I had the realization that a previous request i sent would probably come off as really rude, and im so sorry! I made it really late, but thats no excuse!
Your writing it honestly great, and I was wondering if you could write a story about a ED nurse reader who Park has a crush on, but the reader is engaged, so he never bothered acting on it, or telling a soul.
But one day, he finds out she single, they broke up ages ago, and shes thinking about doing online dating, only for Dr. Park to slide in like, forget that, date me!
Sadly, you weren’t available, if the engagement ring not from him unfortunately you were wearing wasn’t a dead giveaway.
But today you’re not yourself.
Your usually smiley face is in a frown and he could’ve sworn he saw you wipe your eyes a few times.
If you were his he’d make sure to hold you close and wipe your tears for you.
But all he can do is watch from a distance and hope you’re okay.
——
Brendon makes his way through the pitt towards Dana to ask her some charting questions when a conversation catches his attention.
“Yeah, she told me and Samira that he not only was a cheating bastard but that he also called off the engagement and blamed her for it.”
Brendon peers around the corner where he sees Trinity who is filling Dennis in on your recent life events.
“Damn” Dennis says with his eyes wide “He fumbles one of the hottest nurses and then makes her the problem? Yeah, definitely a bastard.”
Trinity nods her head rapidly “I feel so bad. She’s the sweetest person and deserves the man of her dreams which clearly wasn’t that fucking dickhead.”
Brendon moves back behind the hallway corner now armed with this new information. He definitely has a chance now.
He goes to walk away when he accidentally bumps into you.
“Shit! Sorry Brendon” you apologize as you use his arm to steady yourself.
His hand had instinctively gone to your waist to help keep you upright.
“No worries but be careful, I would hate to see you break something and end up in my O.R.” he chuckles as his hand slips from your side.
You playfully roll your eyes “Oh Brendon, I think I’d be your most entertaining client if that did hap–”
Brendon gives you his full attention as he takes in every word you say, no matter how simple.
As he’s listening, the movement of your hand on his bicep catches his attention.
Your engagement ring.
It's gone.
Seems like Santos and Whitaker were right.
If that was the case, he’d have to make his move soon enough before someone comes along and gets your attention first.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
It’s been a month since Brendon saw you without an engagement ring. In that time he had mulled over ideas of how he could ask you out.
He had waited a month to give you time to process things and hopefully be willing to open up your heart again.
He’s leaning on the desk counter lost in thought about you, just writing on a sticky note when a hand lands close on the counter.
The action startles him slightly and he quickly covers the note as he looks up and his eyes meet yours.
“Hey Bren!” you greet him with a smile “Whatcha up to?”
He can feel his face blush a little hoping you didn’t see the note.
“Hey sweetheart, just enjoying some downtime before the next string of consults.”
Sweetheart? Shit.
He didn’t even mean to use that term of endearment. It had just slipped out.
It obviously doesn’t bother you, if anything your smile grows a little bigger.
He keeps talking to avoid the slip up which he meant for sure.
“How bout you? Anything new with you?”
You pull your phone out as you lean your arms across from him.
“Nothing much. I did recently decide to jump back into the dating scene.
Brendon’s heart skips a beat.
No. No, you can’t.
He hasn’t even attempted to ask you out yet.
“Trinity and Samira suggested Tinder or Hinge. I’m not so sure though, it’s pretty intimidating. Who even wants the girl who couldn’t keep her fiancee happy, right?”
You try to joke and make light of the events from last month.
It breaks his heart to hear you think of yourself that way.
Luckily, the chance to express his feelings has presented itself and he can’t wait another minute if he doesn’t want to lose you to a dating app.
“Well, let’s think of it this way” he says
“You could make an account and meet a bunch of useless guys or…” he takes your phone and lays it face down to get your full attention
“You could give a real good guy a chance. Maybe one who’s a pretty good ortho surgeon. One that really fucking likes you. But what do I know, I just feel you should have some choices.”
Your jaw drops slightly at his words.
Was the Brendon Park confessing his feelings for you?
One of the hottest guys ever, wanted you?
You lean forward a bit with a playful smirk “Okay sooo, if I gave this alleged ortho guy a chance, where do you think he'd take me on our first date?”
Brendon steps a bit closer to you “I think he'd prefer to keep that a surprise but for your peace of mind I think he’d take you to coffee and would enjoy hearing you talk about any and every thing, he'd love that actually. Maybe take a stroll through downtown Pittsburgh for a bit. Followed by lunch at a surprise location. Then he’d take you home and hope he’d get lucky with a second date. Maybe a kiss too? If not then that's okay, he’s very patient and would hate to mess everything up.”
You stare at him, completely smitten with a damn near permanent smile.
“I don't think he could mess things up even if he tried. The date sounds phenomenal too. Seems like a real gentleman. Hopeless romantic too.”
Brendon leans closer to you, his elbows on the counter “Only for you sweetheart.”
You bite your lip as your face heats up.
“Flattery will get you everywhere Park.”
He steps closer and hesitantly grabs one of your hands.
“Good thing the only place I want to be is with you.”
You cover your face with your other hand trying to hide the giddiness you feel.
“So, what do you say, gorgeous?” he asks “Give an old man a chance?”
You playfully push his chest as you laugh.
“You’re hardly old Bendon but yes, I’d love to go out with you.”
He gently squeezes your hand “Meet me out front after your shift and I’ll walk you out.”
“I’ll be there Park.” you wave as he walks backwards towards the elevators.
“Better be!” he yells as he disappears around the corner.
You smile to yourself as you go to walk away but something catches your eye.
It’s a post-it note.
‘ He must’ve forgotten it ’ you think
Picking it up, you turn it over and pause at the words.
Your name is written at the top with some doodles and below, it reads:
‘You’re so damn pretty’
You hold it against your chest and the smile never leaves your face.
Oh Brendon… I have a feeling you’re going to be a good one.
summary: Jack Abbot has one very expensive habit: Spoiling his girlfriend.
𝒘 — Jack Abbot & Fem! Reader ⟢ ( 1k-ish ) proofread. age gap. (not mentioned, but r is like 25-30.) established relationship. fluff.
Dior, Miu Miu, Tom Ford, Chanel, and Prada are all brands that have somehow invaded your bedroom. Perfumes stacked neatly on a sterling silver stand on your dresser. Charlotte Tilbury palettes on your vanity, and Tiffany diamonds sparkling on your jewelry tray.
Despite your best efforts to tell him you really don’t need any of it, Jack Abbot buys you quite literally everything you show the tiniest amount of interest in.
It isn’t that you can’t afford it, you absolutely can. Years of medical school and brutal residency shifts had earned you a salary you were more than proud of, which made Jack’s habit of paying for everything simultaneously frustrating and endearing.
It started small. You’d pause a second too long in front of a perfume display, eyes widening at the price tag as you muttered something about how insane it was. The bottle would appear on your bathroom counter the next morning.
You’d complain that your work tote was falling apart. Three days later, a brand new leather one arrived at your apartment with your initials hand-stitched on the side in dainty gold thread.
You’d compliment a necklace in passing, and somehow Cartier already knew your address.
At first it was sweet. Then it became excessive. Which is why you now have enough designer items in your home to pay off someone’s mortgage.
And somehow… that still wasn’t enough for him.
・・・۶ৎ・・・
You’re standing in the Sephora checkout line, fully intent on spoiling yourself for once. Jack stands close by your side, seemingly distracted by his phone, squinting down at a text from Robby. You make a mental note to increase the font size later when he isn’t looking.
As the person in front of you finishes, you see his hand slip into his pocket out of the corner of your eye, reaching for his wallet.
“Jack,” you huff quietly, no real heat behind it.
“Hm?”
“Put your wallet away. I told you, I’m paying.”
He glances up from the screen, expression perfectly innocent. “Why?”
You turn to face him fully, arms crossed. “Because these are my things. I can buy my own makeup, Jack. You’ve already bought me three things today.”
His eyebrow lifts just slightly, that calm, steady doctor look settling over his features. He steps closer until his chest brushes your shoulder, voice low and warm against your ear.
“I like taking care of my girl. Why wouldn’t I?”
The cashier is smiling politely, pretending not to listen. Your cheeks are hot, fairly certain that they’re tinted a faint shade of red.
“Jack,” you warn, softer this time.
“You gonna stand here and argue with me, baby?” His hand settles lightly at the small of your back, thumb stroking once, slow and deliberate. “Or are you gonna let me pay?”
You exhale a defeated laugh, cheeks burning.
A small, satisfied smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth. “That’s what I thought.”
He slides his card into the reader before you can make any move to protest again. While the cashier rings everything up, his arm stays looped around your waist, holding you close like it’s his favorite thing in the world.
・・・۶ৎ・・・
The drive home is quiet at first, city lights sliding across the windshield. You keep glancing down at the heavy Sephora bag in your lap, then over at him.
“You promised you’d let me pay today” you say, gently poking his arm.
Jack’s hand leaves the gear shift to rest on your thigh instead, squeezing gently.
“I said I’d try,” he corrects, voice low with amusement. “There’s a difference.”
You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. “You’re ridiculous. We’re both doctors, y’know? I don’t need you dropping half your salary on me every time we leave the house.”
He’s quiet for a moment, thumb brushing back and forth over your leg as he drives.
“You work harder than anyone I know,” he says finally. “Longer hours than me sometimes. You come home exhausted and still make time for us. Let me take care of you, sweetheart. It makes me feel good. Like I’m doing something right.”
Your chest flickers with undeniable warmth. You reach down and lace your fingers with his. “You do plenty right, Jack. You don’t have to buy me half of Sephora to prove it.”
“I know.” He lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles without taking his eyes off the road. “But I want to. And I like seeing my baby have pretty things.”
The words settle warm and heavy in your stomach. Your eyes are soft as you study the side of his face.
・・・۶ৎ・・・
Back at your apartment, Jack carries the bags inside like they weigh nothing. You kick off your shoes and start unpacking the new products on your vanity, admiring the sleek packaging.
He leans in the doorway, arms crossed, watching you with that soft, focused look that always makes your heart feel 10 pounds heavier.
“You’re staring,” you tease, fighting off a genuine smile.
“Can’t help it.” He pushes off the doorframe and comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. His chin rests on your shoulder. “You happy?”
You lean back into his chest. “Yes. Thank you… even though you have no self-control.”
He chuckles, the sound vibrates low and warm against your neck. “Good.”
You turn in his arms, looping yours around his neck. “But next time, I’m paying. I will hear no arguments.”
Jack hums, pretending to consider it. “We’ll see.”
“Jack.”
“Alright, alright,” he says, lips brushing your forehead. “I’ll behave.”
You narrow your eyes. “Promise?”
“Promise.”
・・・۶ৎ・・・
Forty minutes later you’re curled up on the couch together when your phone buzzes. A notification from the jewelry store you’d walked past earlier on the way to Sephora.
Order confirmed. Your custom initial pendant will be ready for pickup tomorrow.
You sit up slowly, staring at the screen, then turn to look at him.
Jack doesn’t even have the decency to look guilty. He just pulls you back against his chest with a lazy grin, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your neck.
“You said you’d behave,” you whisper, half-laughing, half-exasperated.
“I did behave,” he murmurs, pressing a slow kiss to your temple. “For a whole forty minutes. That’s gotta count for something, right?”
you were awoken, rather abruptly, by the sound of toys clattering down your side. blinking sleep away, you groan softly, before you’re face to face with your little toddler, her little ringlets messy and sticking up in every direction. she blinks at you. you blink at her.
“g’mo’ning, mama,” she says, in something akin to a whisper, but it comes out more just like hot toddler breath in your face. you can smell coffee wafting from the kitchen.
“mm, baby, what’re you doing?” you croak, lifting a sleepy hand to move the sheets off of you when you’re instead met with a small plastic toy car. then, a little train. then — ah! another toy! this time, in the form of a small cloth bee stuffed with pellets. there’s a damp spot on its antennae, where your darling daughter had no doubt chewed on it just moments ago.
she blinks at you again, extending a little pointer finger towards the collection of trinkets now placed on your stomach. “play.”
“play?” you ask, as she hands you yet another toy from her chubby fingers. she must’ve gotten out of her crib somehow, and judging from the fact that jack’s side of the bed is empty, that’s probably how. “where’s papa?”
“ou’side.” she says, walking the little bee plush along your blanketed stomach. “mama, play.”
“mm.” you groan slightly. you give her one last look before resigning to your newly appointed role as a play-mat. the books did say to encourage spontaneous play. “m’kay.” you pick up the little car, rolling it along your torso as she mimics the buzzing of a bee.
her cheeks are flushed a sleepy pink as her brows furrow in concentration. freckles dust her little nose, and the person who gave them to her walks into the bedroom. jack, still in his sleep shirt and plaid pajama pants leans against the doorframe, as a warm smile graces his aged features.
“there you are, buggy,” he says, as your daughter’s head whipped over her shoulder to look at him. jack cocks his head behind him. “pancakes’re ready,” he smiles.
then, your daughter turns to you. “mama, pancakes.”
“mm, i’ll be there in one sec, baby,” you nod, still wearing off the last of your grogginess as you sit up, the toys clattering into your lap. your daughter, sweet and full of energy as she is, waddles her way out of the bedroom with the soft pitter-patter of her feet following her. as she rounds the door into the hallway, jack extends a hand to cup the back of her little head, gentle.
then, he turns to you, a bright glint in his eyes. “she wanted to play.”
a little smile graces your lips. “yeah, she did,” you murmur, stretching your arms over your head.
rubbing your sleep from your eyes, the comfortable silence is broken by the sound of your toddler shouting, “mama! papa!” from the kitchen, the clumsy clanging of her plastic utensils against her paw patrol plate joining her.
you can’t help the laugh that leaves you, and jack’s chuckles join you.
“she’s a tyrant,” you sigh with affection, kicking the duvet away from you as you stand, approaching jack. you rest your hand on his lower back as his drapes over your shoulder, and he presses a soft kiss to your forehead before walking the both of you out in the hall, muttering, “yeah, but, i mean, look at her,” he says, nodding in the direction of where she tries to climb into her high chair. “she makes for a pretty fuckin’ cute one.”
making a scene at dinner bc you want to w/ husband jack
jack abbot x fem!reader
heels clack across the pavement as you might as well be stomping away from jack, arms crossed over your chest, lips twisted in a little pout. “no.” you say, with a petulant huff.
“sweetheart,” he calls after you, passenger door still open. “sweetheart, get in the car.”
still frowning, you twist your neck to look at him over your shoulder to send him a furrowed brow, before continuing to walk away from him. he exhales.
it was a little, stupid thing. but little, stupid things to you were never just that, and so the waitress and her silly smile and the fact that she laughed absentmindedly at an inside joke between you and your loving husband immediately turned into: she wants you, she was flirting with you, and you flirted back!
none of that, of course, were actually verbalized to jack. instead, you sat in your chair and sulked, ordered another cosmopolitan, sulked some more, then ordered another cosmopolitan, until jack decided dinner was over and it was time to get you home and investigate what the hell got you looking so sour in the midst of what had started as a pretty good night.
jack shuts the door to his truck, one hand in the pocket of his slacks as the other massages his jaw. “sweetheart, come on.” he calls after you again, as you traipse down the street. when he realizes you’re not stopping, he begins to follow after you. “you can’t walk all the way home, honey.”
“i can,” you huff, despite the fact that the balls of your feet have already started to rub themselves raw against the sole of your manolo blahniks. “i’ll call a cab.”
“you got your wallet with you?” he asks.
your jaw shifts. because, of course you don’t. you don’t think you’ve brought your wallet out on a date with him in the last year.
jack doesn’t wait for an answer, already knowing. “so how the hell’re you gonna pay for the ride, huh?”
you look at him over your shoulder again, still pouting as you reach the crosswalk. “whatever.”
he lengthens his stride until he catches up to you, his hand, warm and heavy, resting on the dip of your waist. “the hell’s goin’ on?” he asks, voice low and raspy. warmth, sticky and strong, settles in your lower belly as you lock eyes underneath the streetlamp. another petulant huff, before you turn your face away from him again.
with exasperation, he sighs, tilting his head up to look at the sky as if to ask what it is he did to deserve this, and moreover, why he feels like he’s right where he wants to be.
“what? c’mon, honey, tell me. where’d i fuck up, huh? can’t fix it you don’t tell me.”
sad, round eyes look up at him once again. “she liked you.”
his brows quirk upwards. “the waitress?”
almost timidly, you nod.
his expression loosens as he sighs. “okay, so what?”
“she laughed at our joke,” you whine. “and you laughed at her joke!”
“i was being polite to a service worker.”
“you laughed at her joke. she was givin’ you fuck-me-eyes the whole time, i swear,” you huff, folding your arms tighter over your chest.
“sweetheart—“
“no!” you interrupt, shifting your body to face him as you drop your arms, purse flopping down against your thigh. “she was—she was flirting, i saw! and—and she wanted you, an’—an’ you—“
“and i what?” he asks, grabbing hold of your wrist from where you’d started poking a finger into his chest. he rubs little circles into the joint with his thumb. “sweetheart, take a breath. come on.”
you do, lips still downturned in this sweet little frown.
he nods, his voice shifting to something gentler. “okay. okay?”
again, you nod, quiet. a little embarrassed.
“you think i put this on your finger just to act a fool over someone else? huh?” he asks, thumb shifting to toy with the shiny diamond ring on your ring finger. “think she didn’t see it at the table?”
bashfully, you shake your head. “but—“
“ah-ah. i’m talkin’, baby.” you quiet. “fuck kinda business does she have flirting that openly with a happily married man?” he asks.
“none.”
“that’s right, none,” he says, lifting your hand to press a kiss over the ring. “and i’m sorry i made you think all that. didn’t mean to.”
pouting, you mumble, “‘s okay.”
“yeah?” he asks, pulling you closer by the hand, pressing his nose into your temple before kissing at it. “if another waitress ever does that again, i’ll be givin’ her the stink eye the whole time.” you giggle. “i’m serious. gotta make it clear i’m taken.”
“yeah, y’do,” you murmur, as he wraps his free hand around your waist to pull you into his body. you bury your face into his chest. “she was so desperate.”
“so desperate,” he humors you, rubbing his hand in circles into your lower back. he gives your ass a little squeeze. “you done now? you okay?”
tilting your head up to rest your chin against his sternum, you nod.
“okay,” he chuckles, eyes wrinkling. “gonna let me take you home?”
again; you nod.
“alright,” he hums, letting out a little sigh as he grabs your hand, tugging it lightly as he leads you back to his car. “jesus, baby. starting to think you do this just to get a rise out of me.”
you giggle. “a little bit.”
he turns his head to look at you, a brow raised, before he chuckles, shaking his head. “c’mon. let me take my pretty girl home. gotta make it up to her.”
he’d love to tell you you were being moody, a little dramatic, that there’s no need to make a scene on a date night he’d been planning for weeks, but that’d be denying him of the fact that, despite all the stress you give him sometimes, he wouldn’t have it any other way.
Robby has never been a fan of birthdays. This year, loneliness drives him to download Tinder on an impulse, only to come across the last person he expected to find there: his favorite resident.
warning/tags: minors DNI, p0rn with little plot, masturbating, sexting, pet names (sweetheart and good girl) robby loves talking you through it, unprotected piv, pussy eating, multiple orgasms, body hair, fingering, creampie, handjob, kinda softdom!robby, age gap (I imagined reader being in her 20s or 30s but could be in her 40s too, tried to keep it broad)
For those of you who read it the first or second time I uploaded it: during the days the fic was down, I expanded some scenes, added a bit more dialogue, and made it a little kinkier along the way. You might want to read it again for some extra content
He knew this was stupid, plainly a terrible idea. On any other day, the thought wouldn’t have even crossed his mind, but today wasn’t any ordinary day. Today was his birthday. Fifty-five years old, and he had never felt more lost in his own life. Nothing had turned out the way he’d once imagined it would. If someone had told him, back when he was a resident, that he would still be coming home to an empty apartment at this age, no wife curled up on the couch waiting for him with a tired but loving smile, no chorus of small feet thundering toward the door, shoving drawings into his hands and saying “Look what I made for you today, daddy!” he would have laughed in their face and called it a cruel joke.
Yet here he was. No relationship had ever survived the weight of the hours and the way his mind stayed trapped in the ED long after he left it. He couldn’t be present anymore, not the way a partner deserved. The job had hollowed him out in ways he hadn’t noticed until it was too late.
It had been almost a year since he ended things with Noelle, not long after he returned from his sabbatical. He’d told himself it was the right thing to do. Maybe it really was better this way. At this point in his life, trying again felt pointless, almost selfish. He was saving whatever good women were still out there from the inevitable complications of loving Michael Robinavitch.
But today the emptiness hit differently. The apartment felt quieter than usual, and his thoughts were louder, circling like a vulture. He knew it was the birthday doing this to him. Birthdays had a way of dragging the sorrows out into the light, every missed milestone, every abandoned version of the life he thought he’d have. Jack had tried to pull him out of it, offering a beer after shift, but Robby had politely declined. He wasn’t in the mood for forced cheer, for anyone raising a glass to another year of the same.
He’d made it clear to the whole department that he didn’t want any birthday cake, no cards, no presents, nothing. Still, the well-meaning murmurs had followed him all day: “Happy birthday, Dr. Robby,” each one met with a progressively wearier smile until the words blurred together. By the end of the shift, he was only managing quiet nods of acknowledgment, the kind that said thank you and please stop at the same time.
So here he was, in an apartment that was too big for himself, lying on a couch that felt even bigger, downloading Tinder on his phone. He rubbed a hand over his face, he’d tried Tinder once, maybe two years ago. Downloaded it, swiped for a week, then deleted it when the superficial nonsense started bothering him too much.
He started with the basics. Photos. Robby opened his gallery and scrolled slowly through the meager collection. Most of the images were work-related, grainy screenshots of charts, or blurry shots of trees and roads he’d taken during his bike rides. After a long hesitation, he picked a silly selfie he’d sent Jack a few weeks earlier. He was holding up the book the two of them had been texting about, half-smiling at the camera like he felt ridiculous even taking it. It wasn’t terrible, he supposed. He looked… friendly. Approachable, maybe.
Next, he chose one from the department barbecue he’d actually forced himself to attend last summer. He was wearing the sleeves rolled up on a button-down shirt, and holding a beer in his hand. He didn’t hate it, it showed a version of himself that still showed up for people, even when he didn’t feel like it. The last one was from the hospital fundraiser gala two years ago. He looked elegant in that photo in a black suit, but he had to crop Jack out of the frame, his face was still half-visible over his shoulder. Three photos, not exactly a compelling portfolio, but they were honest, he wasn’t pretending to be anyone other than himself.
He moved on to preferences. Gender: Women. Age range… His thumb froze. At first, he set it to 50–60. Women at the same stage he was, maybe divorced, maybe widowed, or just tired of feeling alone. But then something flickered in his chest, part curiosity and part desperation, and before he could talk himself out of it, he dragged the lower end down. Twenty to sixty. The wider net felt reckless, almost embarrassing. But what if the love of his life existed somewhere in that range? What if he missed her by something as stupid as a single year on a slider?
As if the love of your life was sitting on Tinder on a Sunday night, he thought. Don’t be fucking stupid, Robby.
He stared at the screen for a long moment, and with a quiet sigh that sounded too much like surrender, he tapped confirm. Now it was time for the bio. Robby stared at the blank field for a long minute. What the hell was he supposed to say? He wasn’t looking for anything specific. Company? Distraction? Someone who wouldn’t mind a man who came home at crazy hours, sometimes covered in blood and whocarried more baggage than he could carry?
He typed slowly what felt the most honest: “ER doctor in Pittsburgh. Love long bike rides to clear my head and 70s rock. Not entirely sure what I’m looking for here, but if you can handle sarcasm and odd hours, we might get along.”
He read it back. It sounded stiff, after all, he wasn’t used to this. But it was him, and so he hit save before he could overthink it more. The app prompted him to start swiping. Robby leaned back against the couch as the profiles began loading, smiling faces, pictures of holiday destinations, and bios full of lists of requirements. He swiped left on most without much thought.
Left. Left. Left. Some of the women seemed nice, but nothing pulled him in. He kept going until the endless scroll of faces started blurring together. No one stuck, just the same hollow feeling that had driven him to download the damn thing in the first place.
But then your profile appeared. Robby’s entire body froze. The photo loaded first: you, one of his own residents. You were standing in scrubs outside the Pitt with the same smirk you got after a particularly chaotic shift. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered as the heat crawled up his neck. Awkward didn’t even begin to cover what he was feeling right now.
At work you were talented and dedicated, but still green enough that he rode you hard during shifts. And here you were on Tinder, of all places. The thought that you, or anyone else from the department, might stumble across his profile made his stomach twist with embarrassment. He could already imagine the gossip: Dr. Robby on Tinder. How pathetic.
He should swipe left immediately, delete his profile, and pretend this never happened. Instead, curiosity won. Robby tapped on your profile, telling himself it was just… professional concern. Making sure you weren’t doing anything stupid. He cared about his residents. Yeah, that was it.
Your bio loaded beneath the main photo: “If you like girls who will force you to watch her Letterboxd top four and then talk your ear off for hours about the hidden meaning behind her favorite songs, then I’m your girl. Emergency med resident with zero free time. Not looking for anything serious, just fun, meeting people, seeing where it goes.”
Robby let out a chuckle despite himself, the sound was unexpected in the quiet of the moment. He had only ever seen you in the chaos of the ED, running on adrenaline and too little sleep. But this version of you felt… different. He found himself thinking about how little he actually knew you. How little he’d allowed himself to know.
He didn’t know where you were from, or what your family was like, whether you had siblings who called too often or parents you tried to make proud. He didn’t know what you did outside of the hospital besides the occasional beer in the park, or what made you laugh until your sides hurt. All those small and ordinary pieces of a life that existed outside the emergency department.
It felt strangely intimate, seeing you like this. Like stumbling across a part of you he wasn’t supposed to have access to. A version of you that wasn’t filtered through the hierarchy of resident and attending. Up until now, you had been “his resident”, contained within the professional boundaries he’d carefully maintained.
He started swiping through your photos. The second picture was you laughing in what looked like a group hike, with your hair windblown and your eyes bright. You looked undeniably pretty. Objectively, he’d always known you were attractive. The kind of natural attractiveness that turned heads in the hospital corridors even when you were exhausted and covered in sweat. But once again, he’d never thought about it. You were a resident, he’d gone down that path before, and it’d ended badly. That made you off-limits, end of story.
The third photo was of you in a cozy sweater, curled up with a book and a mug of coffee. It was cute, almost sweet. The kind of image that made the loneliness in his chest ache. He kept swiping until the last photo hit him like a defibrillator. You were on a beach somewhere sunny and sandy, wearing a bikini. Your skin was glowing under the sun, and you were smiling at the camera in a confident pose, the kind of effortless beauty that could stop any man cold. Holy fuck, your body barely contained by the fabric of the bikini, the photo capturing the gentle swell and the way the light played across your body.
Robby’s mouth went dry, the heat flooded his face and then lower down his body. He hadn’t expected that. Hadn’t let himself imagine you like this, outside the hospital, undeniably a woman and not just one of his residents. His pulse kicked up, the nervousness made his hands shake and his grip slippery. He fumbled the phone, trying to swipe left fast. Swipe left, damn it, he thought.
But he accidentally jerked his thumb the wrong way, to the right, and the screen lit up with that unmistakable animation.
It’s a Match!
On the other side of Pittsburgh, you had been lying in bed, still trying to unwind after another brutal twelve-hour shift. Sleep felt miles away, so you’d given in to the guilty habit of late-night Tinder scrolling. Sure, swiping at 1 a.m. probably looked desperate to anyone else, but who cared? It wasn’t like you had much of a life outside the hospital anyway.
You swiped left with efficiency. Guy whose entire bio was just a link to his podcast. Left. Gym mirror selfies and nothing else. Left. Self-proclaimed “entrepreneur in the crypto market” with a Lamborghini in the background that probably wasn’t even his. Left.
How was it this difficult to find someone even remotely decent? You weren’t expecting to meet the love of your life in this digital dumpster, but was it really too much to ask for a man with basic social skills and a profile that didn’t scream immediate red flags? Someone whose opening line wasn’t just “u dtf?”
Guy who still clearly lived with his mom. Another left. “No feminists” in the bio, followed by a rant about “high value woman.” Left.
Then your thumb froze mid-swipe. Michael Robinavitch. Your heart slammed against your ribs. There he was, Dr. Robby, looking straight into the camera in one of the photos, that familiar half-smile you’d seen a thousand times in the ED, only now it was on a dating app.
You sat up straighter in bed, suddenly wide awake. What the hell was Dr. Robby doing on Tinder? You’d scrolled through this app for weeks and never seen him before. He must have created the profile recently. The man you’d been quietly (and not-so-quietly) thirsting over since your very first day of residency was right here. One match away.
How could you not like Robby? He was everything you’d ever wanted in a man, strong, steady, impossibly smart, and so damn capable it made your legs weak every single time he gave you a calm and yet authoritative instruction in the middle of a trauma.
You’d lost count of how many times he’d gently reprimanded you for being distracted while charting. He always assumed you were just tired from the long hours. He had no idea that you kept getting lost in vivid daydreams about him: running your fingers through the silver-flecked hair and that coarse, greyish beard, feeling those big hands wrap around your waist, pulling you close.
You loved the way his eyes crinkled warmly behind his glasses when he smiled, the way his voice dropped into that gravelly register when he needed to command attention in the ED… it did things to you. Dangerous, addictive things. Sometimes getting in trouble with him felt more exciting than it had any right to.
His Tinder bio was unexpectedly adorable. He looked a little lost, like he wasn’t entirely sure he belonged on the app but was willing to put himself out there anyway. That bike is not the only thing I’d like to ride, you thought, as a little smile tugged at your lips.
His pictures made you melt and sigh at the same time. That warm, contagious smil, the glasses that struck the perfect balance between hot and endearingly sweet. The silver threading through his beard that made you press your thighs together at the mere thought of feeling it against your skin, between your legs, specifically.
You swiped slowly through the rest of his photos. Those wide shoulders, that tall and solid frame, that soft belly under the button-down shirt… you wanted him in a way you had never wanted anyone before.
It was almost pathetic the way your heart did a little skip every time he complimented your work on a tough case. The way your thighs squeezed together almost involuntarily whenever he stepped in close during a complicated procedure, guiding you step by step, his voice low and patient near your ear. “Yeah, grab the blade like that… make a two-inch incision, softly, very gently.” “Hold the tube with your left hand, tight, don’t move it.”
It made your mind wander to dangerous places. Was he like that in bed too? The kind of man who talked you through it, calm and devastatingly attentive? In your fantasies, he absolutely was. Late at night, alone in this very bed with nothing but your hand and your imagination, you could almost hear his voice murmuring against your skin: “Keep your legs open for me, nice and wide… just like that.” “Look at you… already making such a mess. I’m gonna start with one finger, okay? Think you can be good and take it for me?”
Should you swipe right? It felt like the only logical choice. If he swiped left, which seemed like the most likely outcome, he would never even know you’d swiped on him. But if he did swipe right… then maybe, just maybe, you could end up in Robby’s bed.
Your hopes stayed low. Never in a million years did you actually expect Robby to be attracted to you the way you were to him. You would’ve noticed something by now, maybe in lingering stares, subtle flirting, or any shift in the way he treated you. But he didn’t. He treated you exactly like the rest of the residents: a young doctor he needed to teach, who could sometimes be frustratingly distracted.
Still, you couldn’t contain the tiny, thrilled scream that escaped your lips when the screen lit up:
It’s a Match!
Robby had matched with you. He wanted you too.
“Shit!” Robby dropped the phone onto the couch like it had burned him. It bounced once and landed face-up, the match confirmation still glowing on the screen. He and you had just matched on Tinder. All thanks to that goddamn bikini photo and his clumsy, nervous fingers.
He stared at it, feeling his heart hammering harder than it had during the worst trauma cases. This was mortifying. You’d seen his profile, you’d swiped right, and now you were going to see that he’d swiped right as well. Part of him, the tired and lonely part that had downloaded the app and widened the age range, wondered what you’d think.
A dozen what-ifs tumbled through his mind. What if you saw his profile and laughed? That disbelieving laugh when something genuinely surprised you. What if you messaged him first? Maybe it had been a mistake on your end too. Maybe your phone had slipped, or you’d been swiping too fast after a long shift, half-asleep and a little buzzed. Or maybe… maybe you’d swiped right on purpose, just to tease him. He could already picture the text popping up on his phone: “Oh my god, Dr. Robby. What are you doing on Tinder? lol.”
Robby ran both hands through his hair, exhaling sharply. He picked the phone back up, looking straight at the Send message button. He shouldn’t. The responsible thing would be to delete the app, pretend this night never happened, and go back to being your attending, not your Tinder match.
Instead, he opened your profile again. Robby tried to move past it, he really did, but his eyes lingered on that last photo far longer than they should have. You in a bikini, your skin glowing under warm sunlight. He couldn’t believe that was what you looked like underneath the baggy scrubs you wore every day in the ED.
It felt wrong. Like he wasn’t allowed to see you like this, like he was intruding on something deeply private, crossing a line that should never even be approached between an attending and his resident. Guilt twisted in his stomach, but it wasn’t enough to make him look away.
His body reacted anyway, a sudden heat stirring unwanted, a throb of arousal he hadn’t felt this sharply in longer than he cared to admit. He shifted uncomfortably on the couch, hating himself for it even as the reaction deepened. What the hell is wrong with you, Robby? he told himself, but the self-reproach did nothing to dull the pull. What could he do? You were a woman. A beautiful one, and for the first time, he was seeing you not just as his resident, but as someone undeniably, breathtakingly desirable.
Before he could delete his account and go to bed as he should, your message popped up.
You: hii :)
Robby’s breath hitched in his throat. For a split second, he swore his heart actually stopped. Then it slammed back into rhythm, pounding so hard he could feel it in his ears, in his temples, in the tightness of his chest. The little smiley face stared back at him from the screen, innocent and cheerful, as if it hadn’t just flipped his entire night upside down.
You had matched with him. At eleven at night. On his lonely fucking birthday. What the hell was he supposed to say to you at 11 pm. after accidentally matching with her on Tinder? “Hey, funny seeing you” here felt pathetic. “This is wildly inappropriate” felt like a lie because the rush of heat still lingering in his veins said otherwise.
He set the phone down on the coffee table for a moment, dragging a hand over his face for the millionth time. Part of him wanted to delete the match immediately, pretend it never happened, and go to bed like the responsible, professional attending he was supposed to be. But another part, the part that had been sitting alone on his fifty-fifth birthday, couldn’t bring itself to swipe left on this one unexpected connection. So he picked the phone back up and stared at the blinking cursor in the message box.
Another message came through a minute later.
You: robby? it’s me from work... guess you saw my profile too haha
Robby let out a long breath, he couldn’t avoid it now that you’d initiated a conversation with him. It was better to be direct, explain the mistake to you, and shut this down before it got any more awkward.
Robby: hey
yeah, I saw it
listen, this is embarrassing as hell, i was messing around with the app, dropped my phone and it must have swiped right by accident
sorry about that, didn’t mean to make things weird
He hit send and immediately regretted how cold it sounded, but it was the truth. The phone stayed quiet for a moment that stretched too long. He had his eyes fixed on the screen, waiting for your reply so he could shut down this awkward conversation and delete this stupid app before he accidentally matched with anyone else from work.
You: oh. so it was a mistake? damn, i thought you had swiped right on purpose. bummer.
Robby’s eyes widened. You were being direct, not beating around the bush or deflecting by saying it had been a mistake on your end as well. He could practically hear your voice saying it with a teasing edge.
Robby: Sorry about the confusion
i know it might be awkward finding me on here. probably the last person you expected, i don’t usually do this.
You: honestly it was surprising. didn’t peg you as the tinder type at all.
but hey, we all have our moments i guess
Robby: i’m not the type
this is my second time ever downloading it and i already regret it, should probably delete the whole thing before i make an even bigger fool of myself.
You: yeah i get it. i thought the match was mutual so i figured i’d say hi. sorry for texting if it was just an accident. didn’t mean to make it weirder
Robby read your message twice. Thought the match was mutual. The words echoed in his brain. You had swiped right on purpose, not as a joke, not out of morbid curiosity about your boss’s sad dating life. You had chosen him willingly. The realization of what that meant sent a confusing rush through him. You liked him, that had to be it. The thought of you… having a crush on him made a warm feeling run through his body, one he immediately tried to shove down.
Robby: What do you mean you thought it was mutual?
You: idk... i saw the notification and figured you wanted to match with me since it happened. that’s why i said hi right away. didn’t want to leave it hanging if we were both curious
He stared at the screen, his heart beating a little harder. You were so honest and blunt about your feelings, he found himself almost intimidated by it. Some rational part of his brain was trying to tell him this had to be a big joke, there was no way in hell you could like him. You were… you. What would you see in a man like him?
Robby: you wanted us to match? seriously?
You: lol yeah i did swipe right, didn’t i? your profile was actually really nice. the book pic is cute and the 70s rock mention made me smile. plus... i don’t know, you’re interesting. figured why not. no pressure though
Robby: i thought maybe you did it out of curiosity
or just to see if I’d swiped on you didn’t expect you to actually want that
You: well i did. but if it was an accident on your end then no big deal. we can pretend this never happened and go back to normal tomorrow. i won’t mention it at work or anything. promise
Robby let his head fall back against the couch, closing his eyes for a long moment as he exhaled heavily. He knew exactly what the responsible Chief of Emergency Medicine should do right now: unmatch immediately, delete his profile, and pretend the entire night had been nothing more than a lonely fever dream.
But tonight… tonight he didn’t want to be responsible. He didn’t want to be Dr. Robinavitch, the attending who had sacrificed nearly every personal connection, every version of a fuller life, on the altar of the ED. For once, he wanted to be Michael. Just Michael. The man who had matched with you on Tinder. The man who was currently staring at his phone with his heart hammering like he was twenty years younger.
Before he could piece together a polite but firm way to end the conversation and retreat back into the safety of professional distance, another message appeared.
You: i think your profile’s part of the reason i swiped right. the book pic’s really nice
He smiled faintly at that, a rare genuine twitch at the corner of his mouth. Robby leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees.
Robby: your profile’s pretty good too, better than most of the ones i’ve seen tonight
You: aww thanks. your’s so much better than the usual bullshit on here which is not that hard to be
but still finding you here is a nice change :)
Robby: you on this app a lot? seems like you’ve got the profile down
You: not really. i’ve been on a couple dates from here but it’s honestly exhausting. hard to find someone decent in this city. most guys are either looking for hookups with zero conversation or they’re boring as hell. you know how it is
Robby: fair enough.
your age range must be set pretty high if it pulled me up
fifty five isn’t exactly the usual crowd for you or is it?
You: haha yeah well
i like older men
Those four stupid words hit him square in the chest like a defibrillator. “I like older men.” Robby reread them slowly, feeling a dangerous warmth bloom low in his belly and spread outward through his chest. He was an older man, and apparently, that fit exactly into your preferences. Was that flirtation? Were you subtly implying that he was the kind of older man you liked? Or was it just a casual, throwaway comment, something you’d say to any guy on the app who happened to have a few gray hairs?
No. He was spiraling too deep, overthinking it the way he always did. Your words didn’t carry some hidden, special meaning meant just for him. They couldn’t. And yet… No matter how hard he tried to talk himself down, he couldn’t ignore the flicker of validation that lit up inside him. He felt desired, really desired. Not just by anyone, but by you: someone younger, and so strikingly pretty it almost hurt to look at your photos for too long. Someone who, in his mind, was clearly way out of his league.
Robby: It’s okay to have preferences
everyone does.
You: yeah exactly. i just find older guys more attractive than the ones my age. they’re usually more mature, know what they want, have actual life experience. it’s... hotter, i guess. plus the conversations are better
He swallowed hard, feeling his throat suddenly dry. He could practically see your face as you typed those words, maybe biting your lower lip in that teasing way you sometimes did right after nailing a difficult procedure.
Then the bikini photo from earlier flashed unbidden through his mind, and the heat in his body flared hotter. He pictured you exactly as you’d looked in that shot: sun-warmed skin, curves barely contained by the fabric. The thoughts he had no right to entertain came rushing in anyway, pulling him deeper. Thoughts of having you all to himself, of finally being able to run his hands slowly over every inch of that bare skin, tracing the line of your waist, sliding up your ribs, cupping the soft weight of your breasts. Of putting his mouth on you and every sensitive spot until you were trembling beneath him.
Robby: makes sense
i usually go for women closer to my stage of life
we have more in common that way
You: do age gaps bother you?
Robby: in what way?
You: like as a concept. are they a problem for you?
Robby: i’m okay with consenting adults doing what they want
as long as everyone’s on the same page it’s not my business.
You: have you ever been in an age gap relationship or anything like that?
Robby: i once dated a woman a bit younger than me
but usually around my age
He paused before sending the next part, he shouldn’t keep engaging in this deeply unprofessional conversation, but curiosity was getting the better of him. And you were simply so easy to talk to that he couldn’t stop himself from letting his walls down a little.
He typed before he could second-guess himself.
Robby: how much older are we talking anyway?
the men you usually like i mean.
Your reply came fast, like you’d been waiting with the phone in hand.
You: usually over fifty up until their sixties or so. around that range. but it’s just a preference, nothing crazy. i feel like older men usually treat you better. they’re more gentlemanly, know how to actually listen, and they tend to understand what a woman wants... in every way, if you know what i mean ;)
Robby read the message twice. Three times. Four. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Fuck me. You weren’t just being polite or making casual conversation. That winky face, the implication hanging there about “every way”. You were deliberately flirting with him, there was no other way to see it. He shifted on the couch, suddenly very aware of his own body and the fact that it had been a long damn time since anyone had spoken to him like that.
He took a slow breath and replied, trying to keep some semblance of control.
Robby: do you date men closer to your own age too?
or is it mostly the older crowd?
You: i have tried guys closer to my age. some of them are sweet but a lot are still figuring their shit out. you should try dating a woman younger than you sometime though. maybe it’s exactly what you need.
Robby didn’t know what to say. The words hung there, full of possibilities around them. He was still wrestling with a response when another message from you popped up.
You: anyway sorry again for the confusion earlier. i’ll leave you alone so you can keep scrolling through profiles. i’ll go back to robbing the graves haha (joke, get it? because i like older guys... sorry that was sooo bad)
Robby chuckled despite the whirlwind in his head. The joke was cheesy, so perfectly you that it cut through some of the tension. But it also gave him an out, you were offering to back off and let this weird moment fade into nothing before tomorrow’s shift made everything awkward as hell. Part of him wanted to take the exit ramp, wish you a good night, unmatch, delete the app, and pretend none of this happened. But another part, the one that had been sitting alone on his birthday didn’t want the conversation to end.
He tapped over to your photos again, almost against his will. There it was the last one. You on the beach in that bikini, with the perfect swell of your tits catching the sunlight. Holy fuck. He wanted you, the realization hit him all of a sudden, making him switch back to the chat and move his thumbs almost on autopilot.
Robby: Nothing to apologize for
honestly you’ve kept me better company tonight than I expected
You: see? younger women can be good company too :) you shouldn’t close the door so fast. you could meet someone nice if you give it a chance
Robby: you shouldn’t close the door on guys your own age either
there are decent ones out there, you’ll find someone who can keep up with you
You: out of all the guys i’ve matched with here... you’re easily the best one. no contest
Robby: Really? that can’t be right
you’re selling yourself short.
You: no i mean it. you’re exactly the kind of man i’d usually go for. tall, older, smart... and hot
The word hot hit him harder than it had any right to. His face flushed deeper, his clothes felt constricting, his pants uncomfortably tight. Robby’s cock was already half-hard, thickening and pulsing insistently against the zipper of his jeans with every new message.
All because you’d called him hot. Just a little cheeky, playful comment, and it was enough to unravel him. The touch starvation wasn’t helping. It had been so damn long since anyone had looked at him with real interest, longer still since he’d felt this fluttering feeling low in his stomach. This rush of ego, this sharp need to be close to someone, to be wanted, to touch and be touched.
Robby: thanks i guess
you’ll meet someone worth your time, you’re a good girl
The message was sent before he could fully reconsider the wording. The second it went through, Robby winced. It sounded weirdly sexually charged, maybe it was because he was feeling sexually charged, painfully so. A Freudian slip at its finest.
You: good girl? 😏
Robby: shit i didn’t mean it to sound weird
just a figure of speech i suppose.
You: should i call you daddy then? ;)
Robby nearly dropped the phone again. The winky face, the bold suggestion, the way it played so perfectly into the tension that had been building sent a bolt of pure want through him. He could imagine your voice saying it, teasingly so, with that mischievous glint in your eyes. His mind supplied far too many vivid images: you in nothing but your skin looking up at him, you saying it in person with a flirty smile. He was fully hard. Actually hard, just from a fucking text conversation.
The professional alarm bells were clanging loudly in the back of his head. This was his resident, the age gap, the power dynamic, the fact that you’d have to face each other at the Pitt in a few short hours... it was all wrong. But god, it felt good. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel quite so alone.
He glanced down at the obvious bulge in his sweatpants, his cock straining against the fabric like a flagpole. He couldn’t believe it. One flirty text from his resident and he was rock hard. Don’t get hard for your fucking resident, he thought. She’s one of your own. Off-limits. This is insane. He adjusted himself uncomfortably, trying to will it down through stubbornness, but the ache only sharpened.
You: too much? sorry i was just messing around lol
Robby exhaled and typed back, trying to sound more composed than he felt.
Robby: Don’t worry about it
i know it was a joke, no harm done
You: it was... unless you don’t want it to be a joke
He let out a surprised laugh, his cock twitched again at the follow-up, you were relentless, and something told him you were noewhere near done.
Robby: you’re funny, i’ll give you that.
You: that’s what i’ve been told. glad you’re having fun with me tonight
Robby: Well, I guess I should let you get some sleep
early shift tomorrow and all
You: i don’t mind staying up. i swiped right on you, remember? yk for a minute i really thought you were gonna flirt with me or maybe even ask me to come over to your place or something
The words hung there. You had been excited, you had hoped he would flirt. The image flashed through his mind, you showing up at his door in the middle of the night, stepping inside and… He shifted again, pressing his hand down against his insistent erection through his sweatpants, trying to get some relief even as guilt gnawed at him. This was crossing so many lines he’d promised himself he wouldn’t cross after Heather. But the loneliness that had driven him to download the app in the first place was quieter now, replaced by an electric tension.
Robby: that would be very inappropriate
i’m your boss and there are lines we can’t cross
You: but you’re not dr. robby my attending in here. you’re michael robinavitch, 55, the guy who loves 70s rock and long bike rides. and i’m not your resident in this chat. i’m just a girl who likes movies and older men... and who is really, really into you right now
You were separating the roles so cleanly, drawing a line between the hospital and this private space. It was tempting, dangerously tempting.
Robby: you know it doesn’t work like that
we can’t just turn it off when the shift starts tomorrow
You: nah i’m pretty sure i can
Robby: No.
You: If we really can’t meet then we can do it over text, you know.
He stared at the screen trying to guess if you really meant what you were saying.
Robby: what do you mean?
You: sexting, duh
He let out a short breath, Jesus fuck you were actually gonna kill him tonight.
Robby: that’s basically the same thing.
You: no it’s not. technically we’re not doing anything if it’s just messages. no one has to know.
Robby rubbed a hand over his jaw, his mind was screaming at him to shut this down, but his fingers were already moving. He couldn’t believe he was actually considering to do this.
This was a terrible idea. What difference did it really make whether it was real sex, his hands on you, feeling your heat around him, or just describing it in detail over text messages? A line was still a line. One he had promised himself he wouldn’t cross again. He didn’t want this to end with you giving up your residency, transferring to another hospital, another city, once things inevitably fell apart.
But fuck, his cock was achingly hard, straining against the front of his pants like a caged animal that desperately needed to be freed. The thought of you right now, maybe lying in your bed in, pressing your thighs together, that sweet slick already soaking through your panties because of him… it made it impossible to think straight. He couldn’t leave you like that, so wet, so needy, aching for him.
Robby: what do you want me to say?
You: i don’t know… just say something hot. you’re goot at being hot
He hesitated, he wasn’t sure of what to say. He was scared of seeming naive and old school to you, but he wasn’t used to this whole… sexting thing. The most spicy exchange over texts had been insinuating pictures before asking someone to come over. Okay think Robby, if you can save someone’s life under extreme preassure then you can sext with a woman, just say something typical, he thought
Robby: who’s been a naughty girl?
The second he hit send he regretted it. He winced, already typing another message to backtrack when your reply came through.
You: lmao that was the best you’ve got?
Robby groaned out loud, dropping his head back against the couch.
Robby: forget it. i’m going to bed
You: nooo wait. let’s try again :(
He should’ve put the phone down. He really should’ve. Instead he waited to see if you had anything else to say.
You: you’re so good at giving orders and guiding me at work. maybe you could do that now too? tell me what to do
You were right, in theory. He was good at instructing, guiding, teaching. It came naturally to him to step into that mentoring role, he had always been the one others looked to for direction.
Robby: i feel stupid doing this.
You: pleeeease. i’ve always thought you were the kind of guy who talks people through it in bed. it’s the same here, just write it instead of saying it. tell me how you want me to touch myself
Your words hit him hard. He reread the message twice. He had never consciously thought about it before, but yes… that did sound exactly like him. Fragments of memory surfaced unbidden: the commanding tone he’d used with past partners, the way he’d instructed them. “Open your legs for me.” “Turn around.” “Look at me.” He remembered the way their breathing would change, the way they’d tremble under the weight of his voice and his hands.
Robby: you really want me to talk you through it, sweetheart?
You: yessss that was so much better. keep going
If anyone had asked you how it happened, you honestly wouldn’t have been able to explain it. You weren’t even sure yourself. One moment you were typing a slightly embarrassed apology to Robby for matching with him and the next, the conversation had taken a turn and you were the one demanding he sext you so you could get off. It was bold, stupidly reckless, and yet it felt inevitable.
Robby: good girl that’s exactly what I wanted to hear, i want you to get those pretty legs spread nice and wide for me, can you do that?
You whimpered softly and obeyed him instantly, letting your knees fall farther apart on the mattress. The cool air hit your exposed pussy making you shiver.
You: yes. they’re open
Robby: Perfect
i’d be on my knees between them right now if I could
run your fingers up the inside of your thighs for me slowly, feel how soft they are
As you trailed your free hand up one thigh, you imagined his callused palms and the scratch of his greying beard following the same path.
You: doing it… feels so good thinking about your hands instead.
Robby: that’s my girl
now slide two fingers through your pussy and ell me how wet you are for me
You did exactly as he says, gasping as two fingers glided easily through your slick heat. You were soaked, embarrassingly so, the wet sounds filling the quiet bedroom as you stroked yourself.
You: So wet… i’m dripping. all because of you.
Robby: fuck i knew you would be
i want you to circle your clit for me now
Do it slowly and imagine it’s my tongue instead, licking you just the way you need
i’d take my time, taste every inch of you
Your mons got louder, tipping your head back against the pillows as your fingers obeyed, traxing circles around your clit that sent sparks up your spine. In your mind, it was Robby’s mouth devouring you while his strong hands pinned your thighs down.
Robby: how does that feel, sweetheart? tell me
You: so good, i’m so sensitive. keep talking please
Robby: Good
now slide one finger inside that tight pussy, nice and deep
curl it up just like I would, searching for that spot that makes your legs shake
i’d be watching your face the whole time, telling you how beautiful you look spread open for me, how good you are for listening
When you pushed a finger inside yourself, you curled it upward as instructed to hit that sensitive spot while your other hand kept working your clit in circles.
Robby: add another finger and stretch yourself open
i’d be so much thicker than your fingers, but we’ll start like this
imagine me pumping them in and out while i rub your clit
Adding a second finger, you continued fucking yourself to the rhythm of his words on the screen. It was not enough, it was nowhere near enough to calm the hunger and desperation that was threatening to consume your whole being. You knew nothing would be enough, only feeling him inside of you.
You: wish it was you inside me. can’t get off like this. i need you robby please
Robby: you were the one who told me to do this
You: i know i did. but it’s not enough
send me your address
He was tempted, so tempted that for one second his fingers almost started typing on an impulse. But the reality crashed back in immediately. The risks, the morning after, the way he’d have to look at you during rounds, knowing what you’d done. He was rock hard and aching for you, but the responsible part of him still refused to crumble completely.
Robby: what for?
you’re not seriously thinking about coming over right now, are you?
You: robby i’m literally only like 2 miles away from you. are you dtf? not as dr. robinavitch and his resident, but as two adults who casually matched on tinder tonight. there’s no title or hospital here. it’s just us.
Two miles. You were so close. He stared at your message, feeling his heart slamming against his ribs. His cock gave another insistent throb, the head already leaking a little against his underwear. The thought of you actually coming over, right now, in the middle of the night, made his mouth go dry.
Robby: Send me your address and I’ll order you a ride.
You sent your address a moment later. It really was only two miles away. He confirmed the ride, watching the estimated arrival time tick down. Fifteen minutes… only fifteen minutes until you’d be at his door.
You: this is exactly what i meant earlier about older guys. so much more gentlemanly. taking care of the details instead of just telling me to get there
You had no time to get ready, and honestly, you didn’t care. Makeup? Hair? None of that mattered when you were this desperate, this aching for him. You climbed out of bed still wearing the thin tank top and soft sleep shorts you’d worn to bed, and threw an oversized jacket over everything, one that swallowed most of your body and made you look far more put-together than you actually felt.
Your hands were shaking as you grabbed your keys and phone. The rideshare arrived sooner than you expected. The drive across the city felt both endless and far too short, but eventually the car pulled up outside his building.
You stood on the sidewalk for a second, staring up at the apartment complex, suddenly hit with the full weight of what you were doing, showing up at your attending’s door in the middle of the night, soaked and trembling with need, because a stupid Tinder match had spiraled completely out of control.
But you didn’t hesitate for long, you took a deep breath, pulled the jacket tighter around yourself, walked toward his door and knocked on it.
Robby opened it right away. He didn’t say a word, the second you were in reach, you had one of his strong hands cupping the back of your neck as he pulled you into a kiss. It was electric to say the least. His mouth claimed yours with a hunger that stole your breath. His beard was scraping deliciously against your skin as he moved his lips with experienced urgency. You melt into it instantly, fisting your hands in his shirt, tasting the pure, overwhelming taste of him. Finally. Here he was, kissing you like he’d been starving for it just as much as you had.
He kicked the door shut behind him without breaking the kiss, wrapping his other arm around your waist and pulling you flush against his taller frame. You felt the warmth of his hands roaming everywhere, gripping your hips, sliding up your sides, squeezing the curve of your ass through the fabric of your shorts. In your mouth, he groaned, making a vibrating sound that went through you as he explored every inch he could reach, like he was memorizing the feel of you.
Your breasts were the next to get his attention, he was cupping them with his big hands through your tank top, brushing his thumb over your already hard nipple, while he tangles his other hand in your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss.
You pulled back just enough to gasp against his lips, “It took you long enough.”
Robby chuckled, the sound coming out breathless. “Took you long enough. You have any idea what it’s like waiting twenty minutes for you with a hard-on?” He pressed you closer, letting you feel the thick and insistent bulge against your stomach.
As if they had a mind of their own, his hands couldn’t stop moving, squeezing, caressing, claiming, running down your back, over your thighs, everywhere he’d fantasized about touching. Before you could respond, he bent slightly and lifted you effortlessly. You wrapped your legs around his waist instinctively.
The strength in his arms, the way his broad chest felt against you, sent a fresh rush of heat between your legs. He carried you through the house with purposeful strides. The door to your room swung open and he layed you gently on the bed, climbing on top of you immediately until his full weight pressing you deliciously into the mattress.
The kissing resumed instantly, slower now but no less intense. Robby’s mouth was moving from your lips to your neck, sucking lightly and scratching you with his beard in the most perfect way. Now his hands got bolder, continuing their exploration but this time sliding under your tank top, pressing his palms against your bare skin. He lifted the fabric higher, exposing your breasts to the cool air of the room.
“Fuck,” Robby groaned, and maybe it was your mind playing tricks on you, but you could see his soft brown eyes turning darker as he stared down at you. “Look at you. These tits… so perfect. So fucking pretty.” His voice was rough with want, the same commanding tone. He cupped them reverently, as if they were something precious, circling your nipples until they pebbled tighter under his touch. “They’re made for my hands. For my mouth.”
He leaned down and took one nipple into his mouth, sucking it gently at first, then harder, swirling his tongue around the sensitive peak. The wet touch of his tongue made you arch into him with a moan, threading your fingers through his hair as he kept lavishing attention on your breasts.
From one side to the other, Robby switched sides, licking and sucking the other while his hand massaged the first, rolling the nipple between his fingers. The dual sensation, the tingly heat of his mouth and the firm squeeze of his callused hand, had you writhing beneath him, making you so wet you were soaking through your shorts.
The humming of his mouth against your skin sends sparks straight to your core. “So responsive,” he murmured, switching back to the first breast and sucking it harder than before. “These tits are going to ruin me. I could spend hours right here.” Sliding his free hand down your side, Robby gripped your hip possessively, continuing with the worshipping of your chest, licking broad stripes, sucking marks into the soft flesh, massaging and kneading until he had you panting and grinding up against the hard line of his cock through his pants.
The age difference between you only heightened everything, his experience was showing in every skilled touch, in every perfect flick of his tongue. He was being patient but hungry, like he’d been holding back for far too long. You could feel how hard he was, he was making you feel it, pressing insistently against your thigh. The knowledge that you did this to him made you even wetter.
Robby lifts his head briefly to lock his eyes on yours. His lips were swollen and his beard slightly damp with his saliva. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he said, but his hands never stopped, squeezing and caressing, teasing your sensitive nipples with his thumbs as he waited for your answer.
You shook your head, pulling him back down. You’d rather die than stop right now. “Don’t stop. Please.”
His mouth trailed a hot path down your sternum, over your stomach, scraping you teasinglywith his beard against your skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. His hands followed strong, sliding down your sides and gripping your hips as he settled between your spread thighs. The weight of him, the sheer size and presence of this man, made your core clench with anticipation.
“These shorts have been teasing me since you walked in,” he murmured with the same steady tone he used in the pitt, but now turned intimate and commanding. Robby hooked his fingers into the waistband and slowly peeled them down your legs, taking his time as he revealed more of you. “Lift your hips for me, sweetheart. Good girl.”
You obeyed instantly, lifting your hips so he could slide the fabric off completely, leaving you in just your thin panties and the tank top. Robby smoothed his hands up your thighs, spreading them wider with gentle but firm pressure. “Keep your legs open like that,” he instructed you. “Nice and wide for me. Don’t close them unless I tell you to.”
You were already moaning softly, and he wasn’t even touching your core yet. Robby dropped his eyes to the damp spot on your panties, making the fabric cling to your pussy lips, and he let out a groan of desire and hunger. He cupped you over the fabric with one hand, pressing his palm firmly against your heated pussy while his thumb found your clit through the material and began rubbing slow circles.
“Oh god,” you moaned, twitching up your hips into his touch, seeking more of the contact. The friction was simply perfect, it was teasing, and it kept building higher and higher. Robby’s callused thumb was applying just the right pressure on your swollen nub.
He watched your face intently through his hooded and lustful eyes as he worked you higher. “Feel good?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady even as his own breathing grew heavier. “You’re so wet already. Soaking through these panties for me. That’s it… rock against my hand, sweetheart. Show me how much you need this.”
Your moans only grew louder and more unrestrained, as he kept rubbing your clit with precision. The fabric added a delicious layer of friction, and every circle sent sparks shooting up your body. He got you gripping the sheets, your thighs already trembling as you fought the urge to close them around his hand.
Robby leaned down to kiss the inside of one thigh, scratching your skin deliciously. “You want my mouth? Want me to taste this pretty pussy? You gonna wrap these gorgeous legs around my neck while I do it?”
“Yes,” you gasped, nodding frantically. “Please, Robby. I need it.”
He hooked his fingers into your panties and tugged them down slowly, revealing your glistening, bare pussy to his hungry gaze. “Fuck… look at you. So wet and perfect.” He kissed along your inner thighs, taking his time, brushing his lips and beard against the sensitive skin as he worked his way closer. “Wrap them around me, sweetheart. Lock your ankles behind my head if you need to. I want to feel you holding me right where I belong.”
You did exactly as he said, wrapping your legs around his broad shoulders and pressing your heels into his upper back. The position left you completely open to him, vulnerable and exposed. Robby groaned, the sound vibrating against your core as he finally leaned in.
The first lick of his tongue was broad and slow, dragging from your entrance up to your puffy clit. The sensation was overwhelming, and it made you cry out loudly, threading your fingers into his greying hair as he began to devour you with the same intensity he brought to every procedure at work. He licked and sucked with precision, alternating between long and flat strokes to tight and quick circles around your clit.
His beard was scratching your inner thighs and outer lips in the most delicious way, adding a kind of texture that made your toes curl. “Robby… Oh fuck, that feels so good,” you moaned, rolling your hips against his mouth.
He hummed in response, pulling back with his lips glistening with your arousal just so he could speak to you. “Tell me how it feels, sweetheart. I want to hear it.”
“So good… your tongue—oh god, your mouth, Robby. It’s driving me crazy. Don’t stop, please.”
“You’re being so good for me,” he praised, diving back in to suck your clit into his mouth, flicking it rapidly while applying suction with his lips.
Before you could register it, he teased your entrance with two thick fingers, slowly sliding them inside you, letting your own greedy hole swallow them. Once he curled them upward to find that perfect spot, the sensation had you moaning loudly and arching off the bed.
Robby pumped his fingers steadily, matching the rhythm of his tongue with his digits. A few moments later, he stopped again briefly, looking up at you with lust-filled eyes and shiny lips. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this. Spread open for me, taking my fingers so well. This pussy is perfect, made for me. Keep moaning for me. Let me hear how much you love my mouth on you.”
You obeyed, your moans spilling freely as he returned to his task with renewed hunger. The pleasure built fast and faster, making your thighs tremble around his head and your feet dig into his back as you held him exactly where you needed him. Robby gripped your hip with his free hand, holding you steadily while he worked you closer and closer to the edge with expert skill. Every command, every praise, every flick of his tongue pushed you higher.
Robby didn’t relent, he kept his mouth latched onto your clit, sucking with rhythmic pressure, devouring you like a man starved. “Robby—oh fuck, yes!” The pleasure was overwhelming, every single nerve ending in your body was alight as he worked you higher.
“Keep those legs open for me, sweetheart,” he growled against your clit. “Don’t you dare close them. I want to feel you squeezing around my fingers while I eat this pretty pussy.” He added a third finger slowly, stretching you wider, the burn blending perfectly with the pleasure. “That’s it… take three for me. Feel how full you are? You’re doing so well. Such a good girl taking everything I give you.”
The wet sounds of his fingers plunging into your dripping pussy and his mouth sucking hungrily on your clit filled the air. You were soaking his beard, his chin, his wrist, but he didn’t care. Robby slid a hand under you, grabbing a firm handful of your ass and lifting your hips slightly off the bed. The new angle let him bury his face even deeper, working your clit with more precision while he fingerfucked you harder. “Just like that,” he praised you between licks. “Grind on my tongue, baby. Use my mouth. Show me how bad you need to come.”
You obeyed helplessly once again, rolling your hips and bucking them against him as the coil in your belly tightened unbearably. The pleasure built in powerful waves until your thighs started to shake violently around his head. Robby kept talking you through it, pushing you closer to the edge.
“You’re getting so close, aren’t you? I can feel this tight pussy clenching around my fingers. Come on, let go. Cum all over my tongue. I want to taste it. I want to feel you fall apart for me.”
The orgasm crashed over you with blinding intensity, making your back bow off the bed, a loud and broken cry tearing from your throat as your pussy spasmed hard around his digits. Your thighs were squeezing his head tightly, your heels digging into his back as wave after wave of pleasure ripped through you. Robby didn’t stop though, he kept sucking your clit through the peak, curling and thrusting his fingers to draw out every last shudder.
You came harder than you ever had. So hard that your vision went white for a moment as the pleasure bordered on overwhelming. Your moans turned into whimpers as the orgasm slowly ebbed, leaving you limp and gasping on the bed.
Robby finally eased back, gently lowering your hips and kissing softly along your inner thighs. He looked up at you with dark and satisfied eyes. “That’s my girl,” he murmured. “So beautiful when you cum for me.”
You lay there panting, your thighs were still twitching, completely wrecked and already aching for more of him. Robby climbed back up your body, kissing you deeply so you could taste yourself on his tongue. He was so close that his hard cock was pressing insistently against your thigh through his pants.
“That was… amazing,” you whisper with your voice hoarse from moaning. “So much better than I ever imagined.”
Robby chuckled softly, the sound warm and genuine against your neck as he pressed a kiss there. “Yeah? Better than your hand?” His eyes were sparkling with lust.
You laughed breathlessly, nodding. “So much better. Your mouth… God, Robby. I’ve never felt anything like that.”
He hummed in satisfaction, grinding his still-clothed erection slowly against your bare, sensitive pussy. The thick ridge of his cock was being pressed perfectly against your clit, giving him some much needed relief while teasing you both. “I loved doing that for you,” he murmured. “You were so good for me, sweetheart. So responsive, so wet. The way you moaned my name and squeezed my head with those pretty thighs… fuck, you have no idea what you do to me.”
Robby rolled his hips deliberately, the friction making you whimper and arch up into him. You could feel how achingly hard he was and how much he’d been holding back. You slid up your hands down his chest, feeling the soft flesh beneath his shirt.
“I want you,” you breathed, looking up at him with need. “Please, Robby.”
He stilled for a moment, as if to pulling himself together. “Tell me what you want. Be specific.”
You bit your lip, feeling the warmth invade your cheeks. “Your cock. I want you to fuck me. I need you inside me.”
Robby let out a groan, sitting back on his knees between your spread thighs. He reached for the waistband of his sweatpants, drawing out the anticipation. You sit up slightly, eager to help, moving your fingers to tug his pants down along with his underwear.
“I’ve been dying to see you,” you confessed as you pulled his pants down his hips. He caught your wrists before you could push his boxers down.
Robby looked almost nervous, a faint flush creeping up his neck. “Wait… I, uh—” He cleared his throat, flicking his eyes away for a second. “I haven’t trimmed down there in a while. This whole night was… unexpected. I would’ve cleaned up if I’d known we were gonna end up here.”
He said it like it was something to be embarrassed about. Like it might actually make you want him less. It made you soft, you cupped his jaw, turning his face back to yours.
“Robby. Do you honestly think I give a damn about that? It’s just hair.”
He let out a self-conscious breath, still looking a little defensive. “I know. I know it’s just hair. It’s just… it’s probably a fucking jungle down there right now. You don’t have to— I mean, you don’t have to do anything if it’s too much.”
The way he was trying to give you an out was almost painfully endearing. You shook your head. “Just let me see you,” you whispered.
You slid his boxers down his thighs and freed his cock, it sprang out, thick and hard, the head flushed in a dark red with arousal. It was beautiful, so long, girthy, with a slight upward curve, prominent veins running along the shaft. Exactly like he’d warned, there was a thick, dark mat of coarse hair at the base, dense and untrimmed. He looked completely natural, it was so him, deeply masculine and unpolished.
A fresh rush of wetness slipped down your inner thighs. Your fingers twitched with the need to touch him there.
You looked up at him through your lashes “I love it,” you slowly carded your fingers through the thick hair at the base of his member. “You look so fucking hot like this. I like every single inch of you.”
Robby’s whole body shivered under your touch. “God…” he rasped as he stared down at you. “You’re gonna kill me tonight.”
Almost with instinct, you wrapped your hand around it, stroking the shaft slowly from base to tip, feeling the heat and weight of his member.
Robby hissed in pleasure, twitching his hips forward into your grip as he watched your hand move up and down his cock. “Fuck, your hand feels good,” he groaned, letting you stroke him for a while, savoring the sight of your smaller hand working his thick length, making a bead of precum leak from the tip.
After a few moments, he gently stopped you, wrapping his fingers around your wrist. “Lay back down for me, sweetheart. Keep those legs open nice and wide. Just like before.”
You obeyed, lying back against the pillows and spreading your thighs for him. Robby reached over toward the nightstand, stretching one arm past you as he pulled open the top drawer. He rummaged through it for a few seconds, before his hand closed around what he was looking for.
A moment later he sat back, a condom held between his fingers. He held it up, searching for your eyes with his. “I’ve got this if you want me to wear it.”
You shook your head, reaching up to touch his arm. “No. I want you bare. I’m on the pill.”
You both knew it might not have been the smartest option, doing it raw, with nothing between you. But there was a deep, unspoken trust between the two of you, forged through long shifts, that made you feel safe. And in that moment, that trust felt solid enough to lean on.
The hunger that had taken over both of you made anything else almost unbearable. The need to feel each other completely bare, skin on skin, heat on heat, with nothing separating you, was overwhelming.
“Fuck, you’re gonna kill me.” He tossed the condom aside, leaning down to kiss you deeply again. “You’re sure?”
“I’m sure,” you whispered against his lips. “I want to feel all of you.”
He groaned, positioning himself between your legs and nudging the thick head of his cock against your slick entrance. The anticipation felt electric, this was the culmination of over a year of longing, of hours of texts, and now all that was left was this desperate connection. Robby gripped your thighs, spreading you wider as he looked down at you with hunger.
The night is only beginning, and the way he’s looking at you promises he’s going to take his time ruining you in the best possible way.
As his cockhead was being rubbed up and down your folds, teasing your clit with every pass, coating itself with your juices, the sensation felt maddening, promising everything you’d fantasized about for so long. You whimpered, twitching your hips up instinctively to chase more contact.
“Eyes on me, sweetheart,” Robby commanded you softly, the same authoritative tone that had guided you through countless procedures was now guiding you through this. He cupped your chin gently, tilting your face so your gazes locked. “Keep looking at me the whole time. I want to see you while I fuck you.”
You nodded shakily, unable to look away even if you wanted to. Robby continued rubbing the head of his cock against your entrance, coating himself in your wetness, drawing out the anticipation until you were squirming beneath him.
“That’s it,” he whispered against your mouth. “So wet for me already. This pussy is going to take me so well. Breathe for me, relax and let me in.” He pressed forward slowly, breaching your entrance with only the tip. The stretch was immediate and intense, opening you up inch by inch as he sank deeper. Your mouth fell open in a silent moan, but you forced your eyes open, locking them on his as he watched every flicker of pleasure cross your face.
“Easy, baby,” he cooed, stroking your thigh soothingly while the other braced beside your head. “You’re doing so good. Feel how you’re stretching around me? So tight and warm… fuck, you feel incredible.”
You moaned loudly as he continued sliding in, the deliberate thrust filling you completely until he was buried to the hilt, until his hips were flushed against yours. The fullness was overwhelming, his thick cock stretching your walls like nobody had stretched you before, pressing against every sensitive spot inside you.
Robby stayed still for a moment buried deep, resting his forehead against yours as he looked straight into your eyes. “There you go. All the way in. You took every inch.” He started to thrust with deep rolls of his hips that drag his cock along your walls with exquisite friction. “Wrap your legs around me. Hold me close while I fuck you.”
You did as he said, locking your legs around his waist and digging your heels into his lower back. The new angle let him sink even deeper, and you cried out in pleasure, digging your nails into his shoulders. Robby kept talking you through it, just like he knew you liked.
“That’s my girl. Feel that? I’m hitting that spot inside you, huh?” He angled his hips slightly, grinding deep on every stroke. Robby slid one hand up to cup and squeeze your breast, rolling your nipple as he thrusted harder.
Robby moved his hand from your breast to cup your chin. His grip was gentle enough not to hurt, yet firm enough that you felt every one of his fingers pressing against the bones of your jaw. “Look at me. Don’t look away. I want to see how good my cock feels inside this tight pussy.” He tilted your face up and held it there, leaving you no choice but to meet his eyes.
And God… what a glorious sight he was. This handsome man, with his face flushed, his brow glistening with sweat, devouring you with his gaze as he kept driving his cock into you.
His face was only inches from yours, and he kept fucking you in long strokes while he held your chin like that, as if he were starving for every single expression that crossed your face. He loved watching the way pleasure wrecked you. The way your lips parted around helpless moans, the way you bit down on your lower lip only for it to slip free again with a broken sound. The way your eyes went glassy and pleading, silently begging him for more even as your body trembled around his cock. He drank it all in like a man who had been thirsty for years.
With his free hand, he gripped your waist, holding you in place so he could drive into you with more power. Every slide of his cock stretched you perfectly, dragging the fat tip along your g-spot like that was what it was made for.
“Robby—oh god, yes!” You moaned loudly, raising your hips to meet his thrust and tightening your legs around him. Your tits were bouncing with every powerful stroke, and he leaned down to suck one nipple into his mouth again, flicking his tongue as he continued fucking you.
“You feel so good,” he groaned against your skin, switching to the other breast. “So tight and wet around me. This pussy was made for my cock, wasn’t it? Taking me so deep.” His hand on your waist slid down to grip your ass, lifting your hips slightly to change the angle as he thrusted harder. “Lift your legs higher for me, sweetheart,” he said against your neck,kissing and nipping the sensitive skin there. Ronny held the back of your thigh, helping guide your leg up. “That’s it… over my shoulder. Let me get deeper.”
You whimpered as he assisted you, hooking your leg over his shoulder. He did the same with the other, folding you nearly in half beneath him. The new angle allowed him to sink impossibly deeper, until he was pressing the head firmly against that perfect spot inside you with every thrust, grinding against your g-spot relentlessly.
“Fuck—Robby, it’s so deep like this,” you moaned, fluttering your eyes shut for just a moment as the intense sensation washed over you.
“Ah-ah-ah,” he chided gently but firmly, cupping your jaw with his hand to tilt your face back to his. “Eyes on me, sweetheart. Keep them open. I want to watch you while I fuck you like this. Don’t look away.”
You forced your eyes open, locking onto his hungry gaze as he continued hammering into you. The eye contact made everything more intimate and overwhelming. The feeling of his hand leavinf your jaw and sliding down between your bodies made you shiver. Robby found your swollen clit and began rubbing tight circles in time with his thrusts.
The combined stimulation was devastating. The pleasure was burning higher in your core, so close to finally exploding. Your body was arching and squirming beneath his frame as you scratched down his back and trembled over his shoulders. Every thrust, every rub of his fingers on your clit, every moan and grunt that escaped his mouth pushed you closer to the edge.
“That’s it,” Robby groaned, never removing his sight from yours. “Look at you taking my cock so deep. You’re getting close again, aren’t you? I can feel it. Cum for me, baby. Let me feel you cum all over my cock. Keep your eyes on me when you do.”
You bowed your back off the bed as your climax took over your body. A loud cry tore from your throat as your pussy clenched rhythmically around his length. Your thighs shook violently over his shoulders and you dug your nails harder into his back when the waves of pleasure crashed through you. Robby sekpt thrusting through it, drawing out your orgasm with deep strokes and continued pressure on your clit.
“You look so beautiful when you cum for me… that’s it, sweetheart. Give it all to me. You’re being so good.”
By the time he finally slowed and gently pulled out of you, you were still trembling and gasping. Robby layed back on the bed beside you, with his cock hard and glistening with your release. “Come here, baby,” he said. “Get on top. I want to watch you ride me.”
He helped you shift positions, gripping your hips firmly to guide you as you straddled him. “Easy, sweetheart. Take your time… that’s it. Feel me right there? Let me watch you take every inch.”
You positioned the head at your slick entrance and began to sink down, inch by inch. The stretch was intense all over again, his girth opening you up as you lowered yourself onto him. Robby kept his hands still on your hips to steady you, stroking your skin soothingly while watching every expression on your face.
“Fuck, look at that,” he groaned. “You’re doing so well. Keep going… take a little more. Feel how full you are?”
Louder moans left your mouth as you sank lower, the fullness was overwhelming in the best way. Bracing your hands on his broad chest for balance, you finally took him to the hilt, resting your ass against his thighs. Robby squeezed your hips encouragingly. “Ride me. Roll your hips like that… yes, just like that.”
Whn you started moving, rolling, and grinding your hips in a steady rhythm, the pleasure built quickly. His cock was dragging along your walls as you found a rhythm that made your tits bounce and your clit grind against his pelvis.
Robby kept moving his eyes are everywhere, watching where your pussy stretched around his shaft, sliding up to your bouncing breasts, then locking onto your face. He reaches up with both hands, cupping your tits and rolling your nipples as you ride him.
“You’re so fucking beautiful. You’re doing so well, sweetheart. Keep going… faster if you want. Take what you need from me.”
Without a word, you grabbed the hem of his shirt and tugged it upward. He sat up just enough to help you pull it off, and the second the fabric cleared his head, your hands were on him.
God, you loved his body. Your moved your palm slowly over his chest, feeling the coarse hair and the thud of his heart beneath your fingertips. You dragged your hands lower, mapping the soft, rounded curve of his belly with desire. It turned you on more than any gym-honed torso ever could. As you pressed your palms into the softness, your fingers dag in gently. Then you smoothed your hands over it again and again, savoring the way it yielded under your touch.
You were mumbling praises and moans between gasps, completely lost in the sensation. “Robby… you feel so good… so deep… fuck, I love your cock inside me…”
At one point, Robby planted his feet firmly on the bed, bent his knees, and started thrusting up to meet you. The change felt devastating, he was now fucking you from below with powerful strokes that made you cry out loudly as he droveinto you.
The slap of skin on skin grew louder when the slamming into you intensified. “Fuck—Robby!” you moaned, letting your head fall back as the pleasure overwhelmed you.
“Eyes on me if you can, sweetheart,” he growled, moving his fingers down to rub your clit again. “I’m getting close. You feel too good. You’re gonna make me cum.”
You were a moaning and squirming mess on top of him, riding and grinding as he thrusted up harder. His fingers on your clit and his cock hitting deep pushed you toward another peak, but it was his impending orgasm that had you focused on him.
“I’m gonna cum,” he groaned, snapping his hips up faster. “Fuck—can I cum inside you? Please, I want to fill you up.”
“Yes,” you gasped, riding him desperately. “Cum inside me, Robby. I want it. Fill me up. Please—”
With a deep groan, Robby thrusted up hard one last time and came, pulsing nside you, flooding your pussy with thick and warm ropes of cum. He held you down on him, gripping your hips tightly as he emptied himself completely. The feeling of him cumming inside you, fully claiming you, triggered your own smaller orgasm, making your walls clench rhythmically around his pulsing cock.
You both stayed locked together, panting. Robby stroked your back and thighs as you came down from the high befor pulling you down against his chest, kissing your forehead, keeping his cock still buried deep inside you as his release slowly leaked out around him, so much that you could feel the hot nd sticky evidence of his climax.
There were no more walls, just the two of you, finally giving in to everything you’ve both wanted and repressed for so long. You stayed draped on top of Robby for a long stretch of time, both of you catching your breath as the intensity slowly ebbed. Eventually, you lifted your head and looked at him. “That was… amazing. I wouldn’t even have dreamed that it’d be that good.”
He hummed in agreement, continuing his soothing path along your back. “It was. Better than I let myself imagine. You felt perfect.”
The praise made a warm feeling bloom in your chest. After a few more quiet moments, Robby gently helped you sit up, easing you off his cock with a shared sigh. You both winced slightly at the loss of connection and the feeling of emptiness, but he pulled you down beside him on the bed, wrapping his arms around you again as you cuddled into his side.
“So… you don’t regret it, do you?”
He met your eyes as a small smile began tugging at his lips beneath the beard. “Right now? I can’t regret having amazing sex with you. My mind is still somewhere up in the clouds.” He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. “I don’t know what will happen tomorrow when reality hits, but tonight… no regrets.”
You nestled closer, throwing one leg over his. The cuddling felt easy, natural, like you’d been doing this for years. For tonight, the outside world, the hospital, the guilt, the what ifs didn’t exist. There was only the two of you, and Robby might be right about reality hitting tomorrow, but right now, in the darkness of his room, everything felt right.
A/N: Two attempts at posting this fic, and two times Tumblr’s stupid AI mistakenly flagged it😭 I’ve spent days trying to figure out what was causing the problem and doing everything I could to finally get this fic posted for all of you. So if you’re reading this, it means it worked. Hopefully.
If you end up enjoying the fic, I’d really appreciate it if you could help me share it with a reblog (only if you enjoyed the fic) cause I’ve put a lot of work on it
Well, I hope you enjoyed this little something I worked on when inspiration finally struck me. I don’t know if I read it somewhere or if we all collectively decided it, but Robby absolutely feels like the type of guy who talks you through it. You’re telling me the man who spends all day teaching med students and residents how to do procedures wouldn’t also be guiding his girl in bed? It’s literally in his nature!!! This TikTok also got me inspired because, yes, he absolutely looks at you through it too.
I also think Robby’s canon texting style is weirdly inconsistent. In that scene in season one where he’s texting Jake, sometimes he starts messages with capital letters and sometimes he doesn’t. Sometimes he ends sentences with a period, sometimes he doesn’t. In my head, he has perfect grammar but deliberately tries to sound Gen Z and chill when he’s texting someone younger than him lol. Anyway, I tried to replicate that here too.
Thank you all so much for your patience. I really appreciate it, and I hope I can stick around for good this time🩷
Michael Robinavitch hadn’t thought much about the daughter he left behind. Not since the day he signed away his parental rights twenty-three years ago, when her mother got married to a more reliable man. She’d been four years old; small enough to still reach for his hand, too young to understand why he stopped showing up.
Until a new nurse practitioner started at PTMC.
She was twenty-seven. Bright. Bubbly. Effortlessly kind. The kind of person who could make even the most exhausted patient smile. And when she laughed, her chocolate-brown eyes crinkled in exactly the same way the chief attending's did.
Warnings: absent biological father, abandonment, parental regret, adoption, references to addiction and recovery, divorce, emotional hurt, medical setting.
Notes: Hey guys! I'm back! Please enjoy this little Robby remembering he has a heart story. Also the dividers mean we're switching scenes or into Robby's POV.
You have been sitting in your car, parked outside Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center for exactly twelve minutes, when your mother called you a coward.
Not directly, Elizabeth Grace Daniels was far too loving to call her only daughter a coward. Let alone on the morning of her first day as emergency nurse practitioner. She merely said, “I thought you told us you were going inside.”
Which translated from mother speak, meant: You have spent twelve minutes in your car, Y/N. Stop being ridiculous.
“I am going inside,” you said, staring at the hospital’s ambulance bay, watching people in scrubs and ambulances enter the building.
“You said that about ten minutes ago,” sighed your mother. ”I’m mentally preparing.”
“You have worked in the ER for almost three years and completed your emergency fellowship at Mercy. I think you’ll be fine.”
”They’ll expect me to know things. I’m not just a nurse and this isn’t just family medicine mother.” Your mother sighed through the speakers of your car.
You could picture her standing in the kitchen with one hand braced against the counter, already dressed for the day even though it was barely six thirty in the morning. There would be a cup of coffee beside her, cooling down as each minute passed. The aroma filling the kitchen. Your dad would be somewhere nearby in his robe and slippers, pretending not to listen, newspaper in hand and his glasses sitting low on his nose.
“You do know things,” she said, “You thrive in the hospital. It’s strange how calm you are in that place.”
“I don’t feel so calm right now,” you say, tapping your fingers on the steering wheel.
Your mother called away from the phone. “James, tell your daughter to get out of her car.” A deeper voice answering from somewhere in the background.
“Get out of the car, Birdie.” You rolled your eyes, smiling despite yourself. “One of these days you’re going to have to retire that nickname.”
“Not happening, my girl.” Your dad said with a quiet laugh. “You’ve been calling me Birdie for twenty- four years.” “And I’ll do it for another twenty-four if you’ll let me.”
The nickname came when you were three, instead of walking like a normal child, you skipped from place to place with your arms stretched out behind you, making chirping noises and pretending you could fly like a bird. You were also convinced that the birds could talk to you. What a weird toddler.
James had watched the whole thing with the kind of adoration only a father could have. One afternoon, after chasing you through the backyard while you “flew” in crooked little circles around the maple tree, he scooped you into his arms and laughed. “I’ve got to catch my little Birdie before she flies away,” causing you to go into a fit of giggles.
The name never disappeared.
James Daniels had been making you laugh your entire life, or at least as much of your life as you can remember.
He was the one who taught you how to ride a bike, placed bandaids on your scrapped knees, and was the loudest person in the crowd at every graduation ceremony. He had cried when you passed your boards, although he insisted a strong breeze had somehow entered the house and irritated both of his eyes.
The fact that James was not biologically related to you had never mattered.
There had been another man once.
Your mother had told you the truth when you were old enough to ask why your original birth certificate held a different last name. His name was Michael. He had been young, frightened, and inconsistent. He had tried to be a father for four years before deciding that signing away his rights was the best thing he could do for you.
Or the easiest.
Your mother had never said which.
James adopted you shortly after marrying her. Your last name became Daniels, and Michael became someone who existed only in a few blurred childhood memories you no longer trusted.
A man crouching to tie your shoe.
A scratchy cheek when he kissed you goodbye.
The smell of coffee.
A dark-haired figure walking through a doorway.
Sometimes you wondered whether those memories belonged to him or whether your brain had simply built a father-shaped shadow after learning one had once been there.
You did not hate him.
Hating someone required a kind of intimacy you had never shared.
You simply did not need him.
You already had a father.
“Y/N?” your mother prompted. “I’m going.” “You’re going to be wonderful.” your mother said. “You legally have to say that.” “No, legally I have to love you. Lying is optional.”
Your dad’s voice came through again. “Call us at lunch.” “I probably won’t get lunch.”
“Then call when you can.” “I will.”
You picked up the iced vanilla latte sitting in the cupholder and grabbed your tote bag from the passenger seat. “I love you.” “We love you too,” they answered together. You ended the call before either of them could give you another instruction. For a moment, you remained behind the wheel.
PTMC rose beyond the employee parking lot, all glass, concrete, and long rows of windows reflecting the early morning sky. You had completed clinical hours in busy emergency departments. You had worked through codes, combative patients, understaffed nights, and traumas that left blood drying in the grooves of your shoes.
You knew hospitals, but this was PTMC. The emergency department people whispered about in nursing-school clinical groups and praised during critical-care lectures. The place that received the patients other hospitals could not manage.
And this time, you would not be standing at the bedside waiting for someone else to make the final decision.
Your name would be attached to the assessment. Your orders. Your plan. Your mistakes.
You exhaled slowly and opened the car door. “Okay,” you whispered. “Let’s try to embarrass myself.”
The ambulance bay entrance opened directly into chaos.
A stretcher rushed past before you had fully crossed the threshold. Two paramedics spoke over one another as a nurse guided them toward a trauma room. A monitor alarmed somewhere beyond the central desk, followed by a voice calling for respiratory therapy.
You stepped instinctively out of the path.
“Good,” a woman said beside you. “At least you know not to stand in the doorway.”
You turned.
She wore grey scrubs with a white long sleeve beneath them, reading glasses pushed into her hair. Her expression held the specific weariness of a woman who had already solved six problems that morning and expected at least forty more.
“Dana Evans?” you guessed. “That depends. Are you Y/N Daniels?”
“Yes, that’s me” “Then I’m Dana.”
You shifted your coffee into your left hand and held out your right. Your tote bag promptly slipped from your shoulder. Dana caught the strap before it struck the floor. You stared at her hand. She stared at you.
“That’s a promising beginning,” she said. “Should I go back outside and try again?” Her mouth twitched. “No. We don’t have time.”
Dana moved through the department without appearing to rush, in a place where everyone else looked like they were participating in an evacuation. You tucked your bag beneath the desk and straightened your badge, quickly looking at the credentials following your name.
Y/N DANIELS, APRN, FNP-C, ENP-C
It’s amazing how much weight some letters can hold.
Dana gave you a tour of the unit. From where the supply room is, to which bathroom is the most secluded. “Trauma rooms are through there. Red pods take the sickest medical patients. Yellow is supposed to be lower acuity, although patients don’t care about color assignments. Triage is through those doors. Don’t let anyone sneak their way past you.”
Dana pointed towards a physician sitting at a workstation.
That’s Dr. Dennis Whitaker. First year resident.” Whitaker looked up at the sound of his name.
He was handsome in an unpolished sort of way, soft exhausted blue eyes, flushed cheeks, and thick brown curls that refused to stay where they belonged. There was nothing intimidating about him
Dana motioned him over. He stood quickly, caught his foot on the leg of his chair, and recovered with only a minor loss of dignity.
“Dennis, this is Y/N Daniels, our new NP.” “Hi.” He offered you his hand. “Welcome.”
“Thank you.” “Is this your first shift?” “Yes.” His entire expression brightened. “Oh, good.”
You laughed. “Why is that good?” “I’m not the newest provider anymore.” Dana looked at him. “You’re an R1. It has been a few weeks.” Dennis shrugged, “Feels like forever in here.”
You liked him immediately. There was something reassuring about his lack of polish. He did not perform with confidence he had not yet earned, and he did not seem ashamed of being new.
“What did you do before this?” he asked. “I did my emergency fellowship at Mercy, but I was a trauma nurse at Allegheny General before that.” you listed while smiling up at him. “Way more experience than I had before starting here then.”
A voice cut in from behind him.
“Whitaker still occasionally needs reminders.” A young woman approached in black scrubs, her dark hair pulled away from her face. She carried herself as though the department had been built to accommodate her.
Dennis glanced over his shoulder. “I haven’t needed a tube reminder in months.”
“I wasn’t talking about medical equipment, Huckleberry.”
You looked between them. The woman’s gaze shifted to you, swift and assessing. “New NP?”
“Y/N Daniels.” “Trinity Santos. R2.” There was pride in the title, as though she had earned every syllable. Her handshake was brief and confident.
Dana resumed walking.
Trinity followed without invitation. Dennis came too, abandoning whatever he had been doing at the workstation.
You suspected this was how the Pitt operated, people collecting into temporary groups until an emergency scattered them again.
“Mel’s an R3,” Trinity explained as you passed a physician speaking gently with an older patient. “She’s frighteningly nice, but don’t mistake that for weakness. McKay’s also an R3 and will probably talk about her lack of a love life with you.”
“Trinity,” Dana warned. “What? It’s useful information.”
“And you?” You glanced at her, “What should I know about you?”
Dennis made a small choking sound. Trinity’s eyes narrowed. You maintained an innocent expression.
After a moment, she smiled. “Very ambitious. Usually right. Occasionally underappreciated.”
“Frequently loud,” Dennis added. “Huckleberry.” “I’m only helping.”
Their bickering had the comfortable edge of familiarity. Trinity teased him because she knew exactly how far she could push; Dennis objected because that was apparently part of the routine.
A burst of laughter sounded from the opposite side of the department. Dana’s expression changed. Not quite an annoyance. Something closer to apprehension.
You followed her gaze.
A tall man in black scrubs stood beside a nurse, signing something on a tablet.
His dark hair had fallen messily across his forehead, slightly too long around his ears, and the sharp line of his jaw only made his bright blue eyes stand out more. He was lean rather than bulky, but the sleeves of his scrub top stretched around his arms when he moved, revealing just enough muscle to be distracting.
Even from across the department, there was something unfairly attractive about him. An effortless, slightly disheveled kind of handsome
He looked up. His attention found you almost immediately. The smile did not disappear. It changed.
Dennis noticed. “Oh,” he murmured. Trinity followed his gaze and rolled her eyes.
“What?” you asked. “Nothing,” Dennis said quickly. “Langdon,” Trinity answered at the same time.
The man handed back the tablet and walked toward you.
There was a slight hesitation in his stride that did not match his confident expression. You probably would not have noticed if you had not spent years watching patients pretend they were less frightened than they were.
“Dana,” he greeted. “Frank.”
His eyes moved to you. “You must be the new NP.” “Is it that obvious?”
“You still look hopeful.” You laughed and offered your hand. “Y/N Daniels.”
“Frank Langdon.”
His handshake was warm. Steady. He did not release your hand too quickly, but he did not hold it long enough to make the gesture uncomfortable.
“Welcome to the Pitt.” “Thank you.”
Trinity folded her arms. “Can you flirt somewhere that isn’t blocking the main corridor?” Frank glanced at her. “I’m welcoming a colleague.”
“You don’t smile at Whitaker like that.” Dennis looked alarmed. “Please don’t.”
Frank laughed. The sound held genuine amusement, but something vulnerable lived underneath it, almost relieved.
As though joking with coworkers was a skill he had once performed without thought and was now pleased to discover he could still do.
It piqued your curiosity. Why is everyone somewhat acting cautious around this R4? Why is he looking like he’s anticipating some snarky comment?
You expected arrogance from an R4. Instead, you found a man who seemed to be trying very hard to appear like he had always belonged there.
A nurse passed behind Frank without greeting him. He noticed.
The smile remained, but you saw the moment land. Then he looked back at you and it was gone.
“So,” he said, “first day?” “Yes.”
“Nervous?” “Horribly,” you said with a chuckle.
“Good.” You lifted an eyebrow. “That’s what Dana said.”
“We trained her well.” Dana gave him a look. Frank lowered his voice. “You’ll do fine. Nobody feels ready on the first day.”
There was no flirtation in those words. Only sincerity.
You smiled. “Thank you.”
Frank’s expression softened.
For one strangely quiet second, the chaos around you seemed to fade.
Then a man’s voice called from behind you. “Dana, has surgery called back about bed seven?”
Everyone’s attention shifted. Dr. Michael Robinavitch approached with a chart tucked beneath one arm and reading glasses hanging from his scrub collar.
You recognized him from the hospital website.
The photograph had not captured the exhaustion around his eyes.
Or the gravity.
Dr. Robinavitch was not particularly tall or physically imposing, but the department seemed to rearrange itself around him. Nurses intercepted him with questions. Residents watched for instructions. Even Frank straightened slightly, his earlier ease becoming careful.
“Not yet,” Dana answered. “I can page them again.”
“Page the attending directly.” His gaze moved over the group.
Dennis.
Trinity.
Frank.
Then you.
He stopped.
It was not recognition. You would have understood recognition. This was quieter and more confusing. His eyes stayed on your face as though some detail had disrupted a thought he could not afford to lose.
You suddenly became aware of everything about yourself. Your stiff new scrubs. The loose strand of dark hair near your cheek. The badge clipped crookedly to your chest.
“Robby,” Dana said, “this is Y/N Daniels. Our new nurse practitioner.” His gaze dropped to your identification.
Daniels.
The name meant nothing to him. You could see that much.
“Dr. Robinavitch.” You extended your hand. “It’s nice to meet you.” He looked down at it.
Then back at you. A brief, awkward pause passed before he accepted. His palm was warm, his grip gentler than expected.
“Robby,” he corrected. “Robby.”
Something moved across his face when you said it. Gone before you could understand it.
He began asking you questions about your experience, and where you went to school. Obviously trying to determine if you would survive in his ER and how much he would have to supervise you.
The questions came quickly, each one building upon the previous answer.
Frank shifted beside you. “Is this an interview?”
Robby did not look away from you. “I need to know what she can do.”
“You could also say hello.” “I did.”
“No, you told her your nickname and began an interrogation.”
You pressed your lips together to hide a smile. Robby noticed. His eyes flicked toward your mouth, then returned to your eyes.
There it was again.
That strange pause.
“Do you have a problem answering questions?” he asked. “No.”
“Good.” “You could ask whether I have any weaknesses,” you say looking up at him.
“Do you?” “Charting and authority figures with expressive eyebrows.”
Trinity choked back a laugh. Dennis stared at you as though you had just thrown yourself in front of a moving vehicle. Frank grinned.
Robby’s eyebrows lifted. You gestured toward them. “Those.”
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then the corner of Robby’s mouth moved. Barely.
“Dana will finish the tour,” he said. “You’ll start with lower-acuity patients. Present every case before ordering imaging or specialty consults.” “Understood.”
“If you don’t know something, ask.” “I will.”
“If you think you know something but aren’t completely certain, ask.” You nodded.
He glanced at Frank. “And if Langdon tells you a rule doesn’t matter, assume it matters.”
Frank placed a hand over his chest. “I’ve been back for months. How long am I going to be the cautionary tale?”
Robby’s expression changed. The humor vanished from it. “So far? Indefinitely.” The words struck more harshly than the moment deserved.
Frank’s smile remained for one extra second before slipping away.
The silence around you tightened.
Robby seemed to realize what he had done, but not quickly enough to take it back.
Frank nodded once.
“Good to know.” He turned away. “Frank,” Dana called.
“I have patients.” His response was light. He walked toward the opposite pod without looking back.
Trinity’s expression held no sympathy. If anything, something like satisfaction flickered across it. Dennis looked at the floor. You looked at Robby.
He had already closed himself off.
“Welcome to the Pitt,” he said to you. Then he followed Dana toward the charge desk. You watched him go.
“Is it always like that?” you asked quietly. Dennis rubbed the back of his neck. “No.”
“Yes,” Trinity said simultaneously. Dennis glanced at her. “It’s complicated.”
“It’s not that complicated.” “Huckleberry,” she warned herself before he could.
You looked toward Frank. He stood at a computer alone, his posture straight, expression composed as he opened a patient chart.
Someone passing him might have believed nothing had happened.
You knew better.
Robby had not thought about his daughter in months.
That was more often than the years before his breakdown, when he could go long stretches without allowing her to enter his mind at all.
He had become skilled at compartmentalization. Medicine rewarded it.
A patient died; another arrived.
A resident made a mistake; another needed teaching.
A memory surfaced; a pager sounded.
There was always something more urgent than regret.
Lately, regret has become less cooperative.
Robby remembered his daughter as a four-year-old.
Dark hair that never stayed in its ponytail. Brown eyes. A stubborn lower lip. The solemn way she colored, pressing crayons so hard they snapped between her fingers.
He did not know what she looked like now. Did not know where she lived. Did not know whether she attended college, married, had children, or ever wondered why her biological father had signed away the right to know her.
He had never searched. He told himself it was respect. It was mostly cowardice.
Y/N Daniels looked nothing like the woman that upheaved all his life plans at first glance. She had been fair-haired, green-eyed, and soft around the face.
Y/N’s hair was dark. Her eyes were chocolatey brown. Robby’s coloring.
The thought arrived without permission. He rejected it immediately.
Brown hair was common. Brown eyes were common. Pitt graduated hundreds of nurse practitioners and nurses. Daniels was an ordinary name.
Still, something about the woman had unsettled him.
Not her features. Her expressions.
The way she pressed her lips together before saying something she knew she should probably keep to herself. The laughter that reached her eyes before it escaped her mouth.
The slight tilt of her head when she challenged him. He had seen those things before. He simply could not remember where.
Dana appeared beside him at the central board.
“You were unnecessarily cruel.” Robby kept his attention on the patient list. “To whom?”
She stared at him. “Frank.” “He made a joke.”
“So did you. His stopped being funny first.” Robby’s jaw tightened.
“He knows the situation.” “He knows it better than anyone.”
“He needs accountability.”
Dana scoffed, “He has accountability. He also has a tracking agreement, mandatory meetings, random testing, a recovery program, a divorce, two children he barely sees, and half an emergency department that looks through him.”
Robby finally looked at her. Dana’s expression softened only slightly.
“You don’t have to forgive him,” she said. “But you should decide whether you want him to succeed here.”
“I do.” “Then occasionally act like it.” She walked away before he could respond.
Robby looked across the department.
Frank stood alone at a workstation.
Y/N was watching him. Then she turned and caught Robby looking.
Her eyes narrowed slightly. Questioning. Disapproving. Familiar.
Robby turned back to the board.
By the final hour of your shift, your feet hurt, your iced vanilla latte, had been replaced by a Celsius that you got from the vending machine, and the careful ponytail you arrived with was barely holding itself together.
You considered that a successful first day. You had not killed anyone. You had not cried in a supply closet. And you had only been corrected by Robby four times. Which according to Dennis, was practically a glowing performance review.
“You should’ve seen my first shift,” he told you as the two of you stood at a workstation, finishing notes before handoff. “I’m pretty sure he corrected me four times before eight in the morning.”
Trinity glanced up from the computer beside him. “And you were covered by like 4 different types of fluids.” “Santos!”
You smiled down at your chart, rereading the assessment for what had to be the sixth time.
Your last patient had been a seventy-two-year-old woman with dizziness, dehydration, and a urinary tract infection. Nothing dramatic. Nothing worthy of the trauma center reputation that had made your stomach twist that morning.
Still, you had presented the case to Robby carefully. You had explained your reasoning, anticipated his questions, and already had the answers waiting when he asked them.
He had stared at you for a moment after you finished. Then he had simply nodded.
“Good plan.”
Two words.
You had spent the following twenty minutes trying not to appear embarrassingly pleased by them.
“You know you can sign that,” Trinity said. You looked at her. “I’m checking it.”
“You’ve checked it.” “I’m making sure I didn’t miss anything.” “You didn’t.”
Dennis leaned toward you. “You’ll learn that Trinity only offers reassurance when she wants access to the computer.” “I need to finish my notes, Huckleberry.”
You signed the chart and stepped aside. Trinity immediately took your place.
The department had shifted around you as evening approached. The daylight staff moved with the tired urgency of people trying to leave before one final disaster trapped them there. Nurses gave report beside open charts. Residents hurried to finish notes. Patients continued arriving as though the hospital had not already taken everything the staff had to give.
A man in dark scrubs approached the desk, travel mug in hand.
“Jack Abbot,” he introduced himself. “Night attending.” “Y/N Daniels.”
His eyes briefly scanned your badge before he smiled. “First day?” “And hopefully not my last.”
Jack looked toward Robby. “She survive you?” “Barely,” you answered before Robby could. Jack laughed. “You’ll fit in fine.”
You gathered your bag and said goodbye, but Robby stopped you before you reached the doors. “You did well today.” Your smile appeared before you could hide it. “Thank you.”
You lifted a hand in goodbye and walked through the ambulance-bay doors into the evening air.
Robby watched until the doors closed behind you. He told himself he was evaluating a new employee. Nothing more.
But long after you had disappeared, an old memory rose with such clarity that it stole the breath from his lungs.
His daughter had been four years old, sitting on the kitchen counter while he struggled to fasten the tiny buckle on her shoe. She had been wearing a yellow dress. Her dark hair had escaped its ponytail, falling around her round cheeks as she watched him with complete seriousness.
“You’re not very good at this,” she had told him. He laughed despite himself. “I’m trying.”
Her little head tilted. Then she reached forward and pressed both hands against his cheeks, forcing him to look up at her.
“That’s okay,” she whispered. “You can try again tomorrow.”
He had promised her he would.
At twenty-three, Robby had believed tomorrow was an endless thing. There would always be another morning. Another chance to show up. Another opportunity to become the father she deserved.
Until one day, there wasn’t.
He could no longer remember what happened after that moment. Whether he finished fastening her shoe. Whether she hugged him goodbye. Whether he told her he loved her before he left.
He only remembered her smile.
Bright and sudden.
Reaching her brown eyes before it reached her mouth.
Now, staring at the doors you had disappeared through, he wondered what that little girl looked like grown.
I think it will be really interesting to explore this new dynamic, especially because we know Robby was abandoned by his own mother. Maybe part of him believed he would never be good enough for his daughter. Maybe he convinced himself that letting her be raised by her mother’s husband would protect Y/N from ever feeling the same kind of abandonment he did.
That does not make what he did right, but I think it adds another complicated layer to his choices and I am excited to dive into that.
Anywho, thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. Hopefully, I am finally back to being active on Tumblr because I really, really want to be.
summary: a loser at the local pub thinks spencer is your boyfriend. Aaron drags him.
tags: fluff. creepy men being creepy. body shaming (of spencer I'm so sorry). spencer just catching strays in general.
word count: ~1.7k
a/n: based on an ask. I was gonna just write my thoughts or a short 500 word drabble or something but then ended up writing this until the point I forced myself to just end it lmao. I think it gets a bit convoluted and cringe at the end but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ it was fun! not proofread. divider cred @/cafekitsune
The pub was going to the rue the day they made half-off appetizers their weekly special.
The team squeezed in two pushed-together tables and binged on the greasy delights. you and Spencer had gotten into sharp back and forth about the apocalypse on the way there, which earned the both of you a quick banishing to a corner of the table where the rest of the team wouldn’t be subject to your bickering.
You rest your head against the cool concrete pillar you were sandwiched against. A table pressed against a half-wall facing outdoors was a hard sell to a bunch of field agents. However, Penelope’s animated declaration for the team to ‘live a little’ —specifically, to do so before Rossi got any greyer— landed you a wonderful view of the outdoors. You could watch all the homey, drunken people sway to the music flowing from the patio. The crisp night air flushes the overwhelming smell of burnt grease away from your nose. Maybe you could convince Hotch to grab a window seat for some date nights, you have to admit, the vibes were growing on you. While you enjoy poking the brain of your younger genius friend, you miss the solid warmth of Aaron beside you. Thankfully, he opted to sit in front of you instead.
You took the opportunity to tease him. You kick him playfully under the table, stealing his attention away from the conversation he is having with Derek. He turns to squint at you for a moment, only to grab your food to sandwich it between the wall and his thigh in retaliation. His fingers drum a steady rhythm against your ankle, the ticklish tap tap tap making you squirm. You motion to ensnare his ankle with your other leg when Spencer turns to point his flimsy white plastic fork at you.
“If emergency services were still in full effect during the zombie apocalypse, there would be a drastic increase in the number of people infected and a significant loss in—”
“A significant loss in medical supplies. Spoken like a true prepper Reid. What's next, gonna tell me about the importance of learning how to pickle your own food for rationing?”
“Actually, during the Great Depression housewives pickles things that lasted their families almost—”
His impending rant is cut short by the return of your server. Anticipating the bill, Rossi reached for his wallet before the woman shakes her head at him. Instead, sliding a drink and a folded up napkin on the table and nodding her head at you.
“For the lovely young miss by the window.” She flashes a smile at you, “One of our lovely patons seems to fancy you.”
All eyes snap to you, all the color draining from your face as you stare down at the offending item. The drink was almost glowing at you, bright pink glitter swirling in the liquid with pink gummy hearts floating at the top and crystal sugar bedazzling the rim. There was no way this was actually something for the human body to consume. Even Penelope’s brows raised in shock at its extreme display.
You glance at Hotch, his leg picking up a steady bounce next to yours after the waitresses revelation. His face is hardened, jaw rocking back and forth as he glares at the folded paper next to the drink. You clear your throat and face the woman again.
“Can you tell me who sent this?”
She juts her sharp chin over your head towards one of the outdoor tables. Hotch’s neck cranes around before your own, and you lock eyes with an older man sitting a few tables down. His face was unpleasantly square, the outdated sandy mullet crowning his head doing him no favors either. He raises his beer bottle towards you with a wink. You shiver, scooting closer to Spencer when the admirer hauls himself out of his stool to stride towards you. Aaron has turned almost fully towards outside now, his brow raised.
“Ohh this is gonna be good,” JJ whispers from the other side of Reid. The comment earns her a sharp glare from Hotch, a blush burning in her cheeks as she goes back to nursing her cheeto-crusted mozzarella sticks.
“I just don’t understand,” Spencer starts, “There are seven other people at this table including men at this table why would he be bold enough to-”
A sharp knock sounder off the ledge of the short wall.
“Well, hello darlin’. I don’t mean to interrupt the dinner with your friends here, Hello friends, m’ names Miles!” He flashed his eyes around the table with a toothy, mustached smile.
“But i couldn’t help but see your pretty little face in this window ‘ere and I had to buy ya’ a drink!”
“Ah… Thank you but um-”
“Don’t even sweat it beautiful!” Small specs of saliva fly from his mouth, causing even Spencer to jump back pulling on the hem of your shirt. As if to use you as a human shield from the germs the man was spewing in his general direction. Hooray. Your hero.
“I even wrote my number on that there lil’ napkin for ya’. My momma raised a gentleman, so I gotta buy you more than a lil liquor before I take you down.” His beady eyes shoot down to your cleavage before snapping back to your face, licking his lip.
The fingers on your ankles pause at this. Aaron stares down the side of the mans face, lips pressd into a fine line spread across his face. You decide to jump in before your boyfriend takes it upon himself to tear the mystery man a new one.
“Listen, I appreciate the sentiment but, I’m here to have dinner with my friends and my boyfriend so… I could pay you back for the drink? No harm done-”
“Boyfriend!?” He steps back, eyes scanning the table once more before landing on Spencer and snorting.
“This lil’ stringbean? You can’t possibly be serious” He smiles at Spencer before he continues “Jack and the beanstalk here could barely muscle steel so ya’ll stuck him with plastic,” He waves a crooked finger aimlessly around the table, “And you expect me to believe he’s wrangling a fine figure like yourself down every night?”
That seems to hit a sore spot for Reid, who finally peeps his head from around you. He takes the moment to ramble about the millions of germs and pathogens that could be found on community utensils even after a full wash cycle. Much to the dismay of the creep and team alike, so much so that Derek had to nudge him with his foot. With the conclusion of Spencer’s monologue the man continues
“Anyways, darlin’ for one night let me take you for a spin. Lil' boy like that won't do ya' any good. I promise you only a bigger, older man knows how to really take care of someone crafted as fine as you.” His eyes lower to your chest again and stay there.
“I assure you she already knows that,” Aaron spits.
Your eyes snap to his face. He seemd deceptively calm now, his expression almost bored.
“Pardon?” Miles asks, half-heartedly turning his body towards him.
“I’ll put it like this for you Miles. Stringbean over here isn’t her boyfriend,” Spencer begins to squeak out in opposition to his new pet name, but Hotch’s voice bellows out above his own, “I know you’re pathetic, that was apparent from the moment you walked up here puffing your chest after buying the cheapest drink on the menu as a gift. But I’m almost surprised you made your impotence so obvious too, considering you made eye contact with everyone you view as non threatening, the women, the man in his late years, the kid.”
Aaron lazily cocks his head towards Morgan, “But not me and my friend here in the corner. But I’m sure you thought you got away with that. Now, I’d suggest you move. The cologne you sprayed to mask the smell of Motel 8 is starting to wear off.”
Your ears warm at his words. Every sharp word honeyed by his calm, almost sweet tone. He spoke as if he was reading the well thought out profile of an elusive crimminal instead of just some ass in a sit down. God you wanted to kiss him. He’d have to let team politics go just this once right? Just a thank you peck.
Before you can move to move ask him for one, Miles sputters out, “Talkin’ to me like I’m some dumbass— Who the hell d’ya think you are man!?”
Each syllable causes a spray of spit to launch out his mouth, forcing you to scoot even closer to spencer to evade the line of fire. His face shines with sweat and grease, red rising from his shirt collar as he barks at Hotch’s words.
“I’m her man. Her bigger, older man. But I’m sure you already knew that, since you still refuse to look at me.” Aaron reaches down into his pockets, flipping out his credentials with deft fingers, “And I’m also an agent. As is everyone at the table including the woman you’ve spent the past several minutes sexually harassing.” He scowls, “Now, go sit down and shut the hell up.”
Miles' eyes finally rip away from you to meet his now. The angered flush erupts across his whole body now. He opens his mouth several times before closing it again, iced out by the cold stare Hotch gives him. He turns on his heel and marches back to his table without a fight. He sniffs his collar before jumping back in clear disgust.
A beat passes and the whole table erupts into laughter at the absurd happenings. Aaron’s face softens, still frowning in the general direction of the slimy man. Jolting when Derek claps him on the back and shakes him in praise.
“Alright Hotch! Racing to defend your girl, I didn’t know you had it like that!”
“Well, I’m not surprised,” You stretch across the table to grasp his hand, kissing his knuckles before he could protest. He envelopes your hand in both of his and gives you a warm smile, “my man is my hero in and out of the field.” He breathes out a laugh, knocking his knee against yours for your teasing.
“Next time, you and String Bean get into it, we’re doing a different seating arrangement.”
When Brendon gets home, he sees you in the kitchen with Murphy lying right beside you.
The dog perks up at the sight of Brendon, getting up and whining for attention.
“Hey Murph boy,” Brendon coos, getting on the floor. Murphy climbs on him, giving him kisses. “Oh that’s a good boy.”
Brendon gets up off the floor and kisses your lips. “How are you feeling?”
“Better now that you’re home,” you answer with a smile. “Dinner is in the oven now. Should be ready in 30-ish minutes.”
“Sounds good. I’m gonna shower and change. Feel like joining me?”
You shake your head. “I’m sorry, babe. I’m not in the mood after the whole park debacle.”
He nods understandingly and kisses the top of your head. He walks up the stairs and into the bedroom, Murphy following him.
Brendon sits the bed and pats the space next to him.
“Murph, c’mere,” he says
Murphy jumps up on the bed, lying down so that his paws are on Brendon’s Brendon scratches behind Murphy’s ear.
“You’re the best boy,” he tells him. “You’re sweet and well-behaved and your mom and I love you very much, ok?”
Murphy whines, lowering his head. Brendon’s heart swells.
Murphy was the sweetest boy who was judged before people could see how wonderful he was. Sure, Brendon and Y/N’s parents spoiled him and their siblings and friends treated him like a king. Murphy was also so sweet and patient to their kids and babies, often giving them kisses.
Then again, Brendon knows what it’s like to get a bad wrap before people get the chance to know him. He’s just lucky his friends didn’t give a shit.
And he’s lucky you gave him a chance all those years ago.
Hiii!!! I was wondering if you could do a brendon park x reader where they are dating and Bredon wants her to stay over but she's sacred to 'cause she afraid that she'll kick him or slap him in her sleep bc she's moves a lot when she sleeps? If not, totally okay!
You and Brendon had been dating for several months now and in all of that time you had never stayed the night at his place.
Sometimes you fall asleep for a bit on the couch during a movie night. But sleep in his bed? With him?
No.
You had been hesitant because you were a very restless sleeper.
On more than one occasion friends or family members had jokingly and not jokingly commented on how much you move in your sleep. Whether it was some kicking, sleep talking, or simply tossing and turning.
Due to that information you typically opted to sleep alone or keep a distance from others when sleeping over or sharing a sleeping space.
When it came to sleeping at Brendon’s, you didn’t want to scare him off with your restless movement.
He would ask often if you wanted to stay the night and you would avoid the invitation with an excuse of working early the next morning, early morning plans, not having any stuff with you, etc.
Brendon respected your answers but at the same time he just really wanted to fall asleep with you in his arms and wake up to you the next morning.
—--
Today you were having a pool day with Brendon. Both of you had the day off and what better way to beat the heat then take advantage of his apartment’s very expensive pool.
You guys had just gotten out and you go to lay out on your chair when Brendon pulls your arm gently.
He sits on his chair and lays back, maneuvering you to lay on top of him. Your face is squished against his warm chest as he runs his hands up and down your back in a soothing motion.
“I’m so sleepy” you mumble against his chest
You feel his chest vibrate from him chuckling.
“That so, baby?”
“Mhm” you hum as you play with the necklace he’s wearing.
“Well,” he starts “How about I order dinner, you pick some movies, and thennn” he drags out the last word “you spend the night with me tonight?”
You stay silent as your heart races.
Of course you want to do all of that but you’re hesitant of staying the night, as always.
“C’mon sweetheart,” he hugs you closely to his body “just wanna have you wrapped around me in my bed. Then after I wake up with you in my arms I’ll make you the best pancakes you’ve ever had.”
Tucking your face into his neck you mumble something incoherently.
“Hmm? What was that baby?” he tries turning his head closer
“I’m just scared.” you mumble again but a little louder
Brendon’s eyebrows furrow at your words.
“Why are you scared? Did I do someth–”
“No!” you cut him off abruptly “It’s nothing you’ve done Bren, I promise.”
You sit up and settle on his thighs, bracing your arms on his chest.
“I uh, I move around a lot when I sleep.”
You look up, avoiding eye contact with him.
“That's it? Is that why you’ve not stayed over before?” he probes gently
A tear rolls down your face “I know, I know, it probably seems fucking stupid of me t–”
“Hey, hey. Sweetheart, you’re not stupid. Don’t ever say that about yourself.” he rubs your arms soothingly.
“It’s okay to feel how you do about it but you do know that some moving around in your sleep isn’t gonna scare me away, right?”
“I hope not” you laugh a little as you wipe your tears.
He smiles up at you “You could have ten extra toes and I’d love you anyways.”
You gasp dramatically
“Ten?! Bren I promise I d-don’t” you laugh uncontrollably
He joins in with your laughter
“So… will you stay tonight?”
Letting out a deep breath you nod.
“Yeah, I guess I’ll steal your covers tonight.”
His fingers meet your sides “You little shit”
The giggles are uncontrollable as you wrestle with his hands.
He finally relents “Alright sweetheart, lets get a shower and some dinner.”
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Brendon had ordered dinner from an Italian restaurant that was devoured quickly during a small movie marathon.
The final credits were rolling and your eyes were barely open.
Brendon looks down at your head against his shoulder.
He gently runs his thumb across your cheek “ready for bed, baby?”
You nod against his shoulder, too exhausted for words.
“Alright pretty girl,” he stands slowly and picks you up in his arms “Let’s go.”
He walks to his bedroom and sets you down on the edge of the bed.
Brendon finds a t-shirt of his and stands in front of you.
Still a little awake you lift your arms up.
He helps you get your shirt and shorts off, putting his shirt on you.
Once you’re dressed you slowly get under the covers and get comfortable.
“I’m gonna turn everything off and get us some water and I’ll be back” he says from the doorway.
“Okay,” you mumble sleepily.
You try to stay awake for him to get back but quickly you’re nodding off until you’re dead asleep.
—--
Brendon’s gone for maybe ten minutes and then he’s back with bottled waters for you both.
The first thing he notices is your restlessness.
It’s almost as if you’re in a dream state or something’s plaguing your mind. You hadn’t mentioned nightmares or things troubling you so it’s not something he needs to wake you up from.
He flicks the lights off and gets in bed with you, immediately pulling you into his chest. When he said he didn’t mind the restless movement, he meant it.
Then he notices it.
As soon as he pulls you into his embrace and cuddles you close, you go still.
And you don’t seem to move a muscle the whole night.
Huh.
Maybe all of this time you just needed someone to hold you at night.
summary: Being a friendly neighbor can work in your benefit, especially for Jack. Especially when its for the girl in the laundry room who has the cutest shorts in the building.
word count: 7.3 k
content: age gap!!! reader is in their late 20's and jack is in his late 40's, neighbors trope hehe, hot make out session, flirting lol, yearning/slight nervous jack abbot omg, coworkers/boundaries talk, tension ofc loll, use of the nick names "honey, sweet heart, big girl",
a/n: i hope someone enjoys!! if you did pls leave a comment, criticism (or complimentsss hehe) are always welcomed. they rlly keep me going to write and make my day!! :33
Moving to Pittsburgh was one of the last things you'd ever expected to do. Considering you were from the west coast, it was quite the change for you in many ways — one being that you were living on your own for the first time.
It's not that you weren't independent, but you never had the opportunity to move away from home across the country, thanks to student loans of course. But you enjoyed it more than anything. There was no one to bother you in the kitchen while you were cooking and you didn't have to go through your parents bedroom in order to do your laundry. For once, you could establish your own routine in peace.
That is until your incredibly hot neighbor started doing his laundry on the same days you did every week. The first time you saw him, you were quite embarrassed. It was 1 AM and you hadn't expected any of your neighbors in your apartment complex to be night owls. And because of your naive assumption, you wore a strappy tank top with your comfy pajama shorts that were ones you wore only in the comfort of your home.
He had come in with his basket of clothes, dressed in sweats and in a comfortable white shirt and slippers. You heard the door to the laundry room shut through your ear buds, and you jumped.
"Sorry sorry, just a neighbor doing his laundry. Didn't mean to startle you," he says in a raspy, low voice, as he put one of his hands up as a friendly gesture to show he meant no harm.
You tried to compose yourself and fixed one of the straps that had fallen when you jumped.
"That's okay, I should probably have one ear bud out at this hour", you chuckle nervously, embarrassed at the situation at hand.
You tried your best to subtly pull down your shorts and pull up your tank top more in an attempt to cover up, and you couldn't help but feel mad for letting yourself walk out in a shared space in this state.
"Are you new here? I've never seen you before," the man asks as he puts his clothes in to the laundry machine not too far from you.
You turn your head and peer over, finally making eye contact with him for the first time. At first you were incredibly nervous at being in the room alone with him, but seeing his eyes and how kind they looked made you somewhat feel less tense and nervous.
"Yea actually. I just moved in last week or so," you say, and give him a polite smile while you separate your clothes.
You couldn't help but notice that most of his clothes were either plain t-shirts, comfy pants, and scrubs. You also couldn't help but notice how his triceps flexed with every pile he loaded in.
"Well, welcome to the building. My name’s Jack. Apartment 4C," he says and gives you another charming smile.
It was by this point you realized this guy was older, maybe in his late 40's. And he was incredibly attractive. You weren't sure if the nerves you felt were from being alone with him or because he was hard to look away from. Maybe both.
Your eyes lit up slightly. "I'm in apartment 5C! I'm right above you," you gasp at the coincidence.
"Well, apartment 5C, if you need anything just let me know. I'll see you around," Jack says and he walks over to shake your hand.
"Back at you, apartment 4C," you tease back slightly, feeling a little out of your depth.
Jack purses his lips into a smile you could've sworn was a smirk if you blinked too quickly. You smile back shyly and turn away to load up your laundry, not being able to hold the strong eye contact you felt from the charming man as he was walking out.
"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my goddd," you exhale as you bury your face into your hands, dragging the last syllable from how on fire you felt.
Since when did men look like that? You could feel your face warm under the palms of your hands and your stomach turning after interacting with the man for 5 minutes. That's all it took, and you were a nervous mess.
To be fair, it'd been a while since you'd gone out with men and gotten some action. And it'd been even longer since it was with an attractive guy. But nowhere near apartment 4C level of attractive. That was an entirely different pool you've never swam in before, and you felt like someone had pushed you into the deep end. You felt like you had drowned in the energy of one of the most good looking guys you'd ever met, and he left you without air.
You finished putting your softener and detergent in the washer and walked back to your apartment, processing the fact that even though you weren't in the same room as him anymore, you still lived in the apartment on top of him.
This had to be some cruel joke.
You'd assume the next time you guys ran into each other would be in the laundry room at some point in the future.
You did not expect to run into your hot neighbor on your first day of work.
"This is Dana, the most important person you'll meet here in the E.R. She's the ring leader of this circus, so do what and when she says at all times." Robby, your attending at PTMC, states as he gives everyone a tour of the place.
"And this is Dr. Abbot, night shift attending who takes over when I eventually make it out of here. He runs the night and sometimes comes in to help. He's your boss just as much as I am, so if you need any help and my hands are tied, either find him or a senior resident," Robby says as he pats the man on his back.
"Yes, but if I need to leave to get some sleep, then try looking for a senior resident first I beg of you," the man jokes grumpily and finally turns his face from the computer screen.
Your eyes widened at the first note of his voice, blinking hard to try to focus your eyes and ears again in case you were mistaken. He faces the new crowd and scans everyone before his eyes meet yours, and his composure slips a bit at the recognition of your face.
You try your best to pull your eyes away from him when you notice the scrubs he was wearing were the same ones you saw him washing not too long ago. You weren't sure why you liked that you were the only one in the room who knew that.
'Jack, apartment 5C' from your apartment complex is the night shift attending at your job.
"Okay, we're all set then. Rounds will start soon, so make sure to stick with the senior residents as they get their hand offs," Robby says, his body already turned to walk off and check on the morning board.
Jack is a bit mortified.
As an attending, he is not supposed to know how one of the residents looks in her revealing flower pj shorts before he sees her in her scrubs. He also wasn't supposed to see the way your hair looked tied up messily in a style that's only seen in the comfort of one's home and the way your breasts looked in that strappy tank top with the strap down.
He also wasn't supposed to have fantasized sitting that same resident on top of the washer and kissing her til the washer was done for the next cycle.
But here you were, apartment 5C, standing in front of him wide eyed and clearly feeling the same shock and confusion.
"So, apartment 5C. You followin’ me now?," Jack says as he crosses his arms in an attempt to play off his nerves. He didn't know how to necessarily handle this situation, but he knew better than to pretend it wasn't happening.
You felt a wave of relief wash over you at his attempt to break the ice and ease the awkwardness you guys were both feeling.
"It's actually Dr. Apartment 5C to you," you say as you grab your badge and wave it at him slightly in a teasing manner, showing off the big uppercase letters that say 'DOCTOR'.
"Right, my apologies. Just not used to seeing you in the black scrubs and all," Jack shrugs and smiles a bit at what he was implying.
Your shorts. Your tank top.
It finally dawned on you that your attending had already seen what you looked like in your comfy, but revealing, home clothes, including without a bra on. You'd never come across a situation where being professional wasn't your main quality at work, but here it was clear that some boundaries and lines were crossed before they were even formed in the work place.
You fucking regretted wearing those that day.
"Oh my god stop, please don't remind me Dr. Abbot," you say as you pinch the bridge of your nose and close your eyes, cringing at yourself.
Jack purses his lips and tilts his head slightly at you calling him Dr. Abbot. Clearly, there was no need for the fancy title.
"You can call me Jack, you know? I think we already moved past that," he says, trying his best not to laugh at your embarrassment. He found it charming and amusing.
"Well for the sake of professionalism, I'll just stick with Abbot. I don't need my fellow colleagues to think there's some nepotism thing going on or that I had some connection that got me here in the first place" you say, rubbing the side of your arm with your hand, trying not to stress out over the small coincidence your attending lives in the same complex as you do.
Jack catches your body language instantly. He can tell the fact that meeting each other prior to work is something you don't find necessarily funny or silly, and that what happened is something you wanna keep outside of the walls of the E.R.
He doesn't blame you. After all, there could be concerns of power imbalances and lines that must be respected ,regardless of coincidences prior, and if people were to find out they'd make it a whole thing. He knew how the rumor mill ran around here, and he didn't want to subject you to anything, especially on your first day.
"Hey, you're okay. I get it, really I do. I won't mention it to anyone so you don't have to worry about it. We don't know each other and we can pretend that you definitely don't live in the apartment above me. Deal?," Abbot says and extends his hand to shake in front of him, familiar to what he did in the laundry room when he first met you.
You smile a bit, relieved that he was able to understand where you were coming from without needing to explain any further.
"Thank you, Dr. Abbot."
As time went on, you realized there was no reason for you to have panicked the way you did. It's not like anything happened between you and Abbot in the damn laundry room, and you didn't necessarily plan on having him see you dressed more exposed than usual. It was just a silly coincidence that you happened to live in the same complex — out of all the complexes in Pittsburgh, for crying out loud.
It wasn’t something either of you could simply pretend didn’t exist, especially when you occasionally passed each other in the lobby or crossed paths at the elevators as he was leaving for his shift and you were going back to your apartment.
You felt bad for freaking out in front of him, especially when he took care of your feelings well and addressed them so kindly. It's a big contrast to how you've seen him act in the E.R — stern, quiet, and quite frankly, a little scary. It felt weirdly intimate that you've seen this other side of him that wasn't ever shown.
And you liked it.
But even then, you never really saw him much at work considering you both worked the opposite shifts. Except for Saturdays on the weekend when you'd guys do laundry.
The second time you ran into Abbot in the laundry room, you were dressed comfortably, but this time you were more covered up. You learned your lesson that this wasn't like it was at home where you could wear those clothes while your parents were out at work and you could walk around freely in whatever.
Abbot was a bit disappointed, however. He liked those shorts on you and he wanted to know how his hands would feel if he slipped them under those cute shorts of yours.
It's like he needed to satisfy his curiosity of how your breasts would look in that tank top when he'd slip off the other strap from your shoulder. He blamed it on the fact that he's a doctor and naturally scientists must do research to confirm their observations and theories, right?
It became clear to him more than ever why you'd been so stuck on professional boundaries. Once you see the cute resident in her short flower pj shorts, theres no going back. Not with that ass of yours of course. And technically, you guys were outside of work, so this didn't break the deal that you guys had legally solidified with only a handshake.
God he felt like a fucking pervert.
"Hey Apartment 5C. No earbuds this time?," Jack asks as he sets down the detergent on top of the unused washing machine a couple down from the one you had started using.
You were sitting at the small table in the middle of the room between the two rows of machines, scrolling on your phone. You look up and smile at the nickname, feeling comfortable compared to the first time you guys had met.
"No, not this time. Need to make sure I can hear in case whatever older man walks in here and does something bad to me," you say and shrug.
"You do your laundry with other men? Wow, I'm a little offended actually."
"Of course I do. And you get the night shift," you tease back and laugh at the fake look he had displayed, pretending to be offended.
"Just grateful to be on the schedule, I guess," Jack grumbles and finishes the load he was putting into the wash. He swears these machines eat up his coins on purpose as a scam.
"So how's work? It's been over a month since you started." Jack asks. He starts the wash and decides to pull out one of the chairs next to you, and sets his laundry bag down as he sits.
"Yea it has. It's been good," you sigh and lean on your hand, trying to uplift your tired head.
"I mean a bit overwhelming of course, considering Langdon has to step out for a while, so the load has fallen quite a bit on the others. But I guess more experience for me,"
Abbot nods as he listens. "I heard. But I've seen you in the E.R and even as an intern, you're teaching the residents some things. It's quite the first impression you're making here."
You smile, shaking your head at his words. You weren't sure if he was complimenting you as a friendly neighbor, or as your superior. It’s a little hard to tell the difference when he’s sitting across from you in a shirt that unapologetically shows off his chest and a pair of sweats, rather than his usual black scrubs.
"Have we reached that level of friendly neighbors? Giving me compliments now, huh?" you tease, your eyes feeling a little bit heavy.
You turn over to see the clock flash '1:30' at you. Your load was almost done.
"I'm not that friendly with the others," he grumbles, his arms crossed over his chest as he leans back into the chair.
The sight of him like that alone woke you up.
"Aww, that's sweet 5C. Feelin' very special now," you tease back, suddenly feeling very playful. And reckless. It was the sleepiness kicking in, or maybe it was because his arms looked so damn good in that fucking shirt, it was making you feel a bit impulsive.
"You should. I don't really talk to my neighbors. Except for the ones I work with now, I guess," Jack shrugs and looks off to the side, trying to hide that he was smirking.
The timer on your phone goes off, letting you know that your load was done. You get up quickly on instinct at the sound of the striking, unbearable alarm sound you hear every evening before work, when the change in your pocket falls out and goes flying everywhere.
"Oh fuck!" you yell, as you try to chase the running coins escaping from you. Some of them landed under the table while others went flying under the machine.
"That's like a month's worth of coins in your pocket 5C," Jack laughs a bit, watching the rest of the coins find their landing spots all over the room.
"You don't have a coin bag?"
"Can you just shut up and just help me get the damn coins," you whine, getting down on your knees to try to reach the coins you saw hide themselves under the machine. This was probably every apartment tenant's worst nightmare.
'"If you're not nicer to me I'm gonna take some for myself," he teases as he rolls his eyes, and starts to bend down from his chair to reach for a coin that was shining right in front of him.
He turns his head to look for another coin when he becomes faced with the view of your ass, arched up and squirming while you try to reach for a coin in between the machines. He could see the lace that outlined the edges of your panties for crying out loud.
"Oh my god this fucker is so stubborn," you grumble, clearly annoyed you weren't able to reach the coin. You refused to give up on it, knowing the coins add up fast for how expensive laundry can get nowadays.
Jack wanted to die. If he could, he would just drop dead on the floor right there. If anyone came in and saw the sight, they'd swear he was some older guy creeping on some innocent woman in the building and scream. But he couldn't help himself indulge in the sight of you a little bit before finally turning to avert his attention on the main goal of the hour — collecting all the damn coins he could find.
He found it hard to look away. He wasn't sure if it was the sight of you struggling over a single coin that was funny or if enjoyed the view of your shorts riding up your waist as you kept trying to nudge your hands between the washers. He felt like he was being teased, that he wasn't in on this cruel joke the world was playing on him for simply being a friendly neighbor.
Slowly, one by one, Jack managed to pick up all the coins he was able to find on the floor, minus the ones that got stuck behind the washers and dryers of course. He wasn't sure if it was really because he couldn't get them, or because he wanted to see you on your knees again.
"Thank you Jack. I really appreciate it. Definitely will be getting a coin purse now…," you say and bend to wipe the dust and dirt particles off your knees and hands.
It felt good to have you use his first name now. He'd help you out forever if it meant his name fell off your lips as a result. Plus, he really does swear he's just a good ol' citizen who has no bias towards helping pretty women he happens to work with. He promises.
"Jack? Using my real name now?" he chuckles. He manages to grab all the coins from his hands and pour them back into yours, where they finally end up being put back into the pockets of your sweater.
"Yes, first name is deserved for being so nice and friendly to me," you retorted, referencing how he was referring to himself before the coin flying fiasco.
'You have no idea' Jack thought to himself.
You weren't sure when it happened. Over time as you guys kept bumping into each other in the laundry room, it almost became a routine for you guys to do your laundry together. It wasn't ever agreed upon explicitly, almost like an unspoken rule between you guys that Saturday around 1 AM you guys would be the two people occupying the laundry room.
And Jack started to notice every damn laundry day on those Saturdays that you'd be wearing some different variation of your famous short pj shorts. Well, they were famous in his head at least.
Except they all had different cute patterns on them. Some had stripes, some were colored with some bears on them, and some were just plain colored. He'd see some lace or the occasional tiny bow in front of them. They were all the same length — the type of length that wasn't shy of showing your ass if you bent down a certain way or if you got up from the chair to get your laundry too fast before adjusting them.
Long story short, he liked them. Maybe a little too much. Sometimes he'd have to stay behind his laundry basket to hide himself from showing through his sweats too much. It was embarrassing, and he hated how he was reacting. Especially considering he was your superior at the end of the day. But he wasn't inside the E.R anymore, so it didn't really count, right ?
He knew better. If he'd met you first in the E.R, his mind would never have wandered into the territory of seeing you in this light, no matter how pretty you were. He always prided himself being professional and a damn good doctor when he'd see a beautiful woman in the E.R. But unfortunately that first night in the laundry room had no E.R walls around it, and it would stay engraved in his head when he'd hear your name through the halls at work.
One of the things that made you feel grateful to be working in a hospital, other than the reason being you really wanted to help people, is that all you wore to work were scrubs. You didn’t have to try hard in the morning to put a semi decent outfit together half awake, or go out and buy expensive office clothes that fit a bit awkward on you. Scrubs were simple and comfy.
This also meant that it made up most of your laundry basket, and so did Jack’s — until you saw the fucking camouflage uniform with the words ‘POLICE’ on them.
“Police?!” you gasp, completely big eyed with your face washed with confusion and some curiosity.
“What?” he says, confused at what the hell you were fussing about. Your eyebrows were doing that thing where they furrowed but one was higher than the other.
“Your uniform? The camouflage? Hello?” you say as you point towards the uniform that was laying on top of the pile in the machine.
“Oh, that. Yeah, what about it?” he says all nonchalantly, closing the machine and putting in his coins.
“Where do you go wearing that?” you ask, still completely shocked. And very nosey. And for some reason horny.
“Is that why I didn't see you during the day shift rounds last week?”
“Yeah I didn’t go in that day. Sometimes I’m a SWAT medic when the team needs to go in on dangerous cases where they might need me. Much more fun than the other hobbies I’ve tried, personally,” he chuckles to himself, completely unaware of how bizarre this sounds out loud. He's too busy processing the fact you noticed his absence.
“Oh right! Because running or cooking were too … what? Cliche? Boring?” you say, shaking your head at the new information.
“Yeah, pretty much.”
“You’re insane.”
“No, just traumatized I think. At least that's what my therapist told me.”
“Well at least you’re in therapy.”
“See? Total package.” Jack says.
You rolled your eyes as the man sat down at the table. You pat down the pockets of your jacket, looking for whatever change you had in there to start the wash.
“Shit,” you mutter, staring at the machine’s blinking '$0.50' like it had personally betrayed you. You were short 50 cents.
Jack looks up from folding one of his shirts. “What?”
“Do you have any spare change?”
His eyebrows lift. “After I rescued your entire retirement fund off this floor last time?”
“Jack.”
He reaches into the pocket of his sweats to get some coins, but instead of handing you the quarter, he closes his fist around them.
“What do I get?”
You stare at him, laughing at his words. “What?”
Jack smirks and holds up his fist with the change you desperately needed, shaking them a bit.
“You get the satisfaction of helping your favorite neighbor.”
“I don’t remember saying favorite.”
“You didn’t have to.”
The corner of his mouth pulls into that irritating little smirk he always gives you. He steps a bit closer and holds one of the quarters between his fingers, just out of your reach.
You reach for it, but he raises his hand.
“Seriously?” you laugh, a little shocked but intrigued at the sudden change of playfulness Jack was in the mood for tonight.
“You asked for spare change. You didn’t say please.”
The space between you two suddenly feels smaller than it did a second ago. Maybe it was because it was so late into the night and you guys had work soon. The dryers hum behind him, filling the silence while neither of you moves away.
You felt your smile fade immediately, finally understanding where this was going. You had felt the tension between you guys become too much these past couple of weeks, but always somehow manage to restrain yourself from doing anything more than tease him. Now, he was teasing you.
“Please,” you manage to say, quieting your voice for the first time in front of him.
Jack’s teasing expression faded slightly, realizing that you quickly did what he asked of you. His eyes drop to your mouth before returning to your face, trying to evaluate your body language before he spoke again.
“That wasn't so hard now, was it?”
Your stomach tightened. Jack was teasing you with a look in his eyes you didn't know what to do with, and with words that made your blood feel on fire.
You hold his gaze, refusing to let him see how much that simple sentence affected you.
“Are you going to give it to me or not?” you ask, trying to act annoyed.
Jack glances at the quarter between his fingers, then back at you. The smirk returns, slower this time.
“You're a big girl, you can reach it.”
You roll your eyes, but neither one of you laughs. It should've felt humiliating or annoying, but Jack giving you the chance to touch him excited you more than you'd like to admit. You felt your mind become hazy at the idea of touching his hand to reach for the coin or to touch his big shoulders as you jumped.
When you reach again, he doesn't lift his hand. Instead, he closes his fingers around the coin just before you can take it.
Your hand lands over his.
For a moment, neither of you moves.
His skin is warm beneath your palm, and suddenly you are aware of everything —the steady hum of the dryers, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, the way Jack is standing close enough that you can feel the heat coming off him. You wanted to get closer.
His expression changes as he studies you.
“You always this stubborn?” he asks quietly.
“Only when someone’s being annoying.”
“Good.”
The word sends another wave of heat through you.
Jack turns his hand beneath yours, opening his palm so the quarter rests between you. You should take it. You should step away, put your laundry in the dryer, and pretend this strange shift between you never happened.
Instead, Jack closes his hand again. It's like he was giving you an opportunity to win the little game he was playing with you because he felt bad, but you were too late. He grabs the coin and slips it in between his index and middle finger, waving it around.
"You still want it?" he teases, and presses the coin onto your chest where the part of your tank top begins.
The cold from the metal coin made you gasp and hold your breath. You couldn't look at him anymore. All you could focus on was how he wasn't even the one touching you, and still you got goosebumps. You couldn't answer him. He had you right where he wanted.
He started to drag the coin down your chest, slowly, enjoying how you squirmed at the slow contact the metal was making with the thin material of your tank top.
“If you want me to stop,” he says, his voice lower now, “you should probably move."
Your heart pounds against your ribs, but you don't move. There was no sarcastic comment, no fight, no resistance. For once with Jack, you'd completely surrounded, and Jack took in the sight.
"I guess you really do need this coin, huh?" he mocked.
His free hand lifts slowly, giving you plenty of time to pull away, before his fingers brush a loose strand of hair away from your face. The touch is almost too careful, nothing like the teasing confidence he had a few seconds ago.
“Jack,” you whimper, suddenly making eye contact with him again, grabbing onto his chest. You could just feel how fit he was under the shirt, and it only made your mind fog up with desire for him.
His gaze flickered to your mouth again, treasuring those sounds escaping it.
“Yeah?”
You swallow, trying to remember what you were going to say.
"Kiss me."
Jack didn't need to hear anything else. He dropped the stupid coin and grabbed the sides of your head, softly but steadily, pulling you into a kiss. You gasped, his lips stealing your breath for a second.
Theres a list of reasons why you guys shouldn't be kissing right now. Jack was highly aware of the section in the employee handbook about relationships between coworkers, but more specifically between a superior and their residents. It's that same section that stopped him from pursuing anyone in the hospital.
But he couldn't. He wanted to say no and tell himself to stop, that it was a dangerous idea. Once you cross these lines they stay uncrossed — no going back. But as the lines got blurrier and the nights between you guys felt more familiar each passing week, he couldn't deny the his feelings and attraction he felt for you any longer.
His hands felt shaky and his body was filled with adrenaline, the kind that you feel the first time you kiss someone after a long, long time.
You melted against his chest, trying to moving your mouth to match his rhythm. It was slow and messy as you guys tried to match each others pace, learning how the other places their tongues and how your mouth moves. It was hard at first to focus on each others lips when both of your guys hands were too focused on touching whatever part you could reach first.
You realized quickly that Jack liked to kiss with tongue and take his sweet time getting to know each others lips — how they fit with one another and how sore they could get before you guys were forced to stop from the pain. He preferred going slow, but deep, and he wasn't shy to use his tongue.
He really liked using his tongue to lick your lips slightly to let him back in each time you guys switched, and he could feel your chest rising and falling each time he changed the pace and deepened the kiss.
Your arms wrapped around Jacks neck and his hands travelled down from your waist to the top of your ass, hovering. He'd been waiting forever to get a touch since that one night he accidentally saw the lining edges of your lace panties, and each time he saw the outline of your ass under your shorts when they rode up. He slowed his lips down a bit, waiting for you to give him the green light.
You whined and nodded a bit, trying to signal to him that you desperately wanted him to touch you more. His hands immediately travelled down to your ass to give it a good squeeze, moaning into your mouth at the contact. Those shorts had been haunting him every Saturday, and his need to know what the material felt like under his hands was finally met.
You only got louder the more contact he made. He liked hearing the small noises coming out of your mouth on his lips as he squeezed harder, testing your reaction to his touch. It made it only harder for him to stop himself — not that he was ever going to win.
He could smell the shampoo in your hair and the perfume he'd sometimes get a whiff of when you walked past him.
Lavender. He was a big fan of lavender.
The quiet laundry room became filled with the sounds of your tongues tangling with one another, only getting louder a slight slap of his hand on your ass. You felt his arms and his biceps, they way one wrapped around your waist and as the other reached around. You could feel through his shirt his chest and how defined it was, and you found yourself unconsciously tugging at the hem of shirt
"Not here honey," Jack managed to get out, as his mouth traveled to your neck to drown himself more in your scent.
"Why? It's laundry day, right?," you pouted as you let go of the hem at his response and placed your hands on his back. Seeing was an entirely different than feeling the man through his shirt, and he was denying you that piece of heaven.
"Smart ass," he mumbled against your skin as he nibbled on the piece of skin near ear and slapped your ass, reprimanding your smart mouth.
You yelped at the pain you felt in the two different places, feeling entirely overwhelmed at everything you felt like you could implode. You were completely tangled with one another up against the machine you'd been trying to start for the past 20 minutes, and you felt all the air leaving your lungs as he took it all.
His hands were getting addicted to the way your body arched against his touch, and the way you grabbed onto him when your knees buckled. You could feel his big hands rubbing all over your sides, your back, and the back of your neck, trying to somehow pull you in deeper. He had complete and utter control of you now, and you let him have it — you had completely and willingly surrendered yourself to him.
You kept losing your balance as you lost yourself in the haze, and Jack found it hard to not smile at your clumsiness. He loved feeling the grip of your finger tips tighten each time you felt like you were tipping over from your knees buckling from the heat traveling down your panties.
He took it as a compliment, as well as reassurance that you too were getting lost in this just as he was.
"Let me help you there honey," he managed to say in between the pecks you were giving him, rubbing your nose against his in the process, unable to go a second touching him.
You didn't really process what he was saying until he suddenly picked you up, causing you to wrap your legs around his waist and your arms to tighten around his neck in panic.
"Jack!" you yelped, grabbing onto him somehow tighter than before.
He placed you gently on the laundry machine, your bottom meeting with the cold from the metal, making you shiver and gasp.
"Just wanted to help you keep your stance," he chuckled. His hand reached down to fix your shorts a bit, your panties completely visible from the leg holes as they were all bunched up. They were all over the place from all his grabbing and squeezing. Jack tried to ignore that what he saw peeking from underneath were black panties with a little pattern on them, and the classic lace edge. He couldn't make out the pattern exactly and his curiosity was getting the best of him, but he didn't pursue it further at the risk of going too far.
He hoped he could satisfy his curiosity for the next time.
He reached for the back of your head, pulling you in for more. You couldn't mask your neediness even if you tried, writhing under his touch. You loved how he grabbed you — how his hands gripped your sides with tightly with intent and hunger. He was on set on making sure his hands remembered the curves of your waist. Jack quickly learned you liked when he bit your lip for a second before going back to licking your lips mid kiss to be let back in.
You let him, of course.
You kiss for a long time, and you come to learn how his hair feels. You used to wonder how the texture of his salt and pepper hair would feel under your finger tips as you'd tug on it, which he really liked, or how the lines around his eyes looked up close in the fleeting seconds you had before you tilted your head to deepen the kiss.
He was beautiful.
"Jack… please," you plead, quickly learning from earlier that he liked hearing you beg and that it got you what you wanted quicker.
"Yeah sweetheart I know what you need," he whispered against your cheek, and pulls your hips more to the edge of the machine to get a better grip.
His waist finally came into contact between your legs, and you couldn't help but gasp, wrapping your legs around him to pull him in more. You could feel how hard he was through your shorts as you rolled your hips into his, trying to somehow relieve the aching pain you felt.
"Oh my god Jack," you cried as softly as possible, trying not to make too much noise.
He thought it was sexy how desperate you were getting and how sensitive you were to every tiny touch and he couldn't believe he was the reason you were moaning. He'd spend all night testing how each touch made you react if he could, studying which touch made you more crazy or which one made you whine a bit higher.
You guys moan at the new contact when the the dryer he had running suddenly buzzed, loud enough to make both of you jump.
There was a moment of silence between you guys as you guys finally came up for air. You felt dizzy and loopy in the hot air between you both, trying your best to ground yourself. Maybe it was from the fact it felt like you'd gone without air for 30 minutes or because you couldn't believe it was apartment 4C, your damn attending, was the reason you were in this state to begin with.
"Need to catch my breath for a second," Jack lets out with a quiet laugh, dropping his forehead toward yours for half a second. He oddly felt like a teenager who just had their first make out session, while simultaneously also feeling rusty.
You laugh too, a little bashful once you realized what you guys did. Your body felt like jello and you gripped onto Jack's shoulders for guidance as you finally got off the machine.
Jack couldn't help but feel a little smug.
You bend over, finally acquiring the coins you needed for start your load, and turn to slip the coin in to see the remaining balance flashing at you.
'$0.50' remaining.
You looked at the clock — 2:30. Jesus.
"Are you okay?" Jack hesitantly asked. It finally set in for him what transpired between you, and as amazing as it was he wanted to address the elephant in the room as respectful and gentlemanly as possible.
You smile at him, still feeling shy. "Yes, Jack. Everything is okay I promise. Are you okay?".
"Yeah. Yes, actually. More than okay," he jokes slightly, hoping it would alleviate any awkwardness that always follows an interrupted moment of intimacy.
"I just wanted to make you were feeling fine after everything. I mean we work together, and I'm technically your superior at work. It's not the most appropriate relationship, and you were so worried about it in the beginning, I can't help but worry if I crossed a line or pushed you to something."
Seeing Jack ramble on and on in this state was probably the craziest thing of the night. Not the fact that you'd finally made out with the hot neighbor you had a crush on since you moved in, or the fact he was your boss. Jack, the senior attending and apartment 4C hottie, was incredibly nervous and weary. He wasn't his usual confident and cocky exterior shell in front of you, and the seriousness of his feelings and concerns kicked in. It was charming, really.
"Jack..." you sighed.
You took a couple steps closer to him and pulled him for a hug, surprising him a bit. You rubbed his back and he wrapped his arms around you as he relaxed his shoulders a bit.
"I appreciate the concern, truly. And I understand why you want to be cautious for me. It's really sweet," you reassured him. Your cheeks hurt a bit from how hard you were smiling.
"But I'm also a big girl. I can consent to anything with anyone, especially with things that clearly began outside of work. I understand the concern of maybe a possible power imbalance thing and consent in that perspective. But we're adults, and we can figure it out ... if you'd like to of course." you say but pause abruptly at the end, trying to not stumble on your words.
You didn't want to assume there'd be a next time for you guys to figure this out, or if this was anything to begin with. It was your turn to be nervous.
"It's fine, I promise. I'm okay, more than okay, and I don't regret anything. I hope you feel the same." you confess, still hugging him but unable to face him. You hid in his chest as you waited for his answer, gripping him tighter without realizing it.
"Y-yeah, yes, lets figure this out please. I don't regret anything either. I've been wanting to kiss you since I first saw you."
Hearing him be the one to say please was quite the ego boost considering you'd been the one to always give up that control before with him.
"Cutest shorts collection I've ever seen," he teased as he eased himself back into his cocky, playful self.
"Hey! They work, clearly," you shot back and smacked him on the arm.
"I'll say. It's pretty impressive honestly. No wonder why you have so much laundry to do," he chuckles, dodging another playful smack from you.
"Why do you think I needed some spare change?" you giggled as you hid your face slightly in your hands.
in which jack abbot is the first to notice reader, who has always been used to being left behind and ignored.
contents; fem!reader, probs medical inaccuracies all my knowledge comes from shows lol, not proofread & english is my third language so if there's grammatical errors i apologize </3
a/n; im so glad sooo many ppl liked the first part!!! i love writing stuff like this (mainly bc i heavily relate to reader LMAO), so im so happy you all like them too!! <33 comment 2 be added to the jack abbot fic/blurb taglist!
first part here
masterlist ♡ ko-fi
It had been a hellish day. Sweltering heat from outside had crowded the waiting room, slowly wafting into the ER. Patients were more aggravated than usual— that’s what heat does to people, you figured.
That’s what you kept telling yourself, at least. That everyone’s just tense and irritated from the heat— none of the abuse patients spewed at you was personal. They were just having a bad day.
But as more and more hours passed by, convincing yourself felt harder. You’d also gotten majorly embarrassed earlier in a trauma— you were trying to decide on how to treat the patient, and had stuttered through half your sentence. They went with someone elses idea instead. As soon as the patient was stable, you dipped out of the trauma room out of shame.
Jack had been there. Attendings often oversee traumas, obviously. He was trying to listen to your idea of treatment, when someone spoke over you. They were louder, which got the attention of the other doctors.
He saw you shrink back into yourself, and his heart broke a little. This was the first time he’d seen you try to take lead in a trauma for a while, and to see you get shut down like that? It made him angrier than he’d like. He tried to find you after, but no luck.
Until…
”There y’are…” He hummed quietly, hands behind his back as he approached you, watching your from hunched over the computer, typing up a chart (rather annoyedly, if he says so himself).
Your head tilted slowly, eyes catching his, before you turned back to the computer with a small hum. This had been your routine lately. He’d find you throughout the day, trying to spark up conversation.
You barely responded— still a little wary of him. It’s like you kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. As if he needed a reason to be talking to you.
”Y’know…” He gruffed, pulling up a stool to sit down next to you, eyeing the screen, ”I heard what you suggested in that trauma today. It was a really good plan.”
Like clockwork, your cheeks tinged pink. Like they did every single time Jack complimented you.
”Thank you.” You murmured, hands halting on the keyboard, as you angled your body just slightly toward him, ”But um…I think Ogilvie’s plan of treatment was good, too.”
Jack shrugged, a small frown on his face. ”Well, yeah. But, I think yours was better.” He whispered quietly, as if it was a secret between you two.
You couldn’t fight the small smile lifting up your lips. This is what Jack did. He made you feel seen and heard. He pulled you into traumas with him, leaned closer to hear you speak, to let you share your opinion.
Jack's eyes stayed on your for a while longer, before his teeth dipped into his lower lip, his gaze moving to the screen now instead, studying your notes. "Your charts are neat. Easy to read, nice job." He gently patted your shoulder then, before standing up with a small groan and walking off.
It took you another five minutes to recalibrate your brain and focus back on the chart.
The next time you saw Jack was in the breakroom— a sacred space that you were lucky enough to have a little time for. You weren't expecting Jack, though. You can hardly relax around him.
But it's weird. He doesn't make you anxious in the way others do. It's hard to explain what you feel around him. Safety? No, no, that's nonsense. He's just your attending. He has to praise you. That's how you learn, right?
You open the fridge and grab your little lunch box, the top of it decorated with all sorts of stickers, all mirroring your interests. You can practically feel Jack's eyes burning into you, as you sit down by the table, right across from him.
There's a small tremble to your hands as you pop open the box, simultaneously pulling your water bottle from your bag— that you'd grabbed from your locker.
"That's all you're having?" Jack murmured, eyeing the small sandwich and handful of crackers in your lunchbox.
You didn't want to tell him that that's all you could scrape together. How your rent was raised again, and you're too anxious to talk to your landlord about it. Or how you're still stuck paying your mother's car off, because you know she won't listen if you ask for her to start paying her own bills.
"Yeah." You nodded, taking a small bite out of the sandwich, "I had a big meal before work. So this'll hold me over, until I get home." The lies from you came naturally, something you were far too comfortable with.
Lying is safe. You don't want people to see what a lonely mess your life actually is. As if being a pushover at work isn't enough, you're a pushover all over.
Being stuck so deep in your thoughts, you barely register the fact, that Jack had gone all quiet, watching you with that ever-familiar furrow in his brows. You avoided his gaze, making quick work of finishing your small lunch, just so you could escape.
Something about Jack is unsettling. Not in a bad way. It's just...safe. Too safe. You almost find yourself wanting to unclench your jaw, to actually tell him the truth. But he's the one person whose noticed you, and you can't risk pushing him away with your baggage.
"See you out there." You murmur as soon as your lunch is finished, the empty lunchbox shoved back into your bag, as you hurry out of the breakroom with your water bottle in hand.
The next few hours go by in a blur. You can definitely feel a little gnaw in your gut, the pitiful sandwich not really satisfying your hunger. But you had to make do. Just for now, right?
Jack noticed. He noticed the small frown on your face, and the way your hand would settle on your stomach when it threatened to rumble. He saw you eyeing the vending machine, or looking dreamily at the other lunches in the fridge.
You were so obvious. He thought it was cute, really. But also sad. You were so used to being ignored, you were sure no one would notice anything you do. But he notices.
And Jack also knew you'd never ask for anything. But he's not sure if he can take any more of your sweet puppy eyes looking at the vending machine. The food in that machine is mediocre, at best. You deserve more.
So yes, maybe Jack did order food. And maybe he 'accidentally' ordered too much, and begged you to split the food with him. He didn't want it to go to waste, he says...
You reluctantly agree. You hate taking things from people, but you hate wasting food even more, so you sat down to eat with him. He handed you more and more, swearing that he wasn't even that hungry.
An hour later, you see him buying a sandwich from the vending machine.
in which jack abbot is the first to notice the wallflower resident of the ER.
summary; reader has always been used to being left behind, and eventually stopped trying to make space for themselves. she doesn't think anyone notices her, until jack abbot starts paying attention.
warnings; fem!reader. use of y/n, use of she/her, probably medical inaccuracies bc all my medical knowledge comes from shows lol, also NO AI used !!! i use em dashes sometimes but i PROMISE this is strictly a no-ai account!! also reader has a cat bc i said so
i might make a part two of this tbh but i wont label it as a series bc then my brain will start procastinating and i'll lose all motivation to write it LOL
The noise of the ER buzzed around you. The muscles in your neck ached, begging to be stretched and massaged. One of your hands came up to gently rub on your neck, the other slowly typing out the chart of your latest patient.
Some of the interns were huddled together, giggling to each other about something. It had become a habit of yours to listen in on them— on whatever gossip they had going on this time. Sometimes, you liked to pretend that you were part of it. That you got to gossip with friends just like they do.
That'd never been the case for you. In your intern year, you were the only one. Already feeling alienated, you struggled to find your place in the ER. Everyone seemed to already know who they were, aside from you.
For a while, you tried. You tried to include yourself. You joined the others when they went for a beer after a heavy shift. But as time went on, you didn't feel any closer to belonging. It didn't feel like anyone was making room for you either. So, you stopped showing up. And no one said anything.
Now, you just worked. You took all the patients no one else wanted. You stayed a little later to make sure another coworker could get home on time. You helped in traumas, then slipped away as soon as it was done.
This routine worked. It'd been your routine for years now. It wasn't that you were a bad doctor, no. You just didn't fit in.
A small wince covered your features as you rubbed your neck again. You truly couldn't wait to get off shift, and go home. You know your cat must already be sitting on the kitchen counter, waiting for the sight of you walking through the door.
"Nice catch, earlier." You heard a gruff voice behind you— one you recognized as your attending, Jack Abbot. Being the eavesdropper you are, you waited to hear the response of the person he was complimenting. You wondered if they'd be humble or gleeful. You know that if you were complimented like that, you'd be over the moon.
The light of the monitor made your eyes burn a little, but you just had to push through this last chart.
Then, you felt a hand tap your shoulder.
"Kid?" Dr. Abbot hummed, looking down at you, the corner of his lips quirking into a small smile. "Did'ya hear me?"
Your eyes go wide, and you swear you can feel your heart jumping up into your throat, making your breath hitch. He was talking to you. No one ever bothered talking to you, not if it wasn't necessary.
"I— er- sorry, what did you say, Dr. Abbot?" You cleared your throat, trying to get your heart to return to a normal pace, the chart all forgotten now.
He watched you for a moment, his gaze softening from playful to a more gentle one. "I said..." His hands gripped both ends of his stethoscope, the one he always had around his neck, "Good catch earlier. With the silent heart attack patient. Not many of us could've caught that."
The apples of your cheeks shifted into a deep red color, your eyes darting from him to your keyboard, then to your water bottle, the floor, keyboard, him...
"Oh- um, yeah, thank you, sir." You nodded in response, already mentally degrading yourself for being so awkward. This is your attending, for gods sake. You should be professional.
But that easy grin rested on his face, and he nodded. "Oh, sure, kid. You're one hell of a doctor. Keep it up." He gently squeezed your shoulder, and walked off. And that was that. He complimented you like it was nothing.
That simple compliment swam in your head the entire day. It made you smile as you prepared your lunch for work at home that evening. It made you hum with content as you settled into bed, curtains drawn shut to hide the rising sun.
Good catch earlier.
It started happening more and more. Abbot would pull you into traumas with him, let you take the lead on them, and then give you a small compliment, and one of those warm smiles. He'd linger when you charted, always trying to spark up small talk.
You never came out of your shell, though. It was driving him insane. He tried everything. But you always shut it down and got back to work. For a while, he thought you might just dislike him. But he could see the small smiles you gave him, and the pink tint in your cheeks at his compliments.
So, he tried asking the other residents about you. Imagine his shock when no one knew anything about you. Everyone just responded off-handedly.
'Oh, Y/N? Yeah, she's a quiet one. Dunno much about her.'
'Y/N? Great doctor. Haven't talked to her much.'
'Saw her a few times in her first year of residency. Then she stopped coming out.'
No one knew anything. That's what made Jack perk up a little more. He tried to subtly keep notes on you throughout the day. See who you spoke to. If maybe you left with someone. Maybe discussed patients. But he got nothing.
You were all alone.
The last straw was when he spotted you slipping into the abandoned wing of the hospital, settling yourself on the dusty staircase, and opening your lunchbox. You even hid away to eat.
He had to fix that.
So, he became a little more persistent. He'd ask you to eat lunch with him, and before you had a chance to decline, he'd already led you into the breakroom, making you sit down with one pinned stare.
He could tell you were a little anxious. So he always made the first move. He'd ask questions that required more than a nod for an answer, just to get you talking. And he would listen. Full attention, eyes glued to you the entire time you spoke.
No dismissive nods, no hums of acknowledgement in a way to just make you feel heard, no. He made sure you knew he was listening. When you mentioned your cat, he asked for its name. He asked to see pictures. When you made an offhanded complaint about the hospital coffee, he asked what your favorite coffee place was.
The next day, a coffee from said place was waiting for you.
author’s note: i love writing for this silly little universe so much, this is post exam self care for me! thank you for the support y’all! also, remember to give me recommendations and interact with fics as much as possible, your feedback is the only feedback fanfic authors get. love!!
the kids loved jack and jack loved the kids, so emery thought it would be okay to bring them around. which is how she ended up in the mess of four girls (well, two girls and two women, but still) getting ready. emery loved watching her wife getting ready. loved seeing her pick her clothes, apply her soft makeup, brush her pretty hair. but with charlotte and lily in the mix, the story was different. at 5 and 2 (respectively), those little ladies were tornadoes.
after buckling the two little girls in their little car seats and her very pregnant wife in the passenger seat (against her protests), emery hopped on the driver’s side and took off. the way to jack’s house was very well known by her and also, apparently, by charlotte, who started cheering the second they turned to his street.
“hey, you look nervous. talk to me.” you said to emery as she managed to find a parking space.
“i don’t know, it’s just… the day shift crew is a bunch of new people, and it’s a lot for the girls and for me and for you, and you’re pregnant for christ’s sake. shouldn’t you avoid stressful situations?” emery responded, quiet enough so the girls wouldn’t hear.
“relax, we know half of these people, and the girls are gonna be fine, they make friends with everyone. it’s concerning, actually”
⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹
trinity, whitaker and victoria pulled up to the function (the barbecue at their boss’s house) in victoria’s crammed volkswagen bettle. they were quick to get used to the environment, taking in everyone from work just… being normal. eating. having families.
weird.
trinity’s interest spiked the second her eyes landed on a pregnant (and particularly beautiful) woman. her interest spiked even more when no one other but dr. walsh slipped her arm around said woman’s waist. so THAT is walsh’s wife. lucky lady.
halfway through the afternoon, victoria and trinity found themselves being approached by a little brunette girl.
“excuse me, miss, do you wanna play with me?” the little girl said to victoria “i’m lottie!”
victoria had a knack for little kids, especially girls, and she dragged trinity along.
“why is there a room full of girl toys at abbott’s house?” trinity asked, taking in the colorful pink division that contrasted with the rest of the monotonous typical middle aged man decoration.
“uncle jack keeps this room for me and lily” charlotte explained, as she arranged a tea party set with a very focused expression.
“so… charlotte. do you have a auntie yolanda? has she ever mentioned a girlfriend?” trinity asked.
“santos!“ victoria said.
“what? just curious”
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dennis was the kind of guy who watched the world from the sidelines. especially at big fun hangouts. not in a sad depressing way! he just liked staying quiet and people watching, sticking by his friend’s side.
he quickly lost track of trinity and victoria and found himself alone, sitting in a rusty garden bench while everybody mingled. that’s when what could only be described as a tiny tiny person approached him, looking up at him with big wide eyes and the cutest expression he had ever seen. the little girl sported a teal ruffle dress and had her little hair up in a matching bow.
“well hello there, aren’t you adorable?” dennis said. he loved little kids, especially babies.
“oh my gosh, i’m so sorry, she just wandered off!” he heard the voice of a woman. he looked up and there you were: walsh’s wife.
“oh no problem, she’s really cute!”
the girl chose that moment to walk up to him and hug his leg, a hug that he quickly retributed. dennis spent the rest of the evening in care of that baby and chatting with you.
“so, is…. is she…?” dennis stumbled.
“are you gonna ask if my wife is as stoic at home as she is at work?” you sounded amused.
“…yeah.”
“well, she used to be when we met. she was very closed off, and even when we started dating she struggled to talk about her feelings. but she warmed up to it.” you answered.
“she looks like a good woman. you two look good together”
“thank you so much” you smiled
⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹
jack ended up taking charlotte for the night, while parker took lily. you and emery did need a night of take out and a sitcom marathon.
“i saw you getting along with whitaker” emery said as she drove.
“yeah, he’s a really nice kid. charlotte took hostage of those two girls he came in with” you answered with a chuckle.
“are him and that girl trinity dating? they stuck together a lot” you asked
⋆˚꩜｡ the day shift of the pitt digs through dr. walsh’s social media and they do get some surprises
author’s note: hello! this is the silliest thing ever but i wanted to reward myself after finishing my exams and this sounded cute! sorry if this doesn’t make any sense at all lol. enjoy!
the day shift of ptmc knows emery walsh. and by “knows”, that means they are all terrified of the woman. she’s the head of the night shift surgery, has a cocky smirk that could make even the most experienced of doctors doubt themselves, and is overall a cold, distant figure that comes to haunt them in the event of mass casualties (or on special occasions when she has to take the day shift).
what they didn’t know was that she was friends with the warm and sweet doctor abbott. what they didn’t expect was that emery walsh was, in fact, a dedicated friend, an even more dedicated wife and a mother (a very good one).
abbott was a night crawler, but he always managed to sneak into the hospital during the day shift. his excuses varied, but tonight he had a legitimate justification: the veterans were holding a dinner at eight, and he chose to take the day shift.
the younger day shift crew (or the pittlings, as they called themselves) were lingering around the break room. at the same time, jack and robby were deep in some conversation about tonight’s dinner that didn’t interest the kids very much. that was until it did.
“so yeah, emery is bringing her kids, the two little ladies”
victoria was a big time gossiper, so her ears perked up at that. trinity also didn’t mind snooping in a bit, especially as garcia and emery seemed to be acquainted with each other.
“yeah, her wife is coming in early to help set up. she’s pregnant and she still wants to be useful. angel of a woman, i tell ya” jack told robby.
now the word wife interest trinity. another queer woman in the pitt? it was staring to become a trend by now.
that was how victoria, trinity and whitaker ended up curled up on santos’ couch, on a hunt for anything that could give them an insight on the life of the head surgeon. as the social media connoisseur that she was, javadi didn’t take more than five minutes to find walsh’s instagram account.
emerywalsh
♫ as it was - harry styles
five years of being married to this lovely lady
dr.jabbott: it was an honor officiating this you two, love you kids!
parkerellis: two brides are better than one am i right
johnshen: i was the best best man ever
emerywalsh: mind you you ordered dunkin’ to the venue when we had coffee
emerywalsh
♫ orbiter - noah kahan
hiking day with the night shift crew (ft. wife)
y/nwalsh: i’m sore idk how you guys do this so often
parkerellis: best plans with the best doctors
drjabbott: someday i might convince you guys to try my yoga with me instead of these hikes
emerywalsh: NO
johnshen: ABSOLUTELY NOT
emerywalsh
♫ never grow up - taylor swift
life as the moms of the best kiddos alive
parkerellis: when can i keep charlotte and lils for the night again i wanna babysit
ynwalsh: you had them a week ago?
parkerellis: yes AND?
johnshen: proudest godfather
drjabbott: charlotte told me i was “unc” the other day
johnshen: that’s cause you are?
mateodiaz: the cutest little ladies
emerywalsh
♫ blackbird - the beatles
baby walsh number three is on the way!
drjabbott: happy for you ladies!
mateodiaz: chat am i getting godfather privileges this time
emerywalsh: not with that vocabulary you’re not
parkerellis: are we hoping for a boy orrrrr…?
ynwalsh: tbh we just want the baby to be happy!
emerywalsh: i wants a girl.
johnshen: that means no coffee for mrs. walsh for nine months poor woman
