Robby. I thought of you.”
He takes the tea and sips it, taking a deep exhale.
“Thank you,” he says, no more than a whisper.
You touch his bicep gently, staring at him with more care than he’s experienced in years. And then you walk off, leaving him questioning everything he thought he knew.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
It’s a Wednesday morning and you wake up in Jack’s bed.
On a rare occasion, you got out of work on time on Monday night. You spent all of Tuesday wrapped up in each other between running errands - laundry and cleaning and grocery shopping and vacuuming and eating grapes straight out of the carton.
You haven’t left each others side for the last 48 hours. It’s been bliss.
You open your eyes to the morning light and Jack’s arms wrapped around your middle. Legs tangled together, sheets ruffled across you, warm breath tickling the back of your neck.
Jack hums into your skin, pulling you closer, while you breathe him in, fighting to keep a smile off your face.
“You smell like sleep,” you whisper.
“You smell like the rest of my life,” he whispers back.
You try not to overthink it. You fail.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
On the day of Pittfest, Robby calls you in a panic.
“How fast can you get here?”
“What happened?”
“We need you.”
You’d jumped in the car without question, ringing Jack on the way over to find out he’d just arrived at the hospital to give a helping hand. You get there just in time for briefing, jeans on and bag slung over your back. Everyone’s gathered around the nurses station, and Jack gravitates towards you, gliding across the sea of people like there’s a magnetic pull between you. He links his fingers with yours, squeezing tightly as he hides your clasped hands from prying eyes.
An hour later, the hospital is filled with patients, people and gurneys as far as you can see.
You walk into Trauma One with your sleeves rolled up, scrubs painted red and hair flying in all directions. Jack’s wrist deep in a wound, calm and determined despite the chaos.
“You’re here,” he exhales, relief bleeding into his voice. “Can you donate for me?”
“Blood?”
“Honey, did you think I was going to ask you for a kidney?”
“Jack, if you needed a kidney, I’d give you one in a heartbeat.”
It’s a wholly too intimate moment for a busy ER. Time stops for a second as you take a breath with each other, grateful for a minute of peace in the least peaceful place on earth.
“My angel,” he breathes.
You smile at him gently, heart constricting at the softness in his face and in his voice.
“I can give blood if you need blood,” you prompt, bringing the conversation back to a professional level.
“You’re O Negative, right?”
“You remembered.”
“Course I did. Go find Dana and she’ll get you set up - you think you can donate as you go? I am,” he says as he pulls up his trouser leg, revealing a blood bag and and IV.
“Sure, yeah. I can do that.”
“Thank you.”
He gestures his chin in a come here motion, beckoning you over while his hands are busy. You step in close to him, trying to ignore the feeling in your chest when he presses a kiss to your temple, right there in the trauma room.
“Be careful,” he murmurs against your hair.
“Always am. You too.”
“Always am.”
Typically, that’d be a lie from him. But it doesn’t seem to be anymore.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
Two weeks later, you’re sitting on Jack’s kitchen counter while he cooks in preparation for Robby coming over for dinner.
He’s been meaning to approach the topic gracefully, but instead it just slips out.
“I quit the SWAT team.”
You’ve been absentmindedly stirring the sauce on the stovetop, movement immediately halting at his sudden confession.
“I noticed.”
“You did?”
You’re confused at his confusion.
“…Yeah? I pay attention you know, Jack.”
“I just… you didn’t say anything. Thought you didn’t know.”
“I’ve been waiting for you to bring it up. Figured you’d talk to me about it when you felt ready to explain everything.”
He moves to stand between your legs, thumbs rubbing circles into the bare skin of your thighs.
“You’re an angel. I hope you know that.”
“I’ve been told once or twice.”
You’re giggling as he leans in to kiss you, slow and gentle and oh so tender. He tenses suddenly, as if a thought has popped into his brain and disrupted his peace.
“What is it, Jack?”
“There’s something else I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”
You nod supportively, encouraging him to continue. Your fingers start to knead at his shoulders, trying to work some of the stress out of his tightly wound muscles.
“Have you noticed that I haven’t been wearing my wedding ring?”
You exhale carefully as you think of exactly what to say.
“Jack… I notice when you breathe a little faster than usual. I noticed when you tried a new body wash a few weeks back and then I noticed when you switched back to your old one. I notice when your hair gets to that length where it starts to annoy you, and then the very next time I see you you’ll have cut it. I notice when you’re tired and you walk a little slower and have to think about where you step. So… yes. I noticed. I notice everything.”
“Have you noticed that I love you?”
You’re stunned into silence.
“I knew the minute I met you that you’d be in my life forever, sweetheart. It was like some higher power sent you to me when I needed you most.”
“I love you so much, I could cry.”
He grins at you like a madman, all blinding and joyous.
“Yeah?”
“Oh yeah.”
You slide one hand into his hair to tug him closer to you, desperate to kiss him stupid right in the middle of the kitchen. Which is exactly what you do.
“You can wear your ring if you want to,” you murmur against his lips. “I understand it’s a complex situation for you.”
“It’s been a long time coming. I’ve done a lot of thinking and a lot of therapy - it’s taken me a while, but I haven’t done anything I’m not ready to do.”
“I’m really proud of you.”
He hasn’t heard those words in years. They slice him right through his heart.
“I couldn’t love you more if I tried.”
You’re about to kiss him again when there’s a knock at the front door.
“I forgot he’s always ridiculously early to stuff,” Jack laughs, pressing a kiss to your forehead before he leaves to greet your guest.
Robby doesn’t question why the two of you are floating on air all night.
He doesn’t understand what he’s feeling or why he’s feeling it, either.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
Later on that night, the three of you are sat on the couch outside on the porch, nursing beers and laughing until your sides hurt.
“Thanks for dinner, by the way,” Robby says after a minute or two of silence. “Who made the pasta?”
“It’s pretty girl’s recipe, from her grandma.”
“It was delicious. Is it sacred, or will you share it with me?”
“I’ll teach you some time,” you smile. “Sacred or not, she’d understand me giving it to you.”
“Thanks, hon.”
Robby’s big, calloused palm splays across your thigh, squeezing once in gratitude. Your eyes catch his, holding each other’s gaze for a heated moment as your breath hitches in your chest. His hand hasn’t moved - in fact, he’s gripping you tighter than before. Jack is watching the interaction with complete attention, mesmerised by the shift in the energy.
You rest your fingers over Robby’s, keeping them glued to your leg. The warmth from his skin is bleeding into yours, electricity crackling through your nerves. You turn to look at Jack, who’s enraptured. His eyes are dark and hooded, chest heaving as he surveys your body language. He nods at you almost imperceptibly, as if giving you permission to do whatever you need to do.
You spin back around to Robby, who hasn’t torn his stare from your face. His fingers dig into your soft flesh, tightening like he’s testing his own restraint. You take a deep breath, and so does Jack from behind you. He’s gotten closer, plastering himself to your back - one hand pressed into your hip, the other finding its way onto the back of your neck where it rests gently but firmly. Almost possessively. Almost.
The stars seem to shine a little brighter in the sky when you lean in to kiss Robby tentatively. He kisses you back softly, carefully, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to. He’s about to pull away when Jack’s hand tangles in the front of his shirt, pulling him back into you. Giving him the okay.
Robby moans into your mouth, cradling your face and licking at your bottom lip. Someone groans, and you’re not sure if it’s you or Jack.
“I- I’m sorry,” Robby murmurs as he pulls back. “Shit, Jack… I’m so sorry.”
“The fuck are you apologising for?” Abbot laughs, wrapping his arms around your middle from behind and pressing a kiss to your temple.
“What? I kissed your- girlfriend feels like the wrong word-”
“Yeah, we haven’t really labelled anything. Girlfriend feels a little high school,” you chuckle.
“How are you… how are you so… chilled about this, man?”
“Mike,” Jack levels. “We’re fine. Everything is fine. It’s a kiss, not a marriage proposal. It’s been a long time coming. And anyway, technically, she kissed you.”
You giggle and turn to press your lips to Jack’s, grateful you’re on the same page as per usual.
“Robby, relax. Please?”
He looks at you for a long moment, trying to find any kind of apprehension on your face. When he finds none whatsoever, he calms down, tension leaving his body. He settles back into the couch cushions, stretching his arm over and around you. You cuddle into his side, head resting on his chest as you tuck your legs into Jack’s lap.
Robby reaches over to rest a hand on his best friend’s shoulder, squeezing in silent conversation. He’s taken aback when Jack turns it over and presses a kiss into his open palm, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. He tries to ignore the way his heart skips a beat.
The three of you fall asleep on the porch under the canopy of stars, tucked under a blanket and warmed by each other.
It’s the easiest thing in the world.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
A month later, Jack has you trapped underneath him, buried to the hilt as his body weight presses you into the mattress.
His thrusts are slow and languid, neither of you in a hurry to get to the finish line.
“You always feel so good. Never gets old.”
He’s groaning in your ear, breath tickling your neck and making you shiver.
“Fuck, Jack.”
“Atta girl. Perfect, beautiful, angel girl.”
Your nails are raking down his back, legs tangled around his waist as you urge him deeper into you. You’re whining, panting, words coming out in shaky exhales as Jack rewires your brain chemistry.
He’s so in tune with you, it’s like he can sense the tiniest little change. Your mind wanders, losing your focus, and he clocks it immediately.
“You with me, honey?”
“Mhmmm.”
“Baby. Where’d you go, huh? Whatcha thinking about?”
Your voice comes out small and distant when you absentmindedly reply,
“Robby.”
Most people would be horrified if their partner said someone else’s name in bed, let alone confessed to thinking about them during sex. But Jack isn’t most people.
“Worrying about him?”
“Mhmm.”
“Wondering about him?”
“Mhmm.”
“Thinkin’ about what it’d be like if he were here?”
Your eyes finally meet the eyes of the man above you as you nod.
“All of that.”
“Let’s talk to him, yeah?” he says as he grips at your hips. “We’ll never know if we don’t ask.”
“I can’t believe we’re having this conversation during sex,” you breathily laugh.
He’s about to reply when there’s a knock at the front door, pulling you both from the love drunk haze you found yourselves in.
“It’s two in the morning,” you say with furrowed brows as you slip out of bed and shove a t shirt over your head.
“Wait for me, I’ll get it.”
“Baby, it’s okay. You don’t have to put your leg back on for like thirty seconds. Just stand at the top of the stairs.”
You pad down barefoot and swing the door open, to be met with the sight of the man in question.
Robby.
You’re about to speak, but he gets there first.
“I want to talk about that night on the porch.”
You’re formulating a reply when he continues.
“I can’t stop thinking about it. About you.” He pauses. “About Jack.”
Reaching out, you link your fingers with his and pull him inside, locking the door behind you. In the entryway, you toe at his boots to hint at him to kick them off while you shrug his jacket from his shoulders and hang it on the rack.
Guiding him through the house, he follows you obediently up the stairs and into your bedroom, where Jack has settled back against the headboard.
“Hey, brother.”
Robby’s a little stunned, like he’s worried he might be dreaming.
You undress Robby carefully, pulling off his Henley first, then his pants, leaving him in his boxers. You chuck your shirt off too, standing there in nothing but your panties looking at him as if this is a regular occurrence.
Jack shuffles over to make room for the two of you, allowing you to climb in first. You have to coax Robby in, his hesitance evident in the way he stands at the side of the bed, stiff as a board.
“We’ve been waiting for you,” you whisper so as not to spook him. “Since that night on the porch.”
“I… I was worried I’d ruined everything.”
“You haven’t ruined anything,” Jack reassures in that soothing, buttery tone of his. “In fact, you’ve made everything better.”
“I don’t-”
“Let’s talk about it properly tomorrow, yeah?”
He’s nodding, sliding into the open space you’ve left for him in the sheets. You pull him against you so your head is resting on his chest, just like that night a month ago. Jack presses into your side, slinging an arm over your middle and making sure his fingertips rest on Robby’s ribs.
All that can be heard is the sound of the cool breeze gently blowing the trees, the open window providing your soundtrack. An owl hoots, a car drives past, two people walk home together. The August night outside continues, as if the very foundation of three people’s lives isn’t rapidly changing between these four walls.
After what could have been five minutes or five hours, Robby speaks quietly into the darkness.
“I don’t wanna go on my sabbatical roadtrip anymore.”
You nod against his heart, listening to the way it thunders underneath your ear.
“Then don’t go. Stay.”
It’s Jack that says it, but it’s like he’s taken the words out of your mouth.
“Stay,” you repeat, voice hushed. “Stay. Please.”
Robby’s rapid heartbeat calms down.
“I’ll stay. I promise.”
And he will.
Forever.
for the full experience, listen to the great divide album by noah kahan while reading. especially end of august. <3
a sneak peek at the abbot x robby x reader fic based on noah kahans new album that I promised a while ago !! i’m aware this has taken longer than anticipated but it’s felt really special to me while i’ve been writing it and I really love how it’s turning out. it’s soft and gentle so full of love it’ll warm your heart ten times over.
coming soon. really soon.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
It's a few days later, and Jack is making you laugh so hard while you're charting that there are tears in your eyes.
He's grinning at you, finding nothing more gratifying than seeing you smile. His entire face is lit up with joy as he looks at you, the happiness completely infectious.
Robby's been watching the two of you for the last five minutes, eyes glued to the scene in front of him. He looks like he's in pain, eyebrows furrowed and bottom lip caught between his teeth as he wrings his hands.
"What's up with him?" Santos asks the group around her, all of them flicking between looking at their attending and looking at you and Jack. "He's been staring at them for like twenty minutes."
"He doesn't know who he's more jealous of."
It's Cassie who says it, everyone turning to face her with incredulous expressions.
"What? You all know I'm right."
No one says anything else. They know she's right.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
as always, let me know if you’d like to be tagged <3
a sneak peek at the abbot x robby x reader fic based on noah kahans new album that I promised a while ago !! i’m aware this has taken longer than anticipated but it’s felt really special to me while i’ve been writing it and I really love how it’s turning out. it’s soft and gentle so full of love it’ll warm your heart ten times over.
coming soon. really soon.
update - read it here.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
It's a few days later, and Jack is making you laugh so hard while you're charting that there are tears in your eyes.
He's grinning at you, finding nothing more gratifying than seeing you smile. His entire face is lit up with joy as he looks at you, the happiness completely infectious.
Robby's been watching the two of you for the last five minutes, eyes glued to the scene in front of him. He looks like he's in pain, eyebrows furrowed and bottom lip caught between his teeth as he wrings his hands.
"What's up with him?" Santos asks the group around her, all of them flicking between looking at their attending and looking at you and Jack. "He's been staring at them for like twenty minutes."
"He doesn't know who he's more jealous of."
It's Cassie who says it, everyone turning to face her with incredulous expressions.
"What? You all know I'm right."
No one says anything else. They know she's right.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
as always, let me know if you’d like to be tagged <3
Bucky didn't believe in love at first sight. Then he met you.
Pairing - Bucky Barnes x female reader
Warnings - None
Word Count - 3615
Author's Note - hello gorgeous people, hope you're all doing well. writing this has made my heart so full, and I hope it makes you feel the same. requests are always open and more than encouraged!! currently working on a stunning jake seresin request that's just so lovely. i'm SO open to more jake requests, but also any marvel, top gun maverick, criminal minds, narcos and any others you have in mind!! just send them over, and I'll see what I can do. as always, so much love x
Masterlist. Requests.
“No way. How is that even possible?”
You look at the bewildered man in front of you and can’t help but smile.
“It’ll play anything you want it to. Anything in the world. Just ask it!” you encourage, beaming grin still plastered on your face.
“Alexa,” he says tentatively, “play Marvin Gaye.”
The first notes of Trouble Man begin to sound through your apartment, and his eyes light up. He’s looking at you like you’ve discovered something completely revolutionary.
You laugh – a real, genuine, delighted sound that flows through Bucky like a beam of light, illuminates his bones, makes his heart beat that little bit faster.
Grabbing your notebook, you delicately place a check next to Number 26 – voice-controlled devices. Number 27 is air fryers. Number 28 is Bluetooth. Number 29 is kindles and e-readers. Number 30 is Doordash. You’ve already checked off Spotify, and ATMs, and Google, and online banking, amongst many others. A list of things to better integrate Bucky into the 21st Century. A list of things to make him feel less like a man out of time. A list of things that allow you to spend all the time with him that you can.
A warm hand on your left hip and a cold one on your right pull you back into reality.
“Dance with me.” he murmurs. “Let me teach you something, for once.”
Before you can process his words, he’s gliding across the kitchen with you in his arms. Trouble Man isn’t playing anymore, instead replaced with something slower, richer. Bucky hasn’t taken his eyes off you, not even for a second. He’s watching your every move, every expression, every twitch of your lips. Reading you like a book.
You bring your hands to rest around his neck, and he relaxes into you. He’s leading, swaying you gently, occasionally twirling you like a ballerina in a music box. Perfectly effortless. He’s good at this.
The sun is setting, casting a warm orange hue across the kitchen. The light is reflecting onto your hair, making you glow, giving you a halo. Angelic, he thinks. My guardian angel.
You close the space between your bodies, wrapping your arms around his middle. Resting your head on his chest, he prays you can’t hear how his heart is working overtime. You shut your eyes, and breathe him in. He smells faintly like the Bakery, like sugar and coffee and cinnamon. The place that started it all.
⋆ . ✵ ⋆ . ✵ ⋆ . ✵ ⋆ . ✵
When Bucky first moved into his apartment, he’d noticed the Bakery down the street immediately. The smell of cake and coffee drifted out of the lilac colored door, enticing him in. He resisted the urge, and told himself that he’d go inside tomorrow.
The next day, he stood outside of the red brick building, and read the menu on the noticeboard carefully. Then he reread it. And then read it again. Since when was coffee so complicated? And don’t even get him started on cake. He swore there was only a few types back in the forties. Now, there was at least fifty different kinds on this menu alone. He was overwhelmed. He thought he’d be able to walk into this Bakery, get some coffee, maybe something sweet, and leave content. Instead, he's stood on the sidewalk on the verge of a panic attack. Tomorrow, he thinks to himself. I’ll go in tomorrow.
Tomorrow never comes. Every day, he takes a walk, and purposely passes the building that he longs to go into. But somehow, he can never find the courage. He knows he’ll just look like an idiot if he walks in. He’ll look lost, and out of place, and everyone will laugh and mutter. Look, they’ll jeer, The Winter Soldier can’t even order a coffee.
And so, he spares himself the pain. Lets his feet carry him past, only slowing down slightly when he passes the lilac door. Every day for three months, he takes the same route. Willing himself to go in, to find the courage. It’s just coffee, he tells himself. Get a grip.
Until, one day, you decided to change his life, unknowingly. Or maybe knowingly. He’s still not sure.
He takes his usual path, and just as he gets to the lilac door – you’re there. Stood, waiting, soft smile on your face. Bucky panics, and wills his feet to move faster, to take him away from this inevitably awkward situation. You stop him before he can make a run for it.
“Hi.”
Oh. You’re talking to him. You’re staring into his soul with no judgment, or fear, or trepidation. You’re staring into his soul with gentleness. Kindness. Friendship. He’s terrified.
“Uh – hi.” He rubs the back of his neck. Nervous habit.
“So, uh, I hope this isn’t weird, or anything. But, I’ve been watching you walk past every day for like three months, and, well…” you trail off. Now you look nervous. “Actually, I haven’t really thought this far ahead. I just see you, and I wanted to… invite you in, I guess? Not that you need an invite, of course not, we’re open to everyone, but… you always look like you’re going to come in, and then you never do. And I’ve been telling myself for months that I should properly invite you in, but now I’m realising this is, uh, really weird. And I’m sorry.”
You still have that gentle smile on your face, but it’s more tentative now. A dusting of pink is making its way onto your cheeks, and Bucky thinks it might be his new favourite color.
It’s now that he really starts to take you in. Your hair is blowing slightly in the breeze, and the sleeves of your sweater are pulled down over your wrists, to try and keep the New York chill at bay. You have bright, inquisitive eyes – eyes that contain hope, love, laughter. You make him feel almost peaceful. No one makes him feel like that. Damn.
You’ve stepped closer to him now, to get out of the way of the customers making their way through the door. You smell like sugar, and coffee, and optimism. He wants to breathe you in, let you settle in his lungs. A comfortable warmth spreads through his chest.
He decides to take a gamble and bear his truth to you. He’s not sure why, but he trusts you. He doesn’t trust anyone, these days. But he trusts you.
“Can I be honest with you?”, he asks, looking at you expectantly. You’re almost expecting him to laugh in your face at the absurdity of it all. You nod anyway, signalling for him to continue.
“I’ve been trying to work up the courage to come in. But every time I try, I just, uh-” he stutters, and you can tell that his mind is screaming at him, sounding alarm bells, begging him to stop with all this sudden vulnerability.
“It’s overwhelming, right?” you ask, cutting him off. Saving him. Guardian angel.
You see the relief in his body at your question. His fists unclench, the tension leaves his shoulders. He smiles bashfully. Half grateful, half embarrassed. You get it.
“Yeah,” he chuckles. You giggle, and he’s convinced that the melodious sound will circle around in his mind forever, like the Earth orbiting the Sun.
You fiddle with the strings of your mint green apron, and look at him. You’re gazing at him so earnestly that he’s worried he might spontaneously combust.
“Are you busy tonight?” you ask suddenly, and he feels so dizzy he’s concerned momentarily that he’s going to pass out.
“Uh, no. I’m not,” he replies, managing to force the words out of his mouth.
“We close at 6, so meet me here at 7.”
You still have that sparkle in your eye. He couldn’t say no to you if he tried.
“Why?” he queries. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t absolutely petrified at the turn the conversation has taken.
“I want to show you around. Maybe make you a coffee, introduce you to some of my favourite things. You won’t believe how good my raspberry and white chocolate cookies are. They’re best sellers for a reason,” you beam at him.
Beaming. He wonders how he’s lived his whole life without your light illuminating his universe. Anywhere he goes without you is going to feel so dark, he thinks. How did I ever live like this?
He manages to pull himself together to smile back at you. His first genuine grin in God knows how long. He’s forgotten what joy feels like, and he’s almost drunk on it now.
He agrees to your plan, and you turn on your heel, about to make your way back inside.
“Wait!” he yells, louder than intended. “What’s your name?”
Your lips turn up into a smirk, mischief seeping out of your pores.
“Come back at 7 and find out.” You wink at him, and he has to take a few deep breaths in order to stay conscious. With that, you leave him alone on the sidewalk, where he’s silently thanking the universe for dropping you in his lap. Finally, he thinks. The cosmic punishment is over.
He does come back at 7. In fact, he’s stood outside waiting at 6:45. He can see you mopping the floor, singing as you go. His supersoldier hearing allows him to listen to your voice, even from this far away. He’s never been more grateful for the thing he used to call a curse. He’d be cursed every damn day if it meant he got to listen to you like this.
At 6:58, you appear at the lilac door, beckoning him to follow you inside. He knows that stepping over that threshold is going to change him fundamentally. He can’t wait.
Upon entering, he’s hit with the smell of cinnamon, sugar, coffee, and you. A beautiful mix of all three. Without a second thought, he reaches out with his right hand, and gently brushes some flour from your cheekbone.
“Bucky,” he murmurs.
You can’t tear your eyes away from him. Lips slightly parted, chest heaving, it takes you a minute to register that he spoke.
“What?” you ask, dazed by the handsome stranger with the steel blue eyes.
“My name,” he speaks softly. “It’s Bucky.”
You smile knowingly, and take a deep breath. It’s overwhelming, meeting someone that you know is going to be in your life forever. You’re both feeling the same, neither of you sure just quite what to do.
You grab his left hand, sighing quietly in relief at the feeling the cool metal against your heated skin. Leading him gently, he lets you guide him through the front of the store, until you stop behind the counter. He’s convinced he’d let you lead him anywhere, as long as he gets to feel your skin, soft and warm, on his. Grounding. Comforting. Easy.
“What kind of milk do you like?” you ask, fingers still intertwined with his.
“There’s more than one kind of milk?”
Bucky looks so disorientated, that you want to kiss the confused expression off his face. You chuckle softly, and the sound bounces off the metal in the room, twinkling around him.
“We have cows’ milk, oat milk, almond milk and soy milk.” You take one look at him, and decide to change course. “Let’s start with something less complex, actually. Any allergies I should know about?”
He shakes his head, mischievous grin beginning to form on his handsome face. There he is, you think. He’s with me.
“I’m going to make you a latte. It’s milky, and not too strong or too sweet. I think you’ll like it.”
She thinks I’ll like it, he muses. And he trusts you - whether it be with his life, or just a cup of coffee.
You reluctantly let go of his hand, and begin to flit around, gathering everything you need. Bucky leans back against the counter and watches carefully. He watches the way you bite your lip when you measure out the milk. He watches the way the steam from the coffee machine blows your hair back from your face gently. He watches the way you’re trying to make everything perfect. He can’t remember the last time someone paid attention to him like this. His mind is telling him to sprint in the opposite direction, to excuse himself and never come back. He’s terrified. But he stays. I deserve this, he thinks. I deserve something good.
You pull him from his thoughts by handing him the mug of warm coffee. He takes it from you carefully, and, without breaking eye contact, takes a sip. He smiles, really smiles. That’s all the validation you needed.
“Let me show you where we bake everything,” you say quietly, as if you’re afraid to burst this bubble of warmth and trust you’ve created. You’re scared he’s going to bolt if you give him the chance. So, you don’t. You take his hand once more, and guide him through to the kitchen.
“Have you done much baking in your life, Bucky?”
No, he thinks. But I will. I’ll bake everyday for the rest of my life if it means you’ll love me. If you’ll make me coffee and smile at me like that.
Instead, he answers cautiously.
“Not really. I’d like to, though.” He adds that last part bashfully. You smile back at him earnestly.
“Well then you’re in the right place,” you wink. He has the overwhelming urge to drop to his knees. To pray at your altar. To worship you like an angel sent down just for him. He’s surprised he’s still stood on two feet.
Before he can even register what’s happening, you’re beginning to create a mixture for your infamous cookies. You direct him to stir, while you add meticulously measured ingredients into the bowl.
“Put those arms to good use,” you’d smirked, and a blush had risen up to his cheeks almost instantly.
You click the radio on, and a soft, jazzy melody begins to drift through the room. You’re humming quietly, gliding around the kitchen, and he decides that this is it for him. You’re it for him. He could watch you do this every day and die a happy man.
Cookies baking in the oven, you jump up to sit on one of the counters. Bucky moves to stand in between your legs, still being careful to keep his distance ever so slightly. He knows if he touches you, he won’t ever want to let go.
“This wasn’t as scary as I thought it was going to be,” he confesses.
“What, me?” you tease.
“No. Coffee. And cookies,” he chuckles.
“Are there lots of things that you haven’t done because you find them scary?” you ask genuinely. You want to know him. All of him. Fears, wants, quirks. All of it.
“Yeah, actually. The world is so different now. I don’t really know where to start. It’s all terrifying, honestly,” he laughs. You laugh with him, but you know there’s truth to his words. You want to wrap your arms around him. He may be 6 foot tall and made of solid muscle and vibranium, but you want to protect him.
“Why don’t we do it together?”
A pause. He’s confused again.
“Do what together?”
“All of it. The learning. I’ll help you. Everything is less scary if you do it with someone else.”
It’s now that he’s convinced he’s dreaming. You can’t be real. Why would you be here, offering him everything, after all that he’s done? He has to remind himself. I deserve this. I deserve something good.
You can sense his trepidation, so you keep talking.
“Why don’t we make a list? You write down the things you want to learn about. I’ll write down other things I think you should know. You’ll be an expert on the 21st Century before long, Buck.”
Buck. The nickname sounds like a gift coming from your lips.
“Okay. Yeah. Are you sure you don’t mind?”
The anxiety is coming off him in waves. He’s panicking. You grab a hold of both of his hands, and place one on each of your legs, just above your knees. He steps in closer, and takes a breath. You’re warm, and you’re soft, and you’re love personified. He’s okay.
“Of course I don’t mind. I’m excited!” you assure him. Then, quieter, “It means I get to spend more time with you.”
He aims a beaming, megawatt smile in your direction. He feels as if his nerve endings are alight. You’ve awoken something in him. He’d forgotten what it was like to feel like this. To feel alive.
You reach over and grab your notebook. In it, you simply write his name, followed by a love heart. Then, underneath, you begin to list everything you can think of that you want to teach him. You hand the list to him, and he adds his own requests. Between you, you manage to write 50 different lessons.
“Perfect. We’ll start with number one, and work our way down. Are you busy tomorrow evening?”
He chuckles at your eagerness, but secretly, he can’t wait. He knows he’ll be counting down the hours until he can see you again.
“Nope, I’m not. You are my only priority, sweetheart.”
The term of endearment seeps into your skin, settles in your ribcage. You’re convinced it’ll warm you up from the inside out. If he keeps calling you sweetheart in that Brooklyn drawl of his, you’ll never be cold again.
⋆ . ✵ ⋆ . ✵ ⋆ . ✵ ⋆ . ✵
You’re not sure if you’ve been swaying in your kitchen with Bucky to Marvin Gaye for 2 minutes or 2 hours. You’re comfortably settled into him, as if the space in his arms was made especially for you. Maybe it was.
Bucky’s voice breaks through the solitude.
“You know, I’ve created my own list,” he murmurs against the top of your hair, where he’s resting his head.
You pull back, still in his arms, to look at him carefully.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. Read it, and tell me what you think.”
He untangles himself from you and crosses the room, to retrieve his leather-bound notebook. He returns, and places it carefully in your awaiting hands.
You flick open the cover to reveal the first page. You recognise his handwriting instantly. It’s spiralling, and imperfect, but so Bucky. At the top of the page, you spot the title – your name, with a love heart next to it. Exactly the same as you’d done for him when you’d originally created your list together.
Underneath your name, only one thing is written.
I love you.
You look up at him, to see him watching you, holding his breath. Neither of you know what to say. You know what you want to say. You want to tell him that you hope the list never ends, so you always have an excuse to spend time with him. You want to tell him that you watched him walk past the door of the Bakery every day for 3 months because you thought he was the most beautiful person you’d ever seen. You want to tell him that every time he looks at you, you feel as if you’re going to pass out. You want to tell him that you can recognise him anywhere, by touch or smell alone. Instead, you say,
“You do?”
That genuine, million dollar smile is back, etched on his face. He’s glowing, light radiating from his bones.
“Yes. I do. I think I’ve loved you ever since I saw you waiting for me on the doorstep of the Bakery that day.”
You think you might be floating. Levitating above ground, fuelled by love. You laugh.
“That’s the exact moment I fell in love with you.”
He laughs with you, then. You could get drunk off the sound.
“I didn’t think love at first sight was a real thing. I thought I was going crazy,” he confesses.
He’s convinced that the two of you have discovered something, invented it even. Because he doesn’t understand. If love feels like this, so all encompassing, so consuming – how does anyone live? Every moment of every day, Bucky thinks of you. How does anyone go to work? How does anyone ever feel sad, or angry, when love like this exists?
You drop the notebook and cross the room to him. He closes the gap, and throws his arms around you, spinning you in circles, laughing with joy. He sets you back on your feet, and tilts your chin up, so you’re looking into his steel blue eyes. You could drown in the ocean of his irises if he let you.
He leans down, and presses his lips to yours. He’s giving you all of the love, the joy, the laughter – everything good that he has ever felt, because of you – through his kiss. Your knees go weak, and he holds you up by your waist, his strong arms encircling your frame. He tastes like coffee, and sugar, and promises. You’ll never want to taste anything else.
Eventually, you break away for air. You gaze up at him, and he sees sunshine in your eyes. He’s not sure what he did to earn a love like this. You seem to sense his doubts creeping in, because you say, in the most assured voice he’s ever heard –
“No one has ever loved anyone as much as I love you.”
I deserve this, he thinks. I deserve something good.
hopefully it's not too late to send a request... can I get a blurb with pillowfight with Mikey Berzatto?
Familiar Comfort.
mikey berzatto x reader
warnings - cursing.
valentines masterlist. main masterlist. inbox.
You’re sat solemnly by yourself on the Berzatto family’s couch when something slams into the side of your head.
You whip around, expecting to see your best friend standing there with that smug look on his face. Instead, you’re met with the sight of Michael leaning against the doorframe, watching you carefully.
“The fuck was that for?”
He chuckles, pushing off the wood to come and sit next to you.
“Thought you were frozen. Wanted to check you were still alive.”
“Asshole,” you mutter, but you can’t fight the smile that creeps onto your face.
“What you doin’? Carmy ain’t here, and I thought you two had dates.”
“Mine cancelled, so I helped Carm get ready for his. Picked his outfit for him and everything.”
“He cancelled? Why?”
“Don’t know. Gave me some bullshit excuse, said something about cat sitting for his sister. Think I dodged a bullet.”
“You definitely did,” he confirms, swinging an arm around your shoulders. “Fuck that guy. Doesn’t deserve you.”
You shuffle in closer, resting your head on his broad chest. The two of you have always been familiar, having grown up in close proximity. You sometimes forget just how comforting Mikey can be, so used to his boisterous and unserious personality. He likes to be the joker, the guy that makes everyone laugh - especially if Richie’s around.
“Don’t waste your time on guys like that,” he murmurs, fingertips running across the skin of your arm. “You’re too good for ‘em.”
You pull back to look at him, instantly missing the warmth of his body.
“Thank you,” you whisper sincerely. After a moment, you ask the question on your mind. “No dates for you tonight, Mikey?”
“I’d rather be here with you.”
Your heart constricts at the way he looks so genuine, gentle smile etched across his face.
You move without thinking, leaning in to press a careful kiss to his lips. Just as you’re about to panic about what you’ve done, he pulls you back in, kissing you deeper. One of his hands finds the back of your neck, the other tangling into your hair.
You’re tempted to climb into his lap, wanting desperately to be closer to him. Instead, you pull away for air, resting your forehead against his.
“I want to be good enough for you,” he murmurs against your lips. “I’m not, yet. But I want to be.”
“You are.”
“I’m not. But I will be. Trust me, baby. I will be.”
You kiss him again softly, before wrapping your fingers around the pillow next to him and smacking him in the side with it. He looks shocked for a second before grabbing another in retaliation, hitting you firmly but carefully.
“Oh, you’re in for it,” he chuckles, grabbing you around the middle and throwing you onto the couch before thumping you with a pillow again.
You screech, swinging your cushion wildly in hopes of making contact with him in some way. You’re both laughing so hard your stomachs are hurting, tears running down your faces.
You don’t have another thought about the man that stood you up. He’s not worth thinking about.
Not when you’re laughing until you cry with the guy you’ve had a crush on for years.
Your Declan fic was SO good. That’s how u discovered your account and I can’t wait for the other Rivals fics you have coming up!!!
If you are still taking requests, I would die for protective Declan O’Hara in any situation. Love your stuff!!
man of the hour.
the sexiest thing about a man is his moustache morals.
declan o’hara x female reader
warnings - cursing. a little violence and a quick injury description.
word count - 2k
authors note - I truly believe that one of the sexiest things about declan is the fact that he stands up for what he believes in… don’t underestimate the aphrodisiac powers of strong morals, ladies and gents. need him to stand up for me sometime🧎♀️➡️. anyway this ended up much softer than I meant it to be (which isn’t necessarily a bad thing) <3
masterlist. inbox.
“Can I get you another drink?”
You laugh as the man swings an arm around your shoulders, the heavy weight of it almost taking you down.
“You’ve asked me that four times in the last five minutes, Bas. Thank you, though.”
“Just want to make sure you’re having a good time.”
He’s yelling into your ear, both of you fighting to raise your voices above the noise of Bar Sinister.
“I’m always having a good time with you,” you tease, leaning into his side. “I’m alright, Bas. Promise.”
“You need to let loose for once in your life.”
“I’ll let loose on a day I’m not working.”
“You’re always working.”
“What can I say? He’s hard fucking work.”
You both look over to your boss, who’s currently animatedly telling Declan a story. Rupert’s gesturing so exaggeratedly that people are ducking out of the way, both men laughing and completely oblivious as beer and whiskey splash all over the floor.
Bas presses a kiss into your hair, squeezing you tightly.
“I don’t know what he’d do without you.”
“Well, he never has to find out. We’re stuck with each other,” you chuckle. “Best job I’ve ever had, surprisingly.”
“I won’t tell him you said that,” Bas winks, laughing.
The sound of multiple glasses smashing has the both of you whipping your heads around, trying to find the source of the commotion.
“Shit. I’ll see you later, darling. Come and find me if you need anything, yeah?”
“Course.”
Bas disappears into the bustling crowd, leaving you standing at the bar. It’s absolutely manic, people packed in to the rafters and bumping into each other left, right and centre.
You’re about to make your way over to Rupert when a hand wraps around your wrist, pulling you backwards so hard that you stumble over your own feet. You tug your arm away, finally getting a good look at the person who’s responsible.
“Spencer?”
“Oh, so you do remember me then?”
“… What? We were together for six months, and I don’t have short term memory loss, so… yes.”
“I just meant because you’re hanging around with the elite now. The rumour is that you’re working for Rupert Campbell Black.”
“I am working for Rupert Campbell Black. It’s not a secret, Spencer. I’m his aide and assistant. I’m working for Venturer, too, helping with their public relations. And you are… what? Still pretending to work for your father when you really just spend your days drinking and betting?”
“I do work for my father.”
“Of course you do.”
He steps forward, getting into your personal space.
“What are you doing in here, Spencer? You don’t even live in Rutshire.”
“Thought I’d pop in, see if you were here. Wanted to see if there was any truth to the rumours.”
“Well, you’ve put the rumours to bed now, haven’t you?”
“Not the only thing that’s been put to bed,” he murmurs, just low enough so you only catch half of it.
“Pardon me?”
Your entire body is taut with tension, nerves alert and heart racing. You can only imagine how uncomfortable you must look, praying that someone notices sooner rather than later.
“Which one are you sleeping with, then?”
“Spencer-”
“No, come on. You finished things with me, so there must be another man. Who is it?”
“I’m finished things with you - eight months ago, mind you - because you’re an immature prick who’s so pretentious it makes you deeply unlikeable. There was no other man, I’d just rather be single than be with you.”
His chest puffs out as he starts to go red with rage, anger bubbling up in his veins. You know that you’re not completely unsafe here in this room full of people, but that doesn’t calm your anxiety in the slightest.
“Which one is it, hmm?” his voice is raising, getting louder with every passing minute. “Which one looks like your type?”
He points at Seb first, quirking an eyebrow.
“Him?”
When you don’t respond, he moves on to pointing at Patrick.
“Him?”
You shake your head almost imperceptibly, wishing that the ground would swallow you up.
“Oh my god… it’s him, isn’t it?”
His eyes have landed on Rupert, who’s still stood across the room. Your boss is looking at you, now, quickly assessing the situation you’re in.
“You’re fucking Rupert Campbell Black?!”
The entire crowd of people goes silent as he practically screams it, everyone’s heads turning to look at you.
“She’s… what?” Rupert, Declan and Bas all ask at the exact same time, hilariously in sync.
“Fucked your way up to the top, did you? Classy as always.”
Spencer goes to continue his sentence, but hits the floor suddenly with a heavy thud. You look up to see Declan shaking off his hand, chest heaving with adrenaline. Your ex boyfriend has a busted lip, blood dripping down his chin and onto his awfully unflattering shirt.
“It’s called hard work, you arrogant little prick. Not that you’d know.”
Declan’s Irish accent sounds stronger than usual, coloured with fury and aggression. Bas has dragged Spencer to his feet, both him and Rupert holding him upright.
“If I ever catch you anywhere near here again, I’ll do more than just split your fucking lip. You understand?”
Spencer nods, clearly still dizzy from the impact of the punch. He’s dragged outside before anyone can say anything else, the crowd returning back to their drinks as if nothing ever happened.
“Come on, sweetheart.”
Declan links his fingers with yours before you can register what’s happening, pulling you through the bar and out of the back door. You take a seat on the brick wall, legs dangling over the edge as you kick your feet.
“You okay?” he asks as he sits down next to you, just close enough that you can feel his body heat.
“I’m fine.”
“Sure?”
“I’m sure.”
You don’t really know how to feel, confused by the whole ordeal.
“He seems like a nice boy.”
You laugh suddenly at the bad joke, shaking your head as Declan laughs with you. It’s not a sound you hear from him all that often.
“Sorry you had to punch him.”
“I didn’t have to. Kinda wanted to, though.”
“Me too.”
He bumps his shoulder into yours, looking at you carefully.
“I didn’t just hit him for a laugh, you know. I was worried he was going to hurt ya.”
“I was too,” you whisper, vulnerability bleeding into your tone.
“I’d never of let that happen. I promise, sweetheart.”
His hand finds yours again, fingers gently sliding in between yours. He rests your intertwined hands on his thigh, thumb rubbing patterns on your skin.
“Thank you.”
“Of course.”
You sit in silence for a long moment, enjoying the way the warmth of his palm seeps slowly into yours.
“I didn’t think anyone had even noticed Spencer was there.”
“I saw as soon as he walked in, because I knew I didn’t recognise him. I tried to give you some space, thought maybe you were friends or something. Didn’t want to intervene and embarrass ya.”
“Ex boyfriend, if you haven’t already guessed. We were only together about six months all in all, about eight months ago. Don’t know what I was thinking, really. He’s fucking awful.”
“You can say that again,” he chuckles, hand squeezing yours. “Not sure what you ever saw in him.”
“Neither am I, anymore. I don’t know, maybe I just liked having someone really like me, as sad as that sounds. Dating is fun and exciting and… well, it’s supposed to be. God knows it isn’t, for me.”
Declan slides his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side to keep the evening chill at bay. You can hear the ruckus from inside, everyone in the bar carrying on as usual.
“I think you just keep choosing the wrong men, darlin’. Don’t swear off dating just because of a few bad apples.”
“I mean, I haven’t dated anyone since Spencer, and that finished eight months ago. I’d rather stay single than date any more of these posh boys who’ve never worked a day in their lives.”
He laughs, and the vibrations of it rumble through the both of you, settling into your bones. All you can think about is how warm he is and how good he smells and how if you leaned in an inch to your left, you could kiss him right on the cheek.
“What if it’s me?” you can’t help but ask quietly. “What if I’m the reason I can’t find someone?”
“What?”
“I mean, I work for Rupert - which I love - but my job is my life now. He’s a handful as it is, and now with all the Venturer stuff… all I do is work. And I know I’m not pretty like Taggie or powerful and bossy like Cameron but-”
“You’re beautiful.”
Declan stops you in your tracks, his interruption derailing your train of thought completely.
“I- what?”
“Sweetheart, the only reason I noticed that prat Spencer earlier was because I was already looking at you.”
“You were?”
“I always am.”
“… Why?”
“I don’t know, exactly. It’s like this… gravitational pull. You light up a room.”
“That’s a bit dramatic,” you chuckle nervously.
“I wish it was.”
You don’t know what to say, so you lean further into his side, resting your head on his broad shoulder and breathing him in.
“I would have said something sooner,” he murmurs, “but Rupert would fucking kill me.”
“He’s not my keeper, Declan.”
“No, but he’s your boss. And for all intents and purposes, your big brother.”
He rests his head atop of yours, pressing a kiss into your hair.
“How’s your hand?”
“Perfectly fine,” he laughs, squeezing your thigh. “I’ll make a full recovery.”
“Thank God for that.”
Declan turns his body so he can look at you properly, big hands coming up to cradle your face. Neither of you say anything, waiting with tense anticipation for the other person to move first.
You surprise yourself by leaning in and planting a kiss on his lips, chaste and testing the waters. You begin to overthink everything the minute you pull back, worried that you’ve misread his kindness. As if he can read your mind, he tangles a hand into your hair and tugs you back into him, kissing you with a passion you’ve never experienced before.
His tongue slips into your mouth cheekily as you let him take the lead, happy to surrender the control to him. You’ve dreamt about this, late nights in bed spent wondering if the real thing would live up to your imagination. It definitely does.
Eventually, you both pull away, panting and flushed. You can no longer feel the chill in the air, the warmth of Declan keeping the cold at bay.
“Don’t tell Rupert,” he whispers, dirty smirk written across his face.
You can’t help but laugh, giddy off of the weight of the moment. Before tonight, you’d begun to accept that you might have been slightly delusional when it came to Declan - reading into his fingers brushing yours when you handed him something, him winking at you across the room, his palm pressing into your back as he walked past. Now you know - it wasn’t delusion. They were signals.
“Wouldn’t dream of it. Secret’s safe with me.”
He pecks your lips again quickly before standing up, outstretching his hands for you to grab so he can pull you with him.
“You wanna go back inside?”
“No, think I’m done for the night.”
“Will you let me walk you home?”
You look at him smiling down at you all soft and sweet, and realise instantly that you’re in trouble. This isn’t something either of you are going to be able to just brush past. This’ll be haunting both of your memories every single day until it happens again.
“I’d like that.”
“Come on then, sweetheart. Lead the way.”
Declan links his fingers with yours, happy to let you steer him in the right direction. Neither of you say much. You don’t need to.
The way his palm fits perfectly against yours tells you both everything you need to know.
@lostinthefandoms11 @prettycoolgirl @buzzcutlip
don’t make me give the reblogs are invaluable to your writers speech again… i’ve given it one too many times… but you know the deal… reblog if you enjoyed and I shall write more for you <3
i’m writing a jack abbot fic inspired by a song from noah kahans new album and I want to know… would anyone be opposed to me throwing robby in the mix too and making it a rabbot x reader ??
if you guess the song i’ll give you a kiss and a bonus point
warnings - smut. cursing. cheating. age gap. declan is boyfriends dad.
word count - 2k ish maybe ??
authors note - this is a continuation of the fatherfucker universe, so you may want to read Forbidden Fruit first!! this can totally be read as a standalone though. obsessed with that moral irishman. give me 14 of him right now.
masterlist. inbox.
“Oh fuck, you feel good.”
His hips drive into yours, pressing you into the mattress as you screw your eyes shut.
“Look at me, gorgeous.”
You stare up at him, grabbing a fistful of his hair to pull him down to kiss you to keep him quiet.
“Shhh, these walls are thin,” you whisper, trying to fight a smile.
“They won’t mind,” he teases, gripping your hips. “God knows they’ve probably heard it before.”
“Not the point,” you scold as you slap his shoulder. “Oh, fuck-”
“That’s it, beautiful. Say my name when you come.”
It hits you suddenly, building and releasing quicker than you can blink.
“Fuck, Patrick.”
“Oh, shit. I’m coming, fuck.”
He collapses on top of you, heavy and spent.
“Do I need to gag you next time?”
“What’s that, gorgeous?”
“You were so loud, Patrick. No one needs to hear you moaning at 10pm on a Thursday night.”
“No?” he asks with a smirk, pressing kisses into your neck. “Not even you?”
“Not even me,” you laugh as you shake your head, trying to wriggle free. “Now get off so I can go and clean myself up.”
He rolls sideways, cocooning himself in the duvet as he does it. You’re about to ask him a question when you hear a gentle snore, scoffing in disbelief.
“That is record time,” you say into the room. “Fucking hell.”
You take your time washing your face and fixing your hair in the bathroom, lost in your thoughts. There’s electricity thrumming through your veins, untapped energy waiting to be released. It’s making you jittery, fingers tapping against the sink as you brush your teeth.
It’s becoming pretty frequent. Patrick has no problems making you come, in fact, he’s pretty good at it. You’ve been together long enough for him to know what gets you there. It’s just getting more and more… unfulfilling. You finish, and it’s like it’s not enough. It’s nice, and you’re grateful for it, but it’s… underwhelming. It leaves you wanting.
You’re sure it has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that you’ve been fucking his dad.
Declan makes you come so hard you see stars, trembling and gasping as your orgasm lasts for what feels like forever. It always takes you a while to recover, panting and sweating like you’ve run a marathon afterwards. With Patrick, you can get up and out of bed and go about your day.
You know it’s not fair to compare them. In fact, you know it’s inherently wrong. And yet you keep doing it, consciously or not. The way they touch you, the way they kiss you, the way they say your name. Everything is a competition - one that Patrick doesn’t even know he’s been entered into.
You splash your face with cold water once more, trying to pull yourself back to reality. You figure you’ll go and get a glass of water, before crawling back into bed with your boyfriend who loves you. Your boyfriend who you love.
You pad downstairs in your socks, running the tap and filling the first mug you can find. As you’re turning off the faucet, someone clears their throat from behind you.
“Fuck,” you jump, miraculously still holding onto your water. “What are you doing sat at the kitchen table in the dark, you maniac?”
“Couldn’t sleep. It was all a bit loud upstairs.”
You bite your lip guiltily, looking down at the floor.
“Sorry.”
“Not your fault. You told him to be quiet multiple times.”
“You heard that?”
“I heard everything, sweetheart.”
“Sorry, Declan,” you say bashfully. “Not what you need in your own house.”
“I wouldn’t have minded if I could have heard you. But all I heard was him, and you telling him off. Not a single moan, darlin'.”
“I’m… good at being quiet.”
“That’s a lie.”
His matter of fact tone sends heat straight through the pit of your stomach.
“He didn’t make you come?”
“He did.”
“I didn’t hear it. Usually I can’t shut you up when you’re comin’.”
“It’s… different, with him. That’s all.”
“Worse?”
“That isn’t what I said.”
“It’s what ya meant though.”
Declan stands up from his chair, taking huge strides towards you through the dark. You instinctively take a step backwards, until you’re pressed up against the counter. He cages you in with both arms resting on either side of you, leaning in so he’s encroaching your personal space in a way that’s much too intimate to be between a man and his son’s girlfriend.
“I can feel it, you know.”
“Feel what?” you ask, voice shrinking more than you’d have liked.
“The buzz. The energy. You’re still high on it, aren’t ya? Still wired and ready to go.”
“Declan-”
“You want more, don’tcha? You’re still hungry for it.”
You’re shaking your head, trying to avoid his eyes as he shuffles in so his body is plastered to yours.
“Just tell me the truth, sweetheart. Tell me that if I slide my hand into those pyjama shorts, I won’t find you still wet and waiting. Hmm?”
You start to whisper under your breath, causing Declan to grip your chin and force you to look at him.
“You’ve gotta speak up, pretty. Use your words.”
His forehead is practically stuck to yours, breathing his orders into your mouth. You clear your throat, trying to speak as loud as possible without the sound carrying upstairs.
“He doesn’t make me come the way you do.”
“The way I do?” he asks with a cocky smirk.
“As hard as you do.”
“Ohh… that’s what it is, is it? You want more? Your boyfriend isn’t enough for you? You’re getting greedy, these days.”
You’d like to say that you hate it when he speaks to you like this - but that’d be a lie. It’s making you rub your thighs together, desperate for something, anything to relieve the ache.
“No,” you stutter, “he’s enough for me. He is.”
“Then why’d you keep crawling into my bed when he turns his back?”
All you can do is suck a shaky breath in, looking down at your socked feet to try and shy away from his piercing gaze. The heat is rolling off his body, blanketing you completely as he keeps you pinned in place.
“I should go to bed,” you whisper.
“Which one? His or mine?”
He’s not usually so brash with it, the whole affair thing. Sure, he loves to bring it up occasionally when he’s talking dirty, trying to rile you up and get you going. But he’s never been so arrogant, so self assured before. As if he knows who you’d rather choose. As if he knows you need him more than you’d care to admit. As if he can read your mind.
“I-”
“The way I see it,” he interrupts, “you’ve got two choices, sweetheart. The first is that you hop up those stairs and cuddle up next to Patrick, hoping that you fall asleep when really you’ll be staring at the ceiling fighting the urge to touch yourself.”
You inhale with a shudder, worrying at your bottom lip with your teeth.
“Or…”
“Or?” you dare to ask, as low as you can.
“Or, you slip into bed with me, and I’ll make you come so hard that you’ll struggle to walk back to his room afterwards.”
You know which one you should choose. You know exactly the correct thing to do, morally and emotionally. And yet -
“You. I want you.”
His lips are on yours before you can think, strong hands wrapping around your back to pull you into him. You can barely keep up with the frenzied pace, letting him take full control as he ravishes you whole. The countertop edge is digging into your spine, the tap is dripping slowly and your boyfriend is upstairs sleeping, blissfully unaware. But none of it matters.
The only thing that matters in this current moment, just like any moment spent with him, is Declan O’Hara.
“Upstairs,” he mumbles into your mouth.
He links his fingers with yours, pulling you to his bedroom insistently as if he’s worried you’re going to bolt the other way. You’re both tip toeing across the hard wood floors, praying the boards don’t squeak and give you away. You’d have no answer for the way you look right now. The game would be over before it’d even begun.
You’ve never been more grateful for how big The Priory is. Declan’s room is on the complete opposite side of the house to Patrick’s, which eases your mind ever so slightly. He only heard the two of you earlier because he was in the study, right underneath your floor. You should’ve known he’d be working late. As he always is.
“Strip.”
“Hmm?”
You’ve daydreamed your way to his bedroom, suddenly finding yourself in a place you’ve found yourself many times.
“Strip, darlin’. Don’t make me ask twice.”
“So bossy today,” you tease, doing what he wants anyway.
Your pyjamas hit the hard wood, leaving you stood in your socks and underwear. His eyes rove over you, looking at you as if it’s the first time he’s seen you undressed.
“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful.”
You wink and pull your underwear down and off, never breaking eye contact with him, despite how intense it’s getting. He’s staring at you with so much force, it’s like he can see into your soul. You’re stood bare but you don’t feel exposed. No, you feel seen.
“Do I need to warm ya up?”
He’s never one to skip foreplay, even if you’re short on time.
“Come find out.”
He practically dives at you, hands trying to sweep over any skin he can physically touch. They’re everywhere all at once, taking you in like he’s reading you in braille. Hips, tits, ass, waist… it’s like he can’t decide what he wants, overwhelmed by choices.
His fingers slip between your legs, swiping through your core to see what he’s working with.
“Oh you filthy girl.”
Your knees have gone shaky now he’s touched you exactly where you want. You grip his biceps for balance, taking a deep breath to calm you down.
“Who was it that got ya this wet?” he drawls into your ear, slipping a finger inside as he does it. “Was it him?”
You shake your head reluctantly, refusing to look at him.
“Answer me,” he spits as he crooks his finger, making your legs go jelly instantly.
“You,” you whimper, dropping your head onto his chest. “Obviously it was you.”
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
He’s got that cocky smirk plastered to his face, like he knows exactly what he’s doing.
“You wanna ride me, sweetheart? Or are you tired? Clearly he didn’t wear you out.”
The he sends a shiver down your spine, chilling and cold. Him. He’s talking about his own son, your boyfriend, while fingering you exactly the way you like it. And it’s only turning you on more.
You don’t trust your voice so you shove him backwards, pushing him so he’s laying flat on his bed. You’re straddling his hips immediately, settling into a place you’ve been many times before.
“Use me, darlin’,” he whispers. “Take what you want.”
You line him up and sink down with no hesitation, revelling in the stretch of him. He groans all low and slow, the vibrations of it rattling your bones.
“Perfect girl. Beautiful, filthy, perfect girl.”
“Declan. You feel so good.”
“Yeah, I do. Remember that, alright? Maybe you’ll come harder with him if you think about me.”
You slap a hand over his mouth to shut him up, moving your hips up and down to try to find your rhythm. He’s clearly having the time of his life, grinning like the cat that got the cream despite you trying to gag him.
You jolt forwards, trying to find that spot that he knows so well. His huge, rough hands are digging into your hipbones, hard enough to leave bruises that you’ll have to lie to Patrick about tomorrow.
Declan grabs your wrist from his face and twists it behind you, thrusting up as he does it to try and get a rise out of you.
“Atta girl,” he’s humming. “Take it like you were made for it. That’s it, don’t stop sweetheart.”
You smack your hands onto his chest, trying to keep your balance as he tries to throw you off it. He gets off on this, watching you desperately take what you need as he teases you relentlessly. He likes to watch you squirm, loves it when he feels like you need him so primally, so carnally that you’re willing to throw out all your morals for one kiss, one touch, one look.
He sits up suddenly, wrapping his arms around your back so there isn’t an inch of space between your bodies. This new angle forces him even deeper, both of you groaning at the change.
“Shhh, angel. You wanna get us caught?”
You shake your head, rolling your eyes at his stupid question.
“Quiet, then,” he retorts. “Shut that pretty mouth of yours.”
“That’s not what you usually say,” you manage to pant out.
“Dirty girl. You love this shit, don’t ya?”
You grab a fistful of his hair, yanking as hard as you can to hopefully inflict some pain to stop him talking. It doesn’t work, of course. He just eats it up and carries on.
He’s thrusting up as you’re winding your hips down, the both of you finding a perfectly synchronised rhythm as always. You work together so well, as much as you’d like to deny it. It’s not like this with Patrick and you both know it.
He wraps his mouth around your nipple, grazing his teeth over it and making you shiver.
“Fuck, Declan.”
“That feel good?” he’s asking, still with his mouth full.
“So good,” you whine as he licks the sweat from your sternum. “So fucking good.”
Your thighs are burning and you’re panting for air and your foot is a minute from cramping - but you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. You’re so close you can taste it.
“You wanna come darlin’?”
“Yes.”
“Beg for it then. Earn it.”
“Declan… please.”
He laughs at you cruelly, shaking his head.
“Oh, absolutely not. That’s not gonna cut it and you know it.”
“Declan- fuck- please. Please let me come. Please, fuck, it’s all I want.”
“Better…”
“Please, Declan. I’ll do anything, please.”
“Anything?”
“Yes, fuck, yes. Whatever you want.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” he says slowly, contemplating.
His hips never stop their movements, driving up into you and making you feel insane.
“Okay, sweetheart. Come for me. Now.”
You don’t need to be told twice. Your back arches as your nails dig into his shoulders, clawing at him as you come hard. Your vision goes blurry, dizzy with all the chemicals coursing through your veins. You’re gasping for breath, sweat dripping down your spine. It’s bliss.
Declan finds his release as soon as he’s done watching you, the sight of you totally lost in the moment sending him over the edge. He’s never seen you look more stunning.
You go boneless in his hold, limbs all tangled together while you sit in his lap. You can’t tell where you end and he begins.
“You feel better now?” he’s asking while he traces patterns up the shape of your spine.
“I do.”
You’re muttering into his chest, your face pressed into the soft curls. He smells like musk and sweat and cigarette smoke, masculine and familiar. It isn’t boyish like Patrick’s aftershave. Declan is all man.
“I wish you could stay with me,” he whispers into your hair. “I’d love to wake up with you here, have you lying on my chest as the sun rises.”
“Don’t make me sad.”
“Sorry, sweetheart.”
“You know I would if I could, don’t you?”
“Of course I do.”
You raise your head to look at him, admiring the way his dark locks are all unruly and loose.
“I should get going.”
“That boy sleeps like the dead.”
“Thankfully. But we can’t risk it. Don’t need him getting up and looking for me now, do we?”
“Sensible girl.”
“Someone around here has to be.”
He chuckles, pushing your hair back from your face gently.
“At least rinse off in the shower before you go back to bed. You smell like sex.”
“And whose fault is that?” you tease as you climb off him, wincing as your feet hit the wooden floor.
“Guilty as charged. Arrest me, officer.”
“Bet you’d love that, filthy old man.”
“Who’re you calling old?” he’s laughing as he catches you around the middle with his arm, trying to drag you back into the sheets.
“You,” you giggle, writhing away and avoiding his grip.
“Excuse you young lady, but daddy dearest here just made you come so hard you saw stars.”
“I knew that got under your skin.”
He looks at you quizzically from where he’s laying.
“That comment Patrick made at the party yesterday. Calling you daddy dearest in that sarcastic tone he uses when he gets defensive.”
“You can read him like a fuckin’ book.”
“I can read you, too.”
“Don’t I know it.”
You’ve pulled your pyjamas back on over the course of the conversation, like nothing ever happened.
“He always gets defensive when you try to criticise Cameron. I think he might still have feelings for her.”
“Sweetheart,” he soothes, moving to stand in front of you. His hands find your hips, squeezing gently. “He’d be mad to have eyes for anyone but you. Don’t worry about it, alright? He’s just a young man lashing out at his father occasionally.”
You take a deep breath, trying to let his words ease the ache you feel in your chest. Perching up on your tip toes, you press a slow kiss to his lips, all sweet and honeyed and full of warmth.
“For what it’s worth, Declan… I wish I was sleeping here tonight, with you.”
“Someday,” he assures, sweeping his thumb across your cheekbone tenderly.
“See you at the breakfast table,” you whisper as you leave.
“See you then,” he winks, watching you pad across the landing to the bathroom.
You dare to cast a glance backwards before you close the door, finding him leaning against his doorframe with the most mischievous look you’ve ever seen in his eyes. His gaze drops to your feet, dragging up your body slowly until he meets your curious stare.
He grins at you, before retreating back into his room.
You play that exact moment over and over in your head the next time you’re in bed with Patrick.
OBVIOUSLY Jax teller. Treating his old lady like his little toy, degrading her and shit. It’s a NEEEDDDDDDD
smut warning - mdni !!
YES oh my god he’s got you bent over the bathroom sink, one hand on the back of your neck and the other one gripping your waist like his life depends on it. his hips are slamming into yours and the porcelain lip is digging into your stomach but you couldn’t care less because all you can think about is Jax Jax Jax.
“You’re disgustin’, you know that?”
You’re whining and you want to question him but you can’t seem to find the words and your brain isn’t working.
“I haven’t even showered yet, and you’re jumping my bones like you just can’t help yourself. I’ve been in the house for two minutes, and you’re just so desperate to be fucked that I can’t even take a shower first.”
He grabs a fist full of your hair, twisting and pulling so you’re looking at him behind you from an awkward angle.
“Filthy slut,” he’s shaking his head like he’s disappointed, but you both know it’s the opposite. “Just a whore at heart.”
You go to protest but the sound that comes out of your mouth dies instantly, making you pout and Jax laugh.
“Pathetic but so pretty,” he says as he leans in to press a kiss to your spine. “How lucky am I, hmm? My very own little toy waiting for me at home, drippin’ wet and desperate for it. Is this all you do all day? Sit around and touch yourself?”
“Didn’t,” you choke out. “Waited.”
He chuckles cruelly, the sound vindictive but so sexy.
“My stupid, beautiful girl. Doesn’t care about anythin’ as long as she gets to come.”
“Not true-”
“No? So you don’t wanna come?”
“No, I do-”
“Shut up then.”
He makes you come with one hand yanking your hair and the other slapped over your mouth, occasionally covering your nose for a second to make your vision go all fuzzy. Your orgasm hits you so hard that your knees buckle, back arching and mouth open in a silent scream. Jax holds you up but stays inside you, manhandling you like a ragdoll.
“Well, now I’m gonna have to punish you for coming without my permission. Hope it was worth it, darlin’.”
You think, initially, it was. You realise later, when you’re dripping with sweat and so overstimulated that you can’t stand up, that maybe it wasn’t.
hi! i love your writing and was wondering if you could write more for chibs? plots completely up to you, i just feel as if i’ve read every single fic of him already
I loved writing chibs!! if you have any requests in mind, let me know. there’s a very limited amount of chibs fics on here </3
first off, sending all the hugs bc i just saw the breakup post :(
second, CAN WE TALK ABOUT THE PITT??? RAHHHHH i need like all the men??? hello? like the cast is criminal omg!!!
anyway, im trying to catch up on the pitt, that one jfk jr show (even though i hate ryan murphy), mega excited for the f1 season coming up, and thats like all my life updates hehe
hope youre doing well diva <3!
- 🏁 anon
girl this got LOST in my inbox for real, i’m sorry!! I hope you’re doing good!!
THE PITT THE PITT THE PITT THE PITT !! obSESSED !! need jack need robbie need frank even need whitaker these days damn
I can’t stand ryan murphy but damn that man does know how to make tv. like 911 is so bad but so good and that one doctor odyssey show that got cancelled?? I fucking loved that. and ahs and scream queens. I was obsessed with scream queens when I was like 14 omg
how are you finding the f1 season?? canada was such a shitshow I was cackling the entire time (wasn’t cackling at ln1 dnf until I saw that pic of him laughing on the back of that scooter and then I was)
oh also this is making me realise that I never mentioned that the breakup was called off lmao I am so sorry that I forgot to tell you this vital info. we lasted like 2 weeks maximum broken up oops
