[xximperioxx]

Masterlist

Ghost:

Dewdrop/Sodo:

Drabble

Blushin’ (NSFW 18+)

Warm Compress

Aether:

All Those Sleepless Nights

Needy

Swiss:

Drabble

The Pitt:

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch:

Work Crush

Peace

One of me is cute, but two though? (NSFW 18+)

Help Me Hold Onto You

[xximperioxx]

[ivywritesfanfiction]

Nonsense

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Female reader Word count: 6.3k Summary: You've always felt unattractive for being on the curvier side… but Oscar is very determined to prove you wrong. Or that one night he finally showed you exactly how much he wanted you. Tags: 18+ content, smut, fluff, friends to lovers, plus size reader, insecure reader, oral (f and m receiving), face riding, intercourse, praise... A/N: wrote this because i am a "curvy" woman and the men that surround me in my life are shit. enjoy.

It was supposed to be a chill night.

Just the usual: the group piled into Zoe’s living room with too many pillows, too many drinks, and a very questionable assortment of snacks nobody would admit to buying. Fairy lights glowed dimly across the ceiling, soft music hummed underneath everyone’s laughter, and a pile of board games sat in the center like a battlefield waiting to happen.

You were curled up on the couch between Zoe and Oscar, your safe spot, as always, nursing a cider while everyone argued dramatically over who was cheating at Monopoly.

(For the record, it was Louis. Everyone knew it.)

Things were soft. Easy. Familiar. Until Zoe’s girlfriend joked aloud: “So, serious question, describe your type. What’s your weakness?”

Groans came from half the room.

“Here we go,” Joey muttered, pouring himself another drink. “This is going to expose people.”

“It’s supposed to expose people,” Zoe said, wiggling her eyebrows.

Everyone laughed, people listed things like brown eyes, tall guys, pretty smiles, that weirdly specific thing where someone smells like “good laundry.” The usual.

That’s when Daniel, of course it was Daniel, leaned back in his chair, smug grin on his face.

“My type?” he said loudly. “Easy. Fit girls. Size zero.”

The room quieted. You blinked.

Zoe frowned. “Size zero? Really?”

Daniel shrugged. “You know. Just… girls who take care of themselves. No chubbiness. Rolls. Thunder thighs…”

Your stomach twisted. You opened your mouth, but he wasn’t done.

“In fact—” he pointed slightly toward you, laughing, “I could never date a girl like you. No offense. Plus size girls are just not for me.”

The air snapped in half. Oscar sat up so fast the couch shook.

Your heart thudded, your ears buzzing at how easy he had put a label on you. And you wondered why you were still friends with this asshole. But you forced your face to stay neutral, made yourself take a slow sip of your drink, pretending that it didn't sting like hell. You raised your brows. “I mean… yes, I am curvy. Plus-size. Chubby. Whatever label you’re dying to throw at me.” You shrugged, calm on the outside, burning on the inside. “So what?”

Daniel scoffed. “So what? That’s literally unfeminine to me. Guys don’t like—”

“Daniel,” Zoe snapped, utterly surprised by his opinion.

But he kept going, rolling his eyes. “It’s just… facts. Curvy girls let themselves go. And like, hey, maybe you’re fine with that, but you asked my type, sooo—”

“Enough.” Oscar didn’t raise his voice often. He didn’t have to.

But now? His tone dropped low, sharp, steady, the kind of quiet that made every person in the room freeze.

Daniel blinked. “What? I’m just being honest—”

“That’s not honesty,” Oscar said, jaw tight. “That’s cruelty dressed up as preference.”

There was a beat of silence. Oscar leaned slightly forward, his eyes fixed on Daniel with that calm, lethal precision he usually reserved only for race strategy debriefs.

“And,” he added softly, “you’re out of your mind if you think you get to speak about her like that.”

Your breath caught. Daniel scoffed. “Oh, come on. I’m not insulting her. I’m just saying what most guys think.”

“Oh really?” Oscar’s brows lifted slightly. “Funny. Because I’ve certainly never thought anything like that.”

Daniel rolled his eyes. “You’re telling me you’d date a plus-size girl?”

You stiffened. Oscar didn’t. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t stutter. Didn’t break eye contact.

He simply said, quiet and devastating: “I’m saying you have no idea what beauty or femininity looks like.”

The room went still. Your cheeks flushed, heat rushing through you so fast you could barely swallow. Oscar finally glanced at you then, softening instantly, his expression warm in a way that nearly knocked the breath from your lungs.

Daniel scoffed again, but this time it sounded weaker. “Whatever. I’m still allowed to have standards.”

“Oof. That’s rich,” he murmurs. “Coming from someone who barely reaches the bare minimum of the standards for guys.”

A few muffled laughs came from the others. Daniel fell silent. Your pulse hammered as the room slowly shifted back into conversation, but Oscar remained leaned slightly toward you, his knee brushing yours, his jaw still tense.

You whispered, “Oscar… you didn’t have to—”

He turned his head, voice soft but firm. “I did.”

Another long moment.

And then, with the faintest, shyest smile: “Some people don’t deserve to talk about you at all.”

Your heart nearly melted into the couch.

Oscar, being the gentleman he is, offered to take you home afterwards.

The car is quiet at first. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that settles heavily in your chest, where even the streetlights that pass through the windshield feel intrusive. Oscar’s hands are steady on the wheel, jaw tight but controlled, that familiar Piastri composure, except thinner, stretched.

You stare out the window, arms crossed, trying to pretend your heartbeat isn’t still hammering from Daniel’s words. You try pretending you’re fine. You’re good at pretending.

He knows better. Finally, he breaks the silence.

“Are you sure you are okay?” His voice stays even, careful, but there’s something underneath, something simmering. “Daniel was a prick. You shouldn’t listen to him.”

You shrug, eyes fixed on the dark blur of houses. “It’s… whatever. It’s not like he was lying.”

Oscar’s head snaps toward you so fast the car edges slightly over the lane line before he corrects it. “What?”

You keep your voice airy, nonchalant, even though your throat feels tight. “I mean, come on. I’m not blind. It’s not like guys look at girls like me and think, ‘wow, she is so hot.’ Usually it’s more like ‘aww, cute personality’ or ‘the funny friend.’ Or—”

“Stop.” His voice cuts through yours, sharper than you’ve ever heard it. “Just… stop.”

You blink, startled. Oscar Piastri doesn’t raise his voice. Ever. You finally look at him, and he looks furious; not at you, but because of what you just said. His knuckles are white on the steering wheel.

“Why are you mad?” you ask quietly.

“Because you’re talking absolute bullshit,” he snaps, still controlled but visibly unraveling. “Actual, unbelievable bullshit.”

You swallow. “…It’s not bullshit if it’s true.”

A humorless laugh escapes him. “God, you—” He stops, breathes through his nose, tries again. “I can’t believe you actually think that. After everything.”

“Everything?” Your voice is small, confused.

He pulls up to your building and parks, shifting the gear into P, then turns to face you fully, knees angled toward you, arm draped over the back of your seat, eyes locked onto yours with more intensity than you’ve ever seen.

“Everything,” he repeats, lower. “Everything I feel every time you walk into a room. Everything I felt tonight when Daniel opened his fucking mouth. Everything I’ve been trying not to think about because I didn’t want to screw up what we have.”

Your breath catches. “Oscar…”

“No.” His voice softens, but it’s even more intense now, rough at the edges. “It’s my turn to talk.”

Your heart stutters. He leans closer, not touching, but close enough that you feel the warmth radiating off him. “You think no one finds you attractive?” he murmurs. “You think no one looks at you and loses their mind? You think no one—”

He shakes his head sharply, almost like he’s trying to stop himself. But he doesn’t stop. “That night we all went to the beach? I almost had a stroke when I saw you in that pink bikini.” A humorless smile flickers across his lips. “I had to go into the water to cool the hell down.”

You stare at him, stunned.

“And today?” he continues, voice dropping even lower. “Watching Daniel talk to you like that, watching him try to tear you down with something that makes you the most beautiful person in any room?” He swallows. “I nearly punched him.”

“You looked like you wanted to,” you whisper.

“I did want to.” His jaw flexes. “Because you don’t deserve to feel small. Not for something that makes you—” He cuts himself off, exhaling shakily. “God, you have no idea what you do to me.”

Your pulse skitters. “Oscar…”

He leans closer, your foreheads nearly touching. The air is thick, charged, electric. “Say something,” he whispers.

You lick your lips, and his gaze drops instantly, pupils dilating. “I… I just didn’t think someone like you would—”

His hand lifts, hesitates in the air, then slowly cups your jaw. “Someone like me?”

“You know… like… you. Smart. Cool. Handsome. An F1 driver. You could have… anyone.”

His thumb brushes your cheek, almost reverently. “I want you.”

Your inhale is a shaky little sound that makes his breath hitch. Suddenly the space between you feels tiny. Dangerous. Inevitable.

“Oscar…” you murmur, voice trembling.

His forehead rests against yours, and he closes his eyes for a second like he’s battling something inside himself. “I want to kiss you,” he admits, voice barely audible. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for months. But I need to know you want that too.”

His thumb grazes your lower lip, soft, tentative, but devastating.

You exhale shakily against his mouth. “I want you to kiss me.”

He makes a quiet, involuntary sound, like a breath caught on a groan. And then he kisses you.

It’s gentle at first, a tender brush of lips, as if he’s giving you space to pull away. But you don’t. You lean in, fingers trembling as they find his shoulders, and that’s all it takes.

He deepens the kiss. Slow. Hungry. Controlled, but barely. His other hand slips to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, and you gasp softly into his mouth. He swallows the sound, kissing you harder, like he’s finally letting himself feel everything he’s been repressing.

The windows fog. Your breath mixes with his.

His lips move to your jaw, your cheek, then back to your mouth in a desperate, lingering kiss that leaves you dizzy.

When he finally pulls back, both of you are breathless. His forehead rests against yours again. “Tell me you don’t believe that shit Daniel said,” he whispers, voice hoarse.

You shake your head slowly. “I… I don’t.”

“Good.” His thumb strokes your cheek. “Because I swear, if I have to spend one more day pretending I don’t want you…”

You cut him off with another kiss, quick, soft, smiling against his lips. He exhales a shaky laugh. “Yeah. Exactly like that.”

And then he kisses you again.

The door had barely clicked shut behind you before Oscar’s hands were on the back of your neck, warm, certain, pulling you toward him like he’d been holding his breath the entire car ride.

You didn’t even have time to turn on the lights. His mouth found yours in the dim hallway, hungry but careful, as if he wanted to kiss you yesterday, last week, your whole life, and was finally being allowed to.

You gasped into him, surprised at the suddenness, the need. “Oscar—”

He didn’t stop. He kissed you again, slower this time, his hands framing your face as if he needed to memorize the shape of you. But when his palms slid down, to your waist… to your hips… toward the softness you always hid, your entire body stiffened.

You instantly tried to step back. And he instantly noticed. He froze, breath uneven, eyes blown wide and confused. “What’s wrong?” he whispered. “Too fast?” he asked worriedly.

“N-no. Nothing,” you lied quickly, looking down, trying to pull your shirt lower. “I just— I don’t want you to, um— to feel—”

“Feel what?”

You swallowed hard. “My… stomach. My thighs. My— everything.”

A beat of silence. Then Oscar exhaled like he’d just been punched. “Are you serious?”

Your face burned. “M-my body isn’t—”

“Stop.” His voice wasn’t loud. It wasn’t angry. But it was firm, a tone you’d almost never heard him use. “Don’t finish that sentence.”

You looked up, slowly. His jaw was clenched, his eyes dark with something that wasn’t pity at all. He stepped forward until your back hit the wall. “Do you have any idea,” he said, breath brushing your cheek, “how insane it makes me when you talk about yourself like that?”

Your breath stuttered. “Oscar—”

He shook his head, eyes flicking down your body, not in disgust, but in raw, unmistakable hunger. “God, you’re gorgeous,” he murmured, almost like he couldn’t hold it in.  “I’ve wanted you for months. Months. Every curve, every inch of you… drives me crazy.”

Your whole chest tightened. “You’re just saying that.”

“Am I?”

His hand slid back to your hip, warm, firm, this time not letting you shy away as he pressed himself against you. And you felt it. All of it. How turned on he was. The undeniable bulge in his pants.

He let out a breathy laugh against your jaw. “See what you do to me?” he whispered.

Your skin lit on fire. He pressed his forehead to yours, voice dropping even lower. “You think your thighs would bother me?” His hand slid down, gripping gently at the soft flesh there as he let out a breathless laugh.  “I cannot wait to bury my head between them.” he murmured softly, like a prayer.

You let out the tiniest sound, a surprised, shaken exhale, and his entire expression shifted, darkened with desire.

“Don’t hide from me,” he whispered. “Please.”

Your knees practically gave out. Then he kissed you again, deeper this time, slow and deliberate, like he wanted to erase every cruel thought you’d ever had about your body.

His hands swept down your sides, lingering exactly where your insecurities lived, touching them like they were something to admire, not disguise.

You whimpered softly. He groaned. His lips moved down your jaw, to your neck, kissing, sucking lightly, whispering between breaths:

“God, you’re so sexy…” “I’ve wanted to do this all night…” “You have no idea what you do to me…”

You buried your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer without thinking. He let out a low, shaky noise that went straight to your stomach. “Tell me to stop,” he murmured against your skin, voice hoarse.

You shook your head, breathless. “Don’t.”

He smiled, a beautiful, dangerous smile, and crashed his mouth back to yours as he lifted your thigh around his hip, guiding your body against his, showing you exactly how much he wanted you, all of you, every curve, every softness you once despised.

And then he whispered, against your lips: “You’re perfect. So fucking perfect. And I’m not letting you doubt that ever again.”

His fingers slip under your top and he drags it up inch by inch, studying every bit of exposed skin like he’s wanted this forever.

When he pulls the shirt over your head and tosses it aside, he steps back half a foot, like he needs a better look before he completely falls apart.

He does fall apart. “God...” It’s breathed, almost reverent. Like he’s looking at a miracle. You cross your arms automatically.

“No.” His voice drops, commanding, quiet. “Don’t cover up.”

He gently pulls your arms down and kisses your shoulder. Then lower. Then the slope of your chest.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says against your skin. “Do you have any idea how hard you make me?”

You swallow hard. “Oscar…”

The noise he makes could break you. In one smooth motion, he lifts you, easily, effortlessly, and your legs wrap instinctively around his hips. While kissing you, he walks you through the hallway, bumping a wall once and muttering, “Shit—sorry—” but never stopping the kiss, never loosening his grip.

You giggle breathlessly.

“Are you laughing at me?” he murmurs, nibbling your jaw.

“Maybe.”

“Not for long.”

He kicks your bedroom door open and lays you on the bed like you’re something fragile, something precious, then crawls over you like he’s starving.

By the time his mouth finds yours again, you’re shaking. Not from insecurity, but from how completely, utterly wanted you feel.

Each touch was a brand, a declaration, erasing the phantom sting of Daniel’s words and replacing it with a heat so profound it felt like it was rewriting your DNA. You were dizzy with it, lost in the sensation of being wanted so fiercely, so completely.

His fingers found the clasp of your bra. It was a simple, functional thing, nothing fancy, but his touch made it feel like sacred silk. He didn’t fumble. With a practiced flick of his fingers, the hooks released, and the tension across your back vanished. He paused, pulling back just enough to look down at you, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths. He slid one strap down your shoulder, then the other, his gaze following the path of his fingers with a reverence that made your entire body ache.

Then he pulled the fabric away. And he stopped breathing. For a solid ten seconds, he just stared. His mouth was slightly agape, his eyes wide and dark, fixed on your bare breasts with an expression that wasn’t just lust, but pure, unadulterated awe. It was the look of a man who had just stumbled upon his personal religion.

“Fuck,” he breathed, the word a raw, ragged sound. “They’re so pretty.”

Before you could even process the praise, he was lowering his head, his mouth finding the soft swell of your breast. He didn’t just kiss it. He worshipped it. His lips were warm and wet as they traced the curve, his tongue darting out to taste your skin. He groaned, a deep, guttural sound of pure satisfaction, as if he’d been dying of thirst and you were the first drop of rain.

He took one nipple into his mouth, and the jolt of pleasure was so sharp, so immediate, you cried out, your back arching off the bed. His tongue swirled around the hardened peak, teasing and tormenting, before he began to suck, gently at first, then with a possessive hunger that made your toes curl. His other hand came up to cup your other breast, his thumb and forefinger rolling the nipple, sending sparks of electricity straight to your core.

“Oscar…” you gasped, your fingers tangling in his hair, holding him to you.

He released your nipple with a wet pop, looking up at you from under his lashes, his lips glistening and swollen. “I knew they’d be perfect,” he rasped, his voice thick with desire. He moved to the other side, giving it the same devoted attention, licking, sucking, caressing, his free hand roaming restlessly over your stomach, your hips, as if he couldn’t get enough of touching you. Every touch, every murmured word of praise, was a direct assault on your insecurity, building a fortress of desire around your heart.

Finally, with a reluctant groan, he pushed himself up. In the dim light from the streetlamp outside, you watched as he grabbed the hem of his own shirt and yanked it over his head. And oh. You had seen Oscar shirtless before, you knew he was an athlete, but this was different. This was the lean, sculpted physique of a driver, all tight muscle and sinew, his shoulders broad, his stomach a hard plane of abs. He was beautiful. And he was looking at you like you were the only thing he’d ever wanted to see.

He knelt between your legs, his gaze softening as he looked down at you. “Your turn,” he murmured, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your skirt. He didn’t just pull it off. He slid it down, slowly, his knuckles brushing against your thighs, his eyes following every inch of skin he exposed. He tossed it aside, his attention immediately captured by the simple lace of your panties.

He hooked his fingers into them too, but he paused, looking up at you, his eyes asking for permission. You gave a shaky nod, lifting your hips to help him. He peeled them down, his gaze never leaving yours, and the intensity in his eyes was almost too much to bear. He didn’t just look; he devoured you with his eyes, a low, appreciative rumble vibrating in his chest as he saw all of you, completely bare and vulnerable beneath him.

He tossed the panties away and then, to your utter shock, he didn’t move to kiss you or settle between your legs. He rolled over, lying on his back beside you, the muscles in his chest and arms flexing as he got comfortable. He turned his head to look at you, his eyes burning with an unholy fire.

“Sit on my face.”

The words were so direct, so blunt, so utterly Oscar in their quiet confidence that your brain short-circuited. You stared at him, your mouth open, certain you’d misheard.

“What?” you squeaked.

“You heard me,” he said, his voice a low, commanding rasp. “Come here. Sit on my face.”

Panic, cold and sharp, shot through you. Every insecurity you had came roaring back to the surface. “No,” you stammered, shaking your head frantically. “I-I… I-I will crush you, Oscar, I…”

A slow, soft smile spread across his lips, before he chuckled, as if you had just said the most ridiculous thing on Earth “You won’t crush me.”

“But I’m heavy—”

“And I’m strong.” he said gently, no doubt in his tone. He reached out, his hands finding your waist, pulling you towards him. “I want to taste you. I need to taste you. I’ve been thinking about it for months.”

Your heart was hammering against your ribs. “Oscar, I can’t…”

“You can,” he insisted, his grip firm but gentle. He maneuvered you, guiding you to straddle his chest. You were trembling, your thighs clenched tight, holding yourself up, terrified of putting your full weight on him. You could feel his warm breath against your stomach, could see the dark, determined look in his eyes.

He looked up at you, his expression softening slightly at the fear in your eyes. “Hey,” he said, his voice a little gentler. “Trust me. Please.”

You hesitated, your body rigid with anxiety. Slowly, carefully, you lowered yourself a little, hovering just above his mouth, still holding most of your own weight. You could feel his breath ghosting over your most sensitive skin, and a shudder wracked your body.

That’s when his patience snapped.

His hands, which had been resting on your hips, shot up and gripped your thighs. His fingers dug into your soft flesh with a strength that stole your breath. “I said,” he muttered, his voice a low, dominant rumble that vibrated through your entire body, “Sit. On. My. Face.”

And then he pulled.

He yanked you down, hard. Your gasp was swallowed by a moan as your body settled fully against his mouth. There was no crushing weight, no discomfort. There was only the shocking, overwhelming sensation of his tongue on you.

He was not gentle. He was ravenous. His tongue licked a broad, flat stripe up your slit before circling your clit with a precision that made your vision blur. He groaned against you, the sound vibrating through your core, and you realized he was enjoying this as much as you were. Your hands flew out, bracing against the headboard to keep yourself upright as your hips began to move instinctively.

“Fuck, Oscar…” you moaned, your head falling back.

One of his hands left your thigh, sliding up to grip your ass, pulling you even tighter against him, encouraging you to grind against his mouth. He alternated between sucking your clit and fucking you with his tongue, his movements confident and relentless.

The insecurity was gone. There was no room for it. There was only the obscene, wet sounds of his mouth on you, the tightening coil of pleasure in your stomach, and the guttural moans of the man underneath you who was worshipping your body like it was the only thing that mattered in the world.

The last vestiges of your self-consciousness dissolved under the relentless, worshipful assault of his mouth. The fear of crushing him, the worry about your softness, it all evaporated, replaced by a primal, rising tide of pleasure. This wasn't about being careful anymore. This was about taking what you wanted, what he was so desperately giving you.

With a shaky moan, you stopped holding back. You let your weight settle, let your body relax, and you began to move. It was a slow, tentative roll of your hips at first, testing the sensation, learning the rhythm. The response was instantaneous. Oscar groaned against you, a deep, guttural sound of pure approval that vibrated straight through your clit.

“Fuck, yes,” he growled, the words muffled by your flesh. His hands tightened on your ass, pulling you impossibly closer. “That’s it… just like that. Ride my face.”

His praise was gasoline on a fire. You grew bolder, your movements becoming more confident, more deliberate. You ground against his mouth, chasing the friction, the pressure, the exquisite, building tension. You were using him, using his mouth, his tongue, his face, for your own pleasure, and the sheer, unadulterated power of it was intoxicating. He was moaning continuously now, a desperate, needy sound that told you he was getting off on this just as much as you were, on losing himself in you.

“God, you taste so fucking good,” he rasped, his tongue flicking your clit in a perfect, punishing rhythm.

The coil in your stomach was winding tighter and tighter, a white-hot knot of pleasure that was about to snap. Your thighs began to shake, your breath coming in ragged, sobbing pants. You braced one hand against the wall, the other tangling in his hair, holding him to you as you rode his face with a desperate, frantic need.

“Oscar… I’m gonna…” you gasped, your voice breaking.

“Do it,” he commanded, his voice a dark, demanding whisper against your core. “Come for me. Let me feel it.”

That was all it took. With a cry that was half his name, half a sob, the pleasure shattered through you. Your entire body convulsed, waves of ecstasy crashing over you so intensely your vision went white. You pulsed against his tongue, and he stayed with you, his movements slowing, gentling, drawing out your orgasm until you were a boneless, trembling mess above him.

You collapsed to the side, rolling off him onto the mattress, your chest heaving, your body humming. For a long moment, the only sound in the room was your ragged breathing. Oscar shifted beside you, and you felt his soft, warm lips press against your thigh. He wasn’t done.

He began to kiss a slow, deliberate path up the soft skin of your inner thigh. It was tender, reverent. Then, you felt a sharp, sucking pressure. He was marking you. He did the same to the other thigh, his hands stroking your hips as he left hickeys all over your skin, his touch a balm to your soul.

When he finally lifted his head, his gaze met yours. His face was glistening with your arousal, his lips swollen, his eyes dark with a satisfaction so profound it made your heart ache. He ran a hand possessively over the curve of your hip, his thumb brushing over the fresh mark he’d just left.

“I love these thighs,” he murmured, his voice a low, raspy confession. “I love how soft they are. I love how they feel when I’m between them. And I especially love knowing they’re mine now.”

Your heart swelled, a dizzying mix of adoration and residual desire. He pushed himself up, kneeling on the bed, and his hands went to his belt. The buckle jingled softly in the quiet room as he undid his pants, shoving them down along with his boxers in one fluid motion.

His cock sprang free, hard and thick and already leaking at the tip. The sight of him, so blatantly aroused for you, sent another jolt of heat through your spent body. He was beautiful, all hard lines and tense muscle, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that took your breath away.

He started to move over you, clearly intending to settle between your legs, but you stopped him. You pushed yourself up, shaking your head.

“Let me,” you whispered.

He froze, his expression softening instantly. “You don’t have to,” he said, his voice gentle, sweet. He was always so thoughtful, always putting you first.

A slow, confident smile spread across your lips. It felt foreign, but right. “I know I don’t have to,” you said, your voice steady. “But I want to.”

You shifted, moving to kneel in front of him. You wrapped your hand around his length, and he hissed, his whole body tensing at your touch. He was hot and heavy in your palm, silky steel. You leaned in, and without another moment of hesitation, you took him into your mouth.

The noise he made was obscene. A choked-off whimper, his hips jerking forward involuntarily. “Oh, fuck,” he breathed, one of his hands flying to your head, his fingers tangling gently in your hair.

You began to move, taking him deeper, using your tongue, your lips, learning what made him gasp, what made his fingers tighten in your hair. He was completely undone. The cool, composed F1 driver was gone, replaced by this man who was whimpering and muttering nonsense, his head thrown back in ecstasy.

“Jesus… that feels… so good,” he panted, his hips starting to move in a shallow rhythm, fucking your mouth gently. “You’re so… you’re so fucking perfect… don’t stop…”

You hollowed your cheeks, sucking a little harder, and he cried out, his grip on your hair tightening just enough to send a thrill through you. He was losing control, and it was the most empowering, intoxicating feeling in the world. He wasn’t just receiving pleasure; he was completely and utterly at your mercy, and you were giving him exactly what he wanted. What you both wanted.

You took him deeper, your movements becoming more confident, more assured. The power was heady, the taste of him, the sounds he was making, it was a symphony of pleasure you were conducting. You could feel him getting closer, his thrusts becoming less controlled, the muscles in his thighs tensing under your hands. His breathing was ragged, his praises turning into breathless, fragmented curses.

“Fuck, baby, just like that… you’re gonna make me… I’m gonna…”

Suddenly, his hand tightened in your hair, not painfully, but firmly, and he gently pulled you back. You looked up at him, dazed and confused, your lips swollen and wet. His chest was heaving, his face a mask of desperate restraint.

“Stop,” he panted, his voice strained. “God, you have to stop. I want to be inside you when I come.”

The raw need in his voice sent a fresh wave of arousal through you. He leaned over you, his body trembling slightly as he fumbled in the wallet he’d tossed onto the nightstand. His hands were shaking so much he could barely get the condom out. He ripped the foil open with his teeth, his eyes never leaving yours, and rolled it on with a practiced, desperate motion.

He settled back over you, his body covering yours, his forearms braced on either side of your head. He didn’t enter you right away. He just looked at you, his gaze so intense it felt like a physical touch. He lowered his head, his forehead resting against yours.

“Are you sure?” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “Tell me this is okay.”

You reached up, framing his face with your hands, and pulled him down for a deep, lingering kiss. “I’m sure,” you murmured against his lips. “I want you, Oscar. All of you.”

That was all the permission he needed. He shifted his hips, and you felt the blunt head of his cock press against your entrance. He pushed in slowly, inch by agonizing inch, and the stretch was exquisite. He filled you completely, a deep, satisfying pressure that stole your breath. When he was fully sheathed inside you, he stilled, his eyes closed, a shudder running through his entire body.

“God,” he groaned, his voice muffled against your neck. “You feel… you feel even better than I imagined.”

He began to move, and it was nothing like you expected. It wasn't frantic or rough. It was slow, deep and impossibly sensual. Each thrust was a deliberate, rolling wave of pleasure, his hips grinding against yours, hitting a spot deep inside you that made your toes curl. He was worshipping you with his body, pouring every ounce of his yearning into each movement.

He shifted, hooking one of your legs over his shoulder. The new angle was even better, allowing him to sink even deeper. He held your gaze, his eyes burning with a mix of lust and adoration.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice a low, reverent rasp. “Taking me so well. So fucking beautiful.”

The slow, deliberate pace was a sweet torture, building your pleasure back up to an impossible peak. You could feel the tension coiling in your stomach again, tighter and hotter than before. And then, something in him snapped.

His control broke.

With a guttural groan, he let go of the restraint. His thrusts became faster, harder, feral. He was fucking you now, driving into you with a desperate, yearning intensity that stole the air from your lungs. The bed was creaking, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room, mingling with your cries and his ragged moans.

“Fuck,” he snarled, his face buried in your neck. “You have no idea… no fucking idea how long I’ve wanted this. Wanted you.”

He was pounding into you now, deep and relentless, his words a torrent of dirty praise that only pushed you higher.

“You’re so tight… so wet for me… this perfect pussy… made for me…”

“Oscar!” you cried out, your nails digging into his shoulders, your body arching to meet his powerful thrusts.

“Look at me,” he demanded, his voice rough. He pulled back just enough to force your eyes open. “Watch me while I fuck you… Want to see when you come all over my cock.”

His eyes were wild, dark, completely lost in you. The possessiveness in his voice, the raw, primal need, was your undoing. The coil inside you snapped, and you shattered. Your orgasm ripped through you, a blinding, all-consuming wave of pleasure that left you screaming his name.

He followed you over the edge a moment later, his thrusts becoming erratic as he buried himself deep inside you with a final, guttural roar. His whole body shuddered against yours, and then he collapsed, his full weight pinning you to the bed, his face buried in your hair as he fought to catch his breath.

For a long time, you just lay there, a tangled, sweaty heap of limbs, your hearts hammering against each other. Finally, Oscar rolls onto his side to face you, equally breathless, curls sticking to his forehead, cheeks flushed. But the second he looks at you, everything in him softens.

He lifts a hand, slow, careful, and brushes his knuckles down your cheek. “Hey,” he murmurs, still a little out of breath, “you okay?”

You nod, smiling weakly. “Yeah… yeah. Are you?”

His answering smile is tiny but impossibly tender. “More than okay.”

Then he leans in and presses the gentlest kiss to the corner of your mouth, so delicate it almost tickles. You giggle quietly, and that only makes him smile wider. He kisses your cheek next. Then the other. Then your forehead. Then your nose. Soft little pecks, everywhere.

You laugh again, squirming shyly. “Oscar, what are you doing?”

“Making sure you know how much I like you,” he chuckles, kissing the tip of your nose again. “And that you’re perfect.”

You roll onto your side as he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close. The blanket slips over both of you automatically, but he’s too focused on you to notice. His hand traces up and down the curve of your hip, slow and comforting.

Then his fingers slide toward your stomach, the part of you you always tense about. You instinctively move to hide it, but Oscar gently takes your wrist and lowers it, eyes soft as warm honey.

“Hey,” he whispers, leaning his forehead against yours, “don’t do that.”

You swallow. “I just—”

He cuts you off by placing the softest kiss right under your ribs. Then another. And another.

“You’re gorgeous,” he murmurs between kisses. “All of you. Every part.”

His hand caresses over your belly, slow circles that make you shiver for a whole different reason, not lust, but the kind of tenderness you didn’t even know you deserved.

He pulls you onto his chest, letting you rest your head over his heartbeat. His fingers slide into your hair, massaging your scalp lazily as he covers your forehead with more absentminded kisses. And you melt. Completely.

“I really like you,” he admits softly, his voice rumbling beneath your ear. “And I meant every word I said in the car. Every single one.”

You smile into his skin. “I like you too, Osc.”

His arms tighten around you just a little, protective, relieved, impossibly gentle.

“Good,” he whispers, kissing the top of your head. “Because I’m never letting you think you’re anything less than beautiful again.”

You snuggle closer, letting him wrap himself around you like the human equivalent of a warm blanket. His breathing slows. Yours matches it. Your legs tangle comfortably beneath the sheets.

“Can I stay?” he whispers after a moment.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “Please.”

He lets out a tiny, relieved laugh, the sweetest sound, before wrapping both arms around you and pulling you fully against him. Leg tangled with yours. Nose tucked against your shoulder. Breath finally slowing.

He peppers your face with three more soft kisses, because he can. Because he wants to. Because he’s Oscar, and he’s completely, hopelessly gone for you.

[xximperioxx]

I genuinely feel like Randy went to Tobias before the tour and said “Hear me out…I have an idea.” when he does the bit with the crowd before CMLS. Dude controlled the crowd so good in Boston.

[starset21]

Part 1: Motorsport Unity Day

Pairing: Max Verstappen x reader

Summery: Max Verstappen, a dominant F1 champion with a reputation for intensity and precision, is partnered with you, a passionate, proud NASCAR champion who’s made history behind the wheel of car #33. When a Red Bull cross-promotional event brings their worlds colliding—literally—the clash of egos becomes impossible to ignore.

Standard disclaimer: I do not consent to the posting, translating, or publishing of my work to any 3rd party site, the only place it may found is on tumblr or A03 under the same name. This is all fake. It does not reflect real people, real events or their actual actions or relationships. May contain google translated languages.

A/N: This will be a multi-part series

The airstrip buzzed with cameras, crew members, and the unmistakable hum of too many egos in one place.

A PR stunt—that’s what it was. They dressed it up as “Motorsport Unity Day”, but really, it was just a circus of fast cars, faster mouths, and more testosterone than a pre-race driver’s meeting. You adjusted the sleeves on your fire suit, Red Bull’s logo stitched alongside your usual Team Penske insignia. You were used to attention. NASCAR champion at the age of 22, now at 27 your number—33—had become iconic. 

But this? This felt like bait.

Off to your right, rally cars sat squat and aggressive under the harsh sun. Down the row, MotoGP bikes leaned on kickstands like coiled animals. The center of it all was the custom drag strip Red Bull had laid out on the old airstrip, freshly paved and lined with towering banners. Loud, bold, over-the-top—exactly their style.

You were halfway through adjusting your gloves when the murmurs started.

Max Verstappen had arrived.

You didn’t have to look to know. His presence spread like gasoline fumes—unmistakable and vaguely irritating. You looked anyway.

He strolled in like he owned the place, Red Bull-branded suit unzipped halfway, fireproof undershirt clinging to him like it had been tailored by someone with an ego as large as his own. The smirk on his face said it all: he was here for the headlines, not the handshake.

“Figures,” you muttered.

Your crew chief caught your eye. “Play nice.”

“I’m always nice.”

Max’s gaze skimmed across the paddock, past the rally drivers, past the MotoGP star giving a quick interview. Then it landed on you—hard and unblinking. The corner of his mouth twitched.

“Ah,” he said, approaching with that measured, practiced swagger. “The NASCAR star. Number thirty-three.” He let the number hang for a second. Then: “I always liked that one. Doubled up, neat, symmetrical. Shame it doesn’t seem to help with turning right.”

You blinked, once, slow. 

“Well, I figured I’d leave all the overcomplicated geometry to you F1 types. I prefer racing over calculus.”

His smile twitched wider, like he was enjoying this. Too much.

“And yet here you are—drag strip, shared sponsor, shared team. Guess we’ve got something in common after all.” He paused. “Besides winning, I mean.”

You stepped forward, just enough to close the space between you—not touching, but close enough to let him know you weren’t backing down.

“You want to talk about wins, Verstappen?” you said, voice low, steady. “Come find me on a track where you can’t DRS your way out of a dogfight.”

Max’s eyes flickered—just briefly—to the Red Bull logo stitched next to Penske on your chest. His expression turned thoughtful for half a second. Then, that same smirk returned.

Then, that same smirk returned—weaponized now, sharpened by something behind his eyes.

“I’m not picky,” Max said, voice lazy but pointed. “Tarmac, gravel, oval, street. Doesn’t matter. I adapt. That’s why I win.”

You tilted your head, just a fraction. “Right. Adaptability. Is that what you call it when you blame the tire strategy every time someone breathes down your neck?”

That earned a flicker. Not much. But you saw it.

A crew member coughed awkwardly nearby. Someone snapped a photo. You could feel the moment calcifying, turning into content—fodder for socials, headlines, maybe even a Netflix cutaway if someone was feeling dramatic enough. This wasn’t just posturing. This was theater.

Max glanced around, then gestured toward the starting line. “Enough talk. Let’s show them how it’s done.”

You followed him through the maze of cables and cameras toward the drag strip, the roar of engines growing louder as crews prepped the machines. The tension in the air was thick—half anticipation, half unspoken challenge.

Your crew chief pulled you aside. “Remember, this isn’t a race. It’s a show run. Start together, full throttle, straight line. The shot’s what matters, not the time.”

You nodded, though the adrenaline was already spiking in your veins. No room for error. No excuses.

Max was already slipping into his car—a sleek, almost fragile-looking F1 beast that seemed to hum with restrained fury. You climbed into the cockpit of your stock car, the familiar weight of the steering wheel and pedals grounding you.

The cameras circled, the director calling for final checks. You could hear the muffled countdown over the comms. The world shrank down to the strip ahead—a flat, unyielding ribbon of blacktop shining in the sun.

“Three… two… one… GO!”

Both engines roared to life, tires gripping hard, the air filled with exhaust and burning rubber. You and Max launched simultaneously, power and precision meeting in a blur of speed.

The strip stretched out beneath you like an endless challenge. No turns. No tricks. Just raw velocity—and pride.

The world blurred into streaks of color, the roar of engines pounding in your ears like a drum solo gone mad. The stock car’s weight pressed down through the suspension, muscles and metal working in perfect harmony. You fought the instinct to glance over—Max’s F1 machine was a rocket on rails, its high-revving engine screaming with a sound so alien to your NASCAR-hardened senses it felt like a different language.

But you didn’t look. Not yet.

The drag strip was deceptively simple, but it demanded everything. One slip, one hesitation, and the whole run was toast. The air thickened with heat and speed; the finish line blurred closer, a promise and a threat. Your hand tightened on the wheel. This wasn’t just about a PR stunt or a viral clip. This was pride—the kind you could taste in your throat, bitter and fierce. As the line flew beneath you, the F1 car pulled just slightly ahead—its aerodynamic edge clear, the precision of its design screaming at every inch. Still, you kept your foot down, knowing full well that raw power was your weapon here, the kind that didn’t care about finesse but about pure, brutal thrust.

The engines began to fade as you crossed the line, the cameras exploding with clicks and shouts. Your chest rose and fell, sweat mixing with the heat under your helmet. The airstrip buzzed louder than before, the moment captured but far from over. Behind the scenes, your crew chief’s voice came clear through the comms: “Good run. Looks like they got the shot.” 

You peeled off the strip, heart hammering as the crowd’s murmurs swelled around you. Climbing out of the car, you quickly removed your helmet, letting the breeze cool your face. Max’s car was already gliding to a stop beside yours. He climbed out, helmet coming off to reveal that same cocky grin. But this time, there was something different — a glint of respect, or maybe just an acknowledgment that you weren’t a joke to be dismissed.

“Not bad for a brute,” he said, voice low but carrying that trademark edge. “Almost made me sweat.”

You locked eyes with him, letting the weight of the moment settle between you. No need for words—this was the quiet truce forged in speed and steel. The crowd’s noise faded into the background, replaced by the steady pounding of your own pulse.

You smirked, already peeling the gloves from your fingers. “You ever want a real challenge, take a stock car for a spin. See if you can handle something that doesn’t stick to the ground like it’s magnetized.”

Max huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he ran a hand through his hair. “Tempting,” he said. “Could be fun… or deeply humbling. I’ll think about it.”

He held your gaze a second longer, grin crooked but no longer mocking. Just something close to… intrigued.

You crossed your arms loosely. “So what now? We shake hands and smile for the PR cameras?”

Max’s eyes flicked toward the crowd, then back to you. “We could. But I was thinking something less… staged.”

“Oh?” you raised a brow. “Like what?”

He took a small step closer, the space between you narrowing just enough to feel intentional. “I don’t know. Maybe a quiet lap around the paddock. Just you, me, and no cameras. 

You tilted your head, lips quirking. “A lap around the paddock? That your idea of foreplay?”

Max’s grin sharpened, but his eyes stayed steady on yours. “Depends. You planning to make me work for it?”

You huffed a soft laugh and shook your head. “Come on, Verstappen. Let’s walk before you try to impress me behind the wheel.”

He fell into step beside you, hands in the pockets of his suit as you both moved away from the crowd, away from the cameras and the constant hum of engine noise and forced smiles. The sun was starting to dip, casting long shadows across the tarmac and turning everything gold at the edges.

For a moment, it was just the sound of your boots on pavement and the quiet rhythm of two drivers who lived most of their lives in motion.

“So,” Max said eventually, glancing sideways at you. “You always this mouthy, or do I just bring it out of you?”

You smirked. “Depends. You always this smug, or is that a Red Bull requirement?”

He chuckled, genuinely this time. “Touché.”

You strolled past stacks of tires, past rally cars stripped down for show, and a pit crew packing up their gear. The air smelled like burnt rubber and brake dust—familiar, grounding. Somehow, it felt easier to talk now.

“I watched your run at Martinsville,” Max said after a beat. “The last-lap move.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t know you followed NASCAR.”

“I follow good racing,” he said simply.

A pause.

“…You were relentless.”

That stopped you—just half a step. Then you kept walking. “That’s the job.”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. I get that.”

Another quiet moment passed, and then your shoulder brushed his—just lightly, maybe by accident, maybe not.

You glanced up at him. “So, Verstappen… you always walk PR laps with rivals?”

He smiled. “Only the interesting ones.”

You rolled your eyes, but your lips curved anyway. “You really know how to flirt like it’s a sport.”

“It is,” he said. “You just haven’t seen me in qualifying yet.”

You laughed, surprising even yourself with how easy it came. Max looked almost smug with the sound, like he’d earned something.

As you reached the edge of the lot, the quiet between you settled into something that felt… unfinished. Like the story wasn’t over yet. You both stopped, standing near a stack of crates and a faded Red Bull banner flapping lazily in the breeze.

Max pulled his phone from his pocket, unlocked it, then held it out. “In case I decide to take that stock car for a spin.”

You eyed the screen, then took it without hesitation, entering your number. “In case I decide to let you.”

You handed it back, your fingers brushing his. Brief. Intentional.

“Thanks,” he said, tucking the phone away.

You offered him a final smirk. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

Max grinned. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Then he turned and walked off toward the rest of the pit lane, still that same casual strut—but now, somehow, it felt like he was leaving room behind him.

You exhaled slowly, then turned back toward your car, the crew already packing up. Your chief gave you a look—half amusement, half suspicion—but didn’t say a word. Good. You weren’t in the mood to explain whatever the hell that just was.

Not yet.

[docrobinavitch]

force of nature, pull of gravity | part one

dr. robby x f!attending!reader masterlist content: 18+ mdni, the entirety of this fic navigates grief, death of mentor (adamson), death of child/family member, swearing, canon medical events, so much angst like i actually have to formally apologize (but the plan is for a happy ending), no sexually explicit content, but mentions of it words: 9.2K synopsis: this fic is based on this request. robby and reader have a complicated history spanning all the way back to when reader was an intern and robby was a senior resident. they have been very close friends and sometimes more, until they have a falling out after adamson's death. robby pulls away and starts seeing heather and reader moves to the night shift, until four years later (season one) a/n: guys um these two are making me physically ill like i am trying to be so normal about it but!!! as we all know by now i am obsessed with angst and yearning which there is plenty of. perhaps too much. also i realized after that robby had a fellowship after his residency but for the sake of this fic we will pretend that is not true hehe. also if anyone is interested older and wiser by lizzy mcalpine sponsored this fic. ok anywaaaaaay let me know if you like. part two incoming even if u hate tho i guess. i will stop yapping now. <3 syd

Today was your fourth day shift since being forcibly moved off of the night shift. You had argued with Gloria about it for weeks, but each time she had remained firm.

“Shen is helping out Abbot now that he’s an attending. We don’t need you on as well. The day shift is short so you’ll be going there.”

“I have seniority over Shen,” You said tightly, “Move him to the day shift.”

“The decision is final. You’re back on day shift. I don’t want to hear anymore about it.”

You and Robby had mostly avoided each other since your return. The two of you would exchange curt nods and talk strictly about cases. There were moments where you could almost see him contemplating saying more, but you always walked off before he could get a chance.

You didn’t want to talk about it. It was why you had switched to the night shift in the first place. He didn’t really want to talk about it either, you knew. He just wanted to clear his own conscience.

And today was the anniversary of when your life had begun to completely unravel. When it felt like the rug was ripped out from under your feet only to reveal you had never been on solid ground anyway. The day Adamson died.

Dana gave you a disappointed look as she watched you walk into Central that morning, “You shouldn’t be here today.”

“I shouldn’t be here at all,” You said, forcing a smile as you pulled your hair into a bun at the nape of your neck.

“Robby’ll be here today too, so. If you could be gentle?”

You scoffed, “Why is he working today?”

“Why are you working today?”

You clenched your jaw, “Where’s Abbot?”

“Getting some air.” She gave you a knowing look and you sighed.

“Okay, I will go handle that.”

“You sure?” She asked as you walked away, “Hard to talk someone off the ledge if you’re already there yourself.”

“Very funny!” You called back as you entered the stairwell.

***

It was a clear, sunny day outside. The sun had just risen over the skyline washing everything in a faint tangerine glow. The breeze blew stray strands of hair away from your face as you walked towards Jack.

He turned his head at the sound of your approach and once he recognized who it was, heaved a sigh, “Dana send you up here?”

“No. Maybe I just wanted to get some air before my shift.”

He gave a short laugh, “Right.”

You leaned against the railing as you looked out over the skyline, “Rough night?”

He was quiet for a moment, “Nights were easier when you were around.”

Your chest swelled at his admission. The last couple of years on the night shift had saved your life when being on the day shift constantly felt like being hit by a truck. It was nice to know that you had repaid at least a little of that back to Jack.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

He paused and you watched him breathe. This wasn’t the first time you’d found Jack up here at the end of a shift. It kicked up your anxiety a notch, seeing him on the other side of the railing. You were clutching the stethoscope around your neck so that you wouldn’t reach for him and haul him back over.

You and Jack had known each other a long time. You knew he wouldn’t jump. Or at least, you were pretty certain he wouldn’t jump. It did nothing to slow your galloping heart.

“Have you patched things up with Robby?” He asked finally and you soured.

“Don’t you think it’s him that should be patching things up with me?”

“It’s been three years.”

“Yeah,” You nodded, “And he still can barely look at me, let alone apologize.”

He sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face, “Either of you ever think about how fucked up it is that Dana and I have to treat you like our divorced parents who can’t be in the same room? I mean, we can’t even play cards on Friday nights anymore.”

You were beginning to get annoyed with this conversation. Did Jack think this was what you wanted? To have to dance around how badly Robby had hurt you? To pretend like everything was fine when the sound of his voice alone sent you into a spiral?

“I miss wiping the floor with you and taking all your money when we played cards, too. Now I have to buy beer with my own money,” You joked and saw his shoulders rise and fall marginally with a laugh, “You should take it up with Robby.”

“Believe me, I have.”

Just then, the door to the roof swung open and you turned at the sound to see Robby. He stopped short for a moment when he saw you standing there.

It pissed you off, the way your heart squeezed at the sight of him. The way that with just a glance alone you saw all over his face that today was fucking him up just as much as it was you. 

The way his hair was all mussed and sticking up, like he had been running his hands through it all day even though it was only 7 AM. His hands shoved deep in the pockets of his hoodie. He hadn’t been sleeping, the bags under his eyes made that clear.

You turned back to Jack, trying to shake the urge to go to him. To hold him. Like you would have if it were just a few years ago, without question.

The way you always assumed he’d have you, too.

“Well, looks like now’s your chance to try again.” You pushed yourself off the railing, “See you downstairs.”

You brushed past Robby on your way to the door without meeting his gaze. You felt his eyes on you though, prying, practically begging you to look up.

But he’d have to try harder than that. And even then, you weren’t sure how to clear the thorny brambles that had grown and multiplied around the tomb of your friendship. 

You didn’t know if it were possible to ever look at him the way you used to, when you were a love struck intern and he was a senior resident, oblivious to your yearning. 

Or later, when you had managed to push those naive feelings down, accept your relationship for what it was, and he had turned into the only person in the world who could just glance at you and know what you were thinking.

You missed the ease of it, of not having to say what was on your mind. Of always having someone who would pick up the phone or come over without question. 

But that part of your life was over now and despite what Jack said, you weren’t sure Robby could fix it this time. Even if he tried. 

You were no longer sure if you even wanted him to.

***

The day started off fast and chaotic almost immediately, which was sort of a relief as it kept you from thinking about this particular date or Robby. He introduced you to the new med students and residents professionally, if with a little more affection in his voice than you were used to hearing as of late.

“If you need an attending and can’t find me or I’m busy, you can always tug on Dr. Y/N’s sleeve and she’ll take care of you.” His brown eyes landed on you, sparkling with admiration and nostalgia. You could practically see the film reel of your relationship playing behind his eyes and you had to look away, “She’s been here almost as long as I have. You’re very lucky to have her, take advantage of it.”

You smiled at them all and then made a beeline for the traumas that rolled in as soon as Robby had finished with his speech, grateful to have an excuse to not have to look or talk to him.

But then, as you were rolling the woman with the degloved foot into the trauma room, you felt his presence behind you, and the pressure of his warm hand on the small of your back.

“You got this?” He asked, voice low and too close. The warmth of his breath was far too close to your ear, to the sensitive skin of your throat.

You flinched and he dropped his hand.

“Yeah, I’m good.” You said without looking back at him and immediately you felt the loss of him when he walked away, familiar footfalls sounded behind you as he followed after the second trauma.

***

You should have noticed the med student, Javadi, was on the brink of passing out. She had looked a bit green from the second she had seen the patient's foot and you assumed the constant screaming had not helped.

“Med student down,” The new intern rolled her eyes as she fell.

“Shit,” You hissed and dropped low to the floor to look her over, “Javadi?” You said, placing a gloved hand to the side of her face. Thankfully, she stirred, “Can you stand?”

Almost immediately, she was blinking the disorientation out of her eyes and pushing herself up, “Hey, slowly,” You urged, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“Oh my God, no, like, I’m totally fine. I don’t even know what happened. I must have tripped on the gurney. I’m fine!”

She pushed your hands away and started to stand, and you let her, though a smirk stayed on your face, “Javadi, you did not trip, I saw it, you passed out.”

“What?” She laughed nervously, “Oh my God, that’s crazy! That’s… No, I tripped.”

You bit your lip to hide the smirk and nodded, “Yeah, okay, either way why don’t we get you set up in the break room with a water or something? Just a precaution.”

“That’s not necessary,” She smiled, big eyes darting around nervously.

“Yeah,” You nodded, “I get it, really, but,” You lowered your voice, “Robby’s a bit of a hard ass about this kinda stuff so he’ll get really upset if he finds out I let you keep working after you… tripped.” You turned back to the patient. Collins seemed to be running the show, and running it well. “Collins, you okay if I step out?”

“Yeah, we’re good. I’ll call if we need you.”

Nodding, you ushered Javadi out into central, ignoring her protests as you did so.

“Robby,” You called when you saw him at the hub, glasses perched on his nose. He looked up in surprise at the sound of your voice. He couldn’t remember the last time you had sought him out. But then he frowned when he saw Javadi, one of the new med students, walking a few steps ahead of you, “She… fell and hit her head.”

“I’m fine,” Javadi said immediately, “I just tripped.”

You met Robby’s eyes over Javadi’s shoulder and gave a sharp shake of your head that had Robby fighting a smirk, “Okay, why don’t you go hang out in the break room for a bit. Eat a snack, drink some water.”

“I really don’t think that’s necessary.” Javadi said.

“Oh, I know,” He took his glasses off, folding them and placing them in his pocket, “Hospital policy, though.”

Javadi stood there for a moment and you could see the battle waging in her body, deciding if she wanted to argue or not, but eventually, she started walking off.

“Other way,” Robby gently corrected when she went in the wrong direction, and you bit down on your lip as she walked by you again.

Then, you realized Robby was smiling at you. It took you aback, that gentle, tired smile on his face. The crinkles by his eyes and rosy cheeks. You hadn’t seen him like this in a long time, and certainly not when he was looking at you.

“What?” You asked, frowning.

He shrugged, “Just, reminds me of you when you were an intern, that’s all.” He said, gesturing in the direction Javadi had walked off to, “Something to prove and a nervous energy that could rival a cheetah. Not to mention taking a header on day one.”

Despite it all, you smirked, “I was not that nervous.”

“Oh, yes you were.” He nodded slowly, grin stretching so much, you can see teeth, “That’s at least half the reason you passed out in the first place.”

And it was really quite jarring, seeing him look at you fondly like that. Your heart squeezed painfully in your chest and your traitorous brain started pulling up snapshots of when he used to look at you like this. 

All the time. Several times a day, in fact. 

Like the time you passed out and hit your head on your first day as an intern.

You blinked the memory away and hoped you seemed unaffected, “Fine. Maybe I was,” You swallowed and turned to look towards the direction Javadi went, “I should go check on her.”

When you looked back at him, the smile was gone, replaced with disappointment. He wanted you to play with him, you realized, like you used to. But you couldn’t. Not if you wanted to keep your sanity.

When you began to walk away, he called your name. You swore it sounded hoarse, broken, coming from his lips, but thought you must be imagining things. You turned back.

“It’s… It’s really good to have you back.”

You’re not entirely sure why it irritates you, this whole interaction. Perhaps it just reminded you of everything you’d lost the last few years. Everything that had slipped between your fingers when you thought you had a firm grip on it. On him.

At any rate, you didn’t trust yourself to say anything you wouldn’t regret later, so you clenched your jaw and mock saluted him before turning on your heel and heading to the break room.

***

You were sweating so much, it was humiliating. You silently thanked whatever God there was that the scrubs for ER doctors at PTMC were black, otherwise, you knew the armpit stains would’ve been fucking otherworldly.

It was the first day of your residency and with every passing moment you felt more stupid and incompetent. Your hands shook, threatening to drop any and all sharps you handled. Your brain was sluggish and it felt like pulling teeth getting yourself to answer any questions Adamson or a senior resident called on you for. You knew the answers, but your brain would go frustratingly blank anytime you were put on the spot.

It hadn’t been like this during your med school rotations. You were sharp and clever, your recommendation letters proved that, but today you couldn’t seem to get your brain on board. The harder you tried, the worse it got, and the anxiety followed– along with the sweating.

Dr. Adamson and Dr. Robinavitch were explaining that the patient in front of you needed a chest tube, a procedure you were extremely familiar with. You had seen countless during your med school rotations, though you had never been allowed to do one yourself. 

“You’ve seen one before?” Dr. Robinavitch asked you from across the gurney.

You nodded, focusing only on the patient, the steps for a chest tube on repeat in your brain. You would not fuck this up. You would show them once and for all you belonged here, regardless of your previous stammering and shaky hands this morning.

“Okay, get gloved up then,” He said, “You’re up.”

You swallowed as a nurse opened up a pack of sterile gloves for you, conscious that Dr. Robinavitch was still speaking to you and Dr. Adamson was watching you. You couldn’t quite hear, though. The blood was pounding in your ears. Suddenly the fluorescent lights seemed a lot brighter and you were squinting under them. You couldn’t seem to pull enough air into your lungs and, shit, you felt lightheaded. You had managed to pull the gloves on and a nurse was holding out a ten blade to you, but you couldn’t get your hands to move. Your vision became spotty and you think you managed to mutter a, “so sorry,” before everything went dark.

When you came to, it was to the sound of his voice saying your name. Your first name, in fact, which you didn’t realize he had learned. His gloved hand was cradling your head and you could feel the warmth of his skin against your cheek.

“Can you open your eyes for me?”

Your eyelids fluttered and then opened to the brightness of his pen light, “There you go,” He said softly and immediately you were flustered by the gentleness of his tone. His warm hands on you. The way he had said your name when you were halfway between consciousness, his voice like a rope meant to tether you, keep you here, with him. 

Fuck, fuck. You absolutely could not afford to have a crush on your senior resident. It was bad enough already that you had passed out on day one after absolutely blowing it all morning. 

“Is she alright?” You heard Dr. Adamson call from where he must be working on the patient.

“She seems fine,” He clicked off his penlight and gave you a reassuring smile, then his eyes darted up to your hairline and he frowned, “Though she does have a cut on her forehead.”

Sure enough, you felt the warm blood begin to trickle, carving a path down your skin.

“Why don’t you get her a bed and do a quick exam?” You heard Dr. Adamson say.

Immediately, you panicked, embarrassment flooding your whole body, “Oh, that’s okay, I’m fine, really–”

“If you won’t let Dr. Robby clear you, we’ll have to send you home.” Dr. Adamson said and you turned your attention back to the resident in front of you, who’s eyes looked apologetic now. He shrugged, as if to say, my hands are tied. “It’s your choice.” Adamson finished.

Humiliated, you sighed and let Robby help you to standing.You brushed him off after that, assuring him you could walk, and followed him to an empty bed where he gestured for you to sit down.

He grabbed a stool and wheeled it over to you before sitting and you had to remind yourself, again, that you could not fall for this man. Even if his hands were really gentle and his eyes were warm and attentive. 

“I don’t think you need stitches.” He said as he dabbed at the blood near your hairline, “The bleeding’s already slowing.”

You were looking anywhere but at him, both in an effort to calm the stirring in your stomach at his attention, and also because you were still humiliated.

“How are you feeling?” He asked when you didn’t say anything.

You shrugged, “I’m a little nauseous, but my head doesn’t hurt or anything. The lightheadedness has passed. I feel fine.”

He smirked, “I didn’t mean like that, I meant… emotionally.”

You looked at him, surprised, “I–I don’t–” You swallowed, “I skipped breakfast, it’s not–I’m not–”

“It’s okay that you’re a little anxious, it’s normal. It means you care.”

You swallowed and then shook your head, looking down at your hands, “I feel like all I’ve done all morning is screw up and everyone here’s probably wondering how I even matched because I’m such a dud–”

“Nobody thinks that.” He said quickly, “You’re smart and capable and you deserve to be here.”

Your stomach stirred again at his praise, “How would you know that? You’ve only known me a few hours and I’ve fumbled every opportunity.”

He was still smiling at you, dabbing lightly at the cut on your forehead, “You interviewed with Dr. Adamson before you matched, right?” You nodded, “He’s been doing this a pretty long time. Long enough to know with one conversation, and I assume, copious amounts of glowing recommendations, who is a good fit for the Pitt. So, if he thought you were good enough, then I can only assume that you are and will be an incredible doctor. So you’re having a shaky first day, so what?”

Your breathing seemed to slow at the encouragement of his words. He scooted a bit back on his stool and tilted his head to force eye contact with you, “You just have to keep trying. The anxiety will fade, likely before this shift is over. And I’ll be there every step of the way, we’ll get through it together, alright? What d’you say?”

There was no denying that you felt better, now. In med school it had felt like everyone in your cohort was rooting for everyone else to fail. The competitive energy had caused you to see every peer as a rival, rather than a friend. But was it possible that that was all over now? That you were allowed to lean on others for support and not worry they’d be hiding around the next corner with a knife poised to pierce your ribs?

He made you want to believe that, with his warm smile and supportive demeanor. Finally, you gave him a small smile, “Okay.”

***

You parked yourself in a chair across from Javadi, handing her a water bottle and a Clif bar. She seemed utterly miserable, perhaps even on the verge of tears.

“You okay?” You asked gently.

She rolled her eyes and then threw her hands up in exasperation, “We’re not even through the first hour and I’ve already fucked it up– Sorry!” She said immediately, eyes going wide at her curse.

You smirked, “You didn’t fuck anything up. A degloving is a pretty gnarly injury. It’s pretty rare, actually. In all my time here I could probably count on one hand how many I’ve seen. And they never get more fun to look at.”

“Yeah, well, easy for you to say. I bet you’ve never passed out while looking at one.”

Your smile widened, “I can do you one better, actually. Passed out cold on the first day of my residency when I was asked to do a chest tube.”

Her eyes widened, “Are you serious?”

You nodded, “I had had such a bad morning, I just… couldn’t get my brain to keep up with everything that was happening. I blanked every time I was asked something. My hands were shaky any time I tried to assist with a procedure. And so when Dr. Robby told me they wanted me to do a chest tube, I just… I got the gloves on and then I collapsed. It was humiliating.”

“Oh, wow,” She took a bite from the Clif bar, “That’s really bad.”

“Yeah,” You laughed, “Yeah, I thought so, too. But, I’m still here and I think I’m doing okay.”

“How did you… How did you get over it? Not let it derail your whole day?”

Your thoughts drifted to Robby, his kindness and attentiveness that first day. And all the days after. The way he had made you feel like you could do anything, pull off any procedure, just because he believed in you. 

You cleared your throat, and with it, the memories, “You just keep reminding yourself that there’s a reason you’re here. That you worked hard to be here and you’re capable because of it. You’ll fuck it up again, but you learn and you get better. And there are some really, really great people around here who’ll pick you up the next time you fall. We’re all rooting for you. Not against you. So ask for help when you need it. Okay?”

She nodded and you stood, “Drink at least half that water bottle before you jump back in. Ask Robby where he needs you when you’re done.”

“Thank you,” She said sweetly.

You smiled, “Anytime.” 

***

Robby had thought when he asked Gloria to move you to the day shift that things would immediately be resolved. That maybe you’d unintentionally fall back into old habits, finishing each other’s jokes, always running to the other person for a second pair of eyes on a patient, always knowing when the other was stepping out onto a tightrope with no net beneath to catch them. Knowing how to set up the net beneath them without the other noticing.

He didn’t think it’d be so hard to find ways to talk to you and he didn’t think you’d work so hard to avoid him. 

He missed you and had missed you at every shift since you had left, but didn’t know how to tell you. Frankly, he didn’t think he deserved to tell you. Still didn’t. But the hole in him that you left had only grown tenfold over the years, rather than shrinking, like he thought it would. Until he had to accept that not having you in his life was no longer an option for him. Dana had taken to reminding him almost weekly how insufferable he’d become since you had left.

It wasn’t like he had been completely pleasant before you had left. He had still been grieving Adamson and all of them had been adjusting to the pandemic’s impact on the ER. Not to mention, he was still adjusting to being the head of the ER, of doing everything Adamson had used to handle.

But at least, when you had been there, there had still been some familiarity. Everything had changed so fast between the pandemic and Adamson’s death, but you had been the one constant. The one shred of comfort he’d been able to hold on to through all the bullshit. The reminder that things hadn’t always been so terrible here, that they could be good.

Until he went and fucked that up, too.

He had pushed you away over and over again when you tried to help, to grieve with him. You tried to talk about it and he’d snap at you. He didn’t want to relive it, thought he could just shove it down and move past it. But you needed to talk about it, for your own sake. Had begged him, in fact, to talk about it.

“You’re not the only one who lost him, you know? I loved him too!”

He remembered the way you’d cried that night. How he held you after, apologizing. Swearing he’d do better, that they could talk about it. That he’d go to a grief counselor with you.

And then it all played on repeat over and over, the same music, the same twisted dance, once beautiful and graceful, now poisoned with grief and resentment.

Promises that were broken almost immediately, heated arguments in the ambulance bay on their breaks, the silent treatment given during shifts, him crawling back to your door every night. I’m sorry, just let me crawl into bed, just one more night, please, I need you, I can’t do it by myself. 

And he watched, night after night, how he broke you. How you got out of bed in the middle of the night to cry alone in the bathroom. You thought he wouldn’t hear, but he was barely getting any sleep those nights. He heard just fine. 

You’d crawl back in bed, breathing still shuddering from the residual sobs, and he’d kiss your bare shoulders and up your neck. You’d push yourself back into him and still, there was no talking, just the desperate thrust of his hips into yours, and when he came inside you, night after night, he would find himself disappointed each time when it didn’t fix things. When it wasn’t enough, even though it was all he could manage to give. 

Then there was Heather.

At the time, he couldn’t understand what had compelled him to pursue Heather. Though now, he could recognize it was because she had reminded him of you. A version of you that hadn’t been ravaged by grief. The version of you who had made him feel like he was good at this, like it was all worth it. Heather made him feel like that, how you had when you were a resident. It helped him forget all the rest. Most of the time.

In the cloud of his own grief, it didn’t seem to matter much what you would think. And the two of you weren’t dating. Had never dated and would never date. In the many years of occasionally sleeping together, you had never talked about it. Only once, just after the first time, when you were still a resident and he was an attending. 

“It doesn’t have to mean anything.” 

It was all he had said while the two of you got dressed again. You had paused for a second while pulling a shirt over your head, but then had nodded. You never said anything else on the matter.

He supposed it was naive of him to think that it wouldn’t hurt you when he started seeing Heather. But the two of you had always seen other people in the midst of your informal arrangement. And you would go months, sometimes years, never falling back into the other. At the core of everything, you were always friends. Best friends.

He thought this would be the same. 

He saw the way you froze and the way your face fell when you walked out to the ambulance bay to find him pushing Heather against the wall and kissing her. He tried to follow after you, but you insisted it was fine. He knew it wasn’t fine, could tell from the look on your face and the way your voice shook. But frankly, he didn’t have the capacity to do anything about it.

After you had found out, it took you just two weeks before you requested the move to the night shift. And then he lost it. He called you repeatedly, showed up at your door, tried anything and everything to get your attention, to force you to talk to him. To beg for your forgiveness. None of it worked. You didn’t return any of his calls and pretended you didn’t hear him at your door.

He even asked Jack to tell Gloria that he didn’t want or need the extra help.

But Jack had just shaken his head sadly, “Don’t ask me to do that to her, brother. She’s my friend too.”

When it didn’t work out with Heather, he wasn’t surprised, but there was a small voice in his head that reminded him every so often that he had ruined everything for nothing.

He knew you would be pissed when you found out it was him who got you moved back to the day shift, but he couldn’t regret it. Even though things still weren’t normal between you, there was something very comforting about the fact that you were around, in the same orbit as him again. 

It was selfish of him to bring you back to the day shift, but he didn’t know how else to fix things. And Abbot had confirmed you weren’t happy, were no more healed than when you first left. You had taken to pushing it all down and ignoring it, like he had.

He couldn’t have that. Couldn’t watch you turn into him and do nothing about it. So you could be pissed when you found out, that was fine. He would fix it. He could fix it.

***

You felt Robby’s eyes on you all morning. And in turn, when he wasn’t looking at you, you were looking for him. Unfortunately, the instinct to care and look out for Robby had not been smothered completely as you had initially hoped.

As soon as you overheard him talking to the children of the man who had come in, clearly sceptic and struggling to breathe, you wondered if you should step in and take over. It wasn’t difficult to make the connection to Adamson, especially today. You thought about him often whenever you had a patient with pneumonia, when you had to intubate in those cases.

So when he was free, you started to make your way over to speak to him–

But were beaten to it by Heather. 

You had nothing against Heather, truly. In fact, when you were able to look at her and not see Robby shoving her up against a wall, you liked her very much. It was just another thing Robby had taken from you, the opportunity to be Heather’s friend.

Nevertheless, seeing her try to intervene on this case the same way you would have, sent an ache through you. 

“You know they’re not together anymore, right?” Dana said next to you, eyes on her iPad.

It had irritated you at times, how easily she was able to read you, “I know. Doesn’t really change the fact that he replaced me with her.”

Dana looked up at that, “Is that what you think?”

You scoffed, “Look at them. I mean, I’m not blind.”

Dana smirked and looked back down at her iPad, “If that were true, why would he have asked Gloria to move you back to the day shift?”

You stiffened and turned to Dana slowly, “He what?” You asked breathlessly.

She looked up again and examined your change in posture, “Oh,” She sighed, “You didn’t know.”

You turned to look back at him and Heather, and slowly shook your head, laughing in disbelief, “Of course he did. Of course!”

“Come on, kid, give him a break–”

“Dana,” You said, more sharply than you wanted to, “I love you, but I–” You sighed heavily, “Please, just this once, please don’t defend him.”

She sighed and wrapped an arm around you, but then you saw Robby walking towards the two of you and you took off without saying anything. You couldn’t bear to be near him right now. 

Robby frowned when he reached Dana, staring after you, “What was that about?”

She glared at him, “You didn’t tell her it was you who requested she be brought back to day shift?”

Robby sighed and ran a hand over his beard, “You told her?”

“I didn’t know it was a secret.”

He nodded and crossed his arms, looking down towards the ground, “It’s fine, I’ll take care of it.”

“Yeah,” Dana gave a short laugh and began walking away, “You do that.”

***

It was warm out that night three years ago and the first night anyone could remember in a long time that felt almost normal, almost like before the pandemic. With the rollout of the vaccine in the New Year, the constant vigilance was beginning to wane, but only just. But everyone had decided after the last year, they could afford a single night of normalcy with the lifting of most of the restrictions and mask mandates. They had chosen a bar with an outdoor patio and bar, erring on the side of caution, just in case.

You were at a corner table with Jack, on the far side of the patio, squeezing your beer bottle so tightly in your fist, Jack was beginning to grow concerned it would shatter in your hand. Your gaze was fixed across the room on Robby and Heather, Robby’s hand low on her back as she laughed at something he had said. It had been about a week since you had seen them kissing in the ambulance bay and each day since then had become increasingly more difficult.

“You gonna torture yourself all night?” Jack asked, his gaze following yours.

Reluctantly, you tore your eyes from them and back to Jack, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’ve been torturing myself for ten plus years or something.”

He tilted his head and one corner of his lips turned up just slightly, “You ever tell him how you feel?”

You barked a laugh and took a sip of your beer, “Right. As if he doesn’t already know.”

Jack shrugged, “He's pretty terrible at picking up on that sort of thing. And besides, it’s not like you haven’t dated anyone in the last ten or so years.”

It was true, you had tried dating other men. But never for very long. It always became evident that you would choose Robby over any of them, no matter how badly you wished it wasn’t true.

And Robby had dated many women over the years. It had always bothered you, but never as much as this. When it felt like he was copying and pasting your younger, less jaded self. 

But maybe you were self-aggrandizing. After all, even though everyone in the ER had seemed to pick up on the something going on between the two of you, he had never been so publicly affectionate with you. Maybe it wasn’t about you at all. Maybe he actually loved her.

You shook your head, “He knows how I feel.” Your brain floated backwards, pulling the last few weeks to the surface. The fighting and the begging and the way he always knew you would let him back into your bed. He knew. He had to.

“So, what now, then?” Jack asked.

You turned to look at him, “What do you mean?”

He shrugged, “Doesn’t seem healthy for it to continue like this, especially when you’re still grieving Adamson. So what’re you gonna do?”

You leaned back in your chair, shoulder leaning against Jack’s, and looked back to Robby and Heather who were now kissing. You were assaulted with a memory from just a month ago when you had held him, cradled his head to your chest as he cried in your entryway. Afterward, he had fucked you, tender and then desperate, bent you over your kitchen table. 

Now his tongue was down somebody else’s throat. Swallowing hard, you turned back to Jack.

“I don’t know.” You said, and the sentence brought tears to your eyes, “If I could figure out some way to stop feeling like this about him, I would’ve done it by now. I would give anything not to feel like this anymore.”

Jack sighed and then pulled you into his chest, a hand on the back of your neck, “It’s alright,” He murmured into your hair, “You’re gonna be alright.”

You pulled away slightly, looking up into his hazel eyes. Why couldn’t you love this man instead? The one who went to therapy and could read people from a mile away. Jack would’ve known you were in love with him immediately and either would have created a boundary if he didn’t feel the same or have loved you unabashedly. He would never have left you in this emotional purgatory, never sure how he felt from one day to the next.

It’s this drunken line of thought that has you leaning up and into him, eyes darting at the last second towards Robby to see if he was watching.

Jack pulled away, eyes still gentle, almost pitying as he shook his head, “If you’re looking to piss him off, it won’t be with me, kid. I’m sorry.”

Oh, it wasn’t fair. You couldn’t have anything because of Robby. Again and again you thought of the resident who had fallen in love with him and hated her a little more. You wished you could go back and send her on a different path. Any one, just not this one. 

You felt like a petulant child, and maybe the whole thing was complicated by the grief, maybe it was why you had reverted to such immature pettiness, but you hated Robby for it. And you hated yourself.

Your face crumpled, “I’m sorry,” You mumbled, tears caught and strangled your voice, “I didn’t mean it.”

“Shhh,” Jack slid out of his chair, “It’s okay, come on, let’s get you out before he sees you, okay?” He came around to your side and gently hauled you up, wrapping an arm around your waist as he guided you towards the exit.

Neither of you noticed how Robby stared after you both, jaw clenched. He was fairly certain the arm around your waist was platonic, but it had his hackles raising anyway. And then he was annoyed with himself for feeling that way. You could date or sleep with whoever you wanted, that had always been the understanding between the two of you. Even if that someone turned out to be his best friend.

But you had never been with someone he had felt truly threatened by. But Jack… Jack could sweep you off your feet, no question.

And fuck, you deserved that, someone who would treat you right. Love you in a way he didn’t think he would ever be capable of. So did Jack. If the two of you fell in love, he could be happy for you. 

Just not tonight.

Against his better judgment, he followed you both beyond the patio, to the front of the bar where it was quieter. 

The sight of the two of you entangled made him feel sick immediately. Irrationally, he wanted to reach for you, pull you away from him—

But then he heard you crying. Jack still had an arm around your waist, his other hand gently cradling your head to his shoulder. He was whispering things to you that Robby couldn’t hear as you cried.

Instinctually, he wanted to help. He had held you while you cried more times than he could count, and you had done the same for him. He couldn’t fathom that you could be crying like this and not running to you. It was what the two of you had always done, held the pieces together when the other was falling apart.

But as he took a step forward, Jack locked eyes with him and gave a short shake of his head. Don’t.

And then he realized, this was because of him. It shouldn’t have been a surprise, shouldn’t have stung. You hadn’t really been speaking to him since you found out about Heather. He assumed, like everything else, that it would ease with time. 

But now you were seeking comfort in Jack’s arms, and not his. 

He took a few careful steps backwards, the wrongness of it all felt like a shard of glass had been wedged into his chest. He was heading back to the bar, but you were out here, falling apart. 

He ordered another drink, dismissed Heather when she asked if everything was okay. Pulling out his phone, he typed a text out to Jack: You’ll make sure she gets home safe?

Jack sent back a thumbs up emoji just a minute later. But it didn’t ease the tightness in his chest.

You leaned your head against the cool glass window in Jack’s truck as he drove you home, the quiet lull of the radio the only sound. 

He walked you all the way up to your door, even though you insisted it wasn’t necessary, and then wrapped you up in his arms again. You inhaled a shaky breath and rested your head on his shoulder.

“You can call me, whenever, you know?” He said, “Robby’s not the only one who cares about you.”

You could hear the worry in his voice. You knew you were acting erratically at work. No patients had ever been endangered, but you weren’t yourself. You didn’t feel like yourself. The loss of Adamson had fundamentally changed you in ways you couldn’t come back from, but that didn’t stop you from wishing you could rewind the tape back. You ended more shifts than not on the roof, on the wrong side of the railing. 

Robby had extubated Adamson, but it was you who had convinced him to. Had begged him to with tears streaming down your cheeks. You didn’t want to watch Adamson die, but you couldn’t be responsible for losing another little girl. Couldn’t have it on your conscience that Adamson had been on the ECMO for seventeen days with no hope for recovery while a child was waiting on it. You knew Adamson would have made the same choice, but Robby had looked at you with such hopelessness on his face, even as he agreed. 

Agreed because he knew, even though you hadn’t said it, you were thinking of your niece when you looked at that little girl. Your goddaughter that you couldn’t save years ago, the loss that had existentially altered the way you saw your career. The grief that only Robby had been able to pull you out of by the skin of his teeth.

Then that little girl had died too and you had gone to the roof to scream. Cursed cosmic forces, God, or whomever who had allowed it all to happen. You couldn’t bear it, Adamson, the way that girl had looked just like your niece when you extubated her, her mother’s screams over the phone resonating just like your sister’s. The grief felt like a monster clawing its way out of your chest. And Robby had followed you up, trapped you against his chest as you both shook with sobs.

Robby’s not the only one who cares about you.

Sure, logically, you could wrap your head around that fact. But he had been the only one who was there for those losses. Had held you through them and watched the aftermath as you slowly imploded.

And it seemed he had decided it was too much. After everything the two of you had been through together, he couldn’t see you through this one. He didn’t want to.

Maybe Robby wasn’t the only person who cared about you. Maybe Jack and Dana loved you too. But they hadn’t seen the worst of you and then decided to walk away. Maybe if they had, they would make the same choices he had.

But you gave Jack a watery smile anyway, “I know.” 

***

“Doctor Y/N, do you have a second?” Robby’s voice came from the threshold of your patient’s room. He leaned against the door frame, lightly tapping it with his fist as he smiled at the patient.

You forced a smile for your patient, “I’ll be right back.”

As soon as you were out the door, he was steering you by the shoulders into a patient’s room and closing the door behind you. 

You pretended to be unaffected by his touch. It was the first time you had been alone with him since returning to the day shift and you wondered if he could see the longing warring with the anger on your face.

“Look,” He started, crossing his arms over his chest, “I’m sorry that I asked Gloria to move you here. We are short staffed and she offered me Shen,” He shook his head, “If you were me could you tell me that you would have picked Shen over you?”

You hated the way that tugged a smirk at the corner of your mouth. Shen was a great doctor, but his whole vibe and attitude had unsettled both you and Robby. It was something you had joked about when he was still a resident, that his energy was created in a lab specifically for the night shift. But you shook it off.

“You knew being here would hurt me and you did it anyway.”

He scoffed, “What would you have me do? You don’t answer my calls, you ignore me at shift change, am I just supposed to accept that this is it? After everything, this is how it’ll always be between us from now on?”

“You didn’t seem to have a problem with that when you and Heather were together.”

He squeezed his eyes shut and ran his hands along his cheeks to the back of his neck, “And what about you, huh?” He asked quietly.

You sighed, “What about me?”

“You went home with Jack that night, did you sleep in his bed?”

Your eyes narrowed in confusion, “What are you talking about?”

“That night at the bar. Three years ago, right before you switched to the night shift.”

Slowly, it came into focus. Robby and Collins kissing at the bar. Your tearful conversation with Jack. The way you had tried to kiss him. Him walking you out, an arm around your waist.

Your laugh came out sharp and jagged, “Are you fucking kidding me?” He continued to stare at you and you gaped at him, “No,” You said bitterly, “Not that it would be any of your fucking business if I had.”

“Well apparently Heather and I were your business seeing as you unilaterally decided to end our friendship over it.”

You closed your eyes, pretended that every word coming out of his mouth didn’t feel like a punch in the gut to you, “If you still can’t understand why that hurt me so badly,” You said, slow and soft, “Then I have nothing more to say to you.”

You sidestepped him and left the room before he could stop you, swallowing back the tears that threatened to spill over.

Dana watched from across the way as you stormed away, Robby following shortly after, staring longingly after you, jaw clenched. She walked over to Robby and put a gentle hand on his arm, not saying anything.

“She hates me.” He said.

Dana blew out a long breath between her lips, “You wanna know my advice?” Robby turned to her, sad eyes in full swing, “Keep trying. She’s scared to let you in again. She thinks you’ve replaced her with Collins.”

“What?” He laughed, “She said that?” Dana nodded and he shook his head, mouth gaping open, “That’s ridiculous.”

But even as he said it, he knew it wasn’t true. He hadn’t consciously tried to replace you, it wasn’t possible to. The years of history between you both were insurmountable. The relationship was so convoluted and tangled it couldn’t be replicated. But now that Dana had said it, it wasn’t hard to see how you had connected those dots, regardless of what he had intended.

“Keep trying,” Dana repeated and lightly squeezed his arm before walking off.

***

When you saw the nurses wheeling Mr. Spencer, Robby’s pneumonia patient, towards pedes, your breath caught painfully in your throat. Without thinking, you walked over to Dana, “Where are they bringing Mr. Spencer?”

“Pedes, why?” She took off her glasses as she looked up from her iPad.

You swallowed, “Robby’s still on that case?”

“Yeah.”

Fuck. He had already handled the overdose teen, something you knew wasn’t easy for him because of Jake. He had intubated Mr. Spencer even though he knew it wouldn’t save him. Now you could only assume he’d have to extubate in the same room he had extubated Adamson.

“Where is he?”

“Who? Robby?” You nodded, “I think he’s with the parents of the overdose teen.”

“Thanks,” You said and then headed for him. 

It was ridiculous, you knew, the way you were running back to him. Less than two hours after your argument. You wanted to hold on to your anger because you were afraid of what was underneath it, but you didn’t want to watch him fall apart, either. And despite it all, you knew he’d have your back in the same way. Today and everyday. 

“Robby,” His name came out frantic as you watched him walk out of an exam room, turning to the hand sanitizer dispenser. He looked up at you, question in his eyes as he rubbed the sanitizer into his hands, “Uh, Mr. Spencer. Could I take over his case?” 

The words came out rushed and breathless. He tilted his head in question, “I already have an established relationship with his family and they’re having a tough enough time with the end of life care. Why do you want him?”

You opened your mouth to speak, prepared to come up with some lie, some excuse, but found you couldn’t do it, “They moved him to pedes.” You said softly, “I just, um,” You sighed, “I thought I could handle the extubation for you.”

When you looked up at him, his eyes had softened. You again noticed how he hadn’t been sleeping, how his eyes seemed almost permanently red rimmed. And now, besides the sadness and the grief that always seemed to be there when he looked at you, there was what looked like a tinge of relief.

He gave you a sad smile, “It’s okay,” He said softly, “I got it.” 

And then he sidestepped you, walking towards pedes. You followed, feeling desperate to stop this. Stop it like you hadn’t been able or willing to four years ago. You hadn’t volunteered yourself to extubate Adamson, though, you doubted Robby would have let you then either. You still wish you had tried to protect him from that. Even if it would have broken you, maybe one of you would have gotten out unscathed.

But that wasn’t true either, no matter how badly you wished for it. There was no alternate dimension where you and Robby left that day intact, unharmed.

“What if…” You lengthened your strides to keep up with him, “What if I extubated while you were in the room? With the family?”

He slowed to a stop and turned back to you, causing you to nearly collide with his chest, “I appreciate what you’re trying to do,” He said gently, “Really, but it’s okay. I can do it by myself.”

“What if I just stand in the room then?”

“You should be seeing other patients.”

You shook your head, “This is where I need to be right now. The patients can wait a few minutes. There are plenty of residents to attend to them.” He looked like he was going to say no again. “Please.” You said, desperately, “You wanted me here, so I’m here. Let me help you.”

That seemed to catch his attention and his eyes locked back on yours. He searched your face for a moment, eyes lingering too long on your mouth before they travelled back up, “Okay.” He started walking again, “You can stand in the room.”

The relief you feel that he accepted your help is short lived, because now you’re standing in pedes, a place you had somehow mostly managed to avoid since Adamson, and you can’t seem to pull enough air into your lungs. 

You lace your hands together behind your back as you listen to Robby and Mr. Spencer’s children speak. 

But you’re not really here, you’re back four years ago, sitting at Adamson’s bedside, Robby beside you. The inside of the PPE is suffocating and sweaty with the tears streaming down your face and snot dripping out your nose. One gloved hand holds Adamson’s hand, the other holds Robby’s, the heat from your hands feeding through the gloves. You’re squeezing Robby’s hand repeatedly, needing him to squeeze back so you know he’s still there, still breathing. Because even then, you knew this may push him far away from you. 

You blink and Robby’s face is in front of yours, no PPE, just watery eyes and calloused hands on your cheeks, “You okay?”

In a moment of weakness, you leaned into his touch, closed your eyes and nodded. He stays like that for a moment before dropping his hands and standing next to you, shoulders touching.

Listening to Mr. Spencer’s rattled breathing, you slide your hand down Robby’s arm and intertwined your fingers. You heard Robby’s sharp intake of breath.

After a moment, he squeezed your hand.

[risunsky]

~Fucking V~

Ref : 1781 painting "The Nightmare" by Swiss painter Henry Fuseli

I thought this painting would be a perfect representation of Copia's torment, as he is having a very hard time being replaced by Perpetua. While V is barely aware of the problem, hence his almost inocent expression. You can get a colour version of this artwork if you support me on ko-fi.

Over the last few months I've become so interested in the cross-hatching technique that I've started a collection of artbooks in this style, beginning with the magnificent work of Gustave Doré.

[xximperioxx]

Currently working on another Robby fic! Hoping to have it out soon (I have the idea I just have to write it lmao)! <3

[asxgard]

Be. | one shot

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x f!MedStudent!reader

Requested

Summary: You had no intentions of falling for the sad-eyed attending on one of your rotations. And yet, here you are.

[ Masterlist ]

Request: I know your requests are closed so this can be when you’re back because this idea is eating me alive. I was wondering if you could do a Dr. Robby x reader in their early 20s if you are comfortable with that. No one knows about them until either Abbott or Dana come to check on him at his apartment after Pitt Fest and they open the door in his sweatshirt. They talk to Robby and make jokes like “so do you have to pick her up from school?” But in the end they see his face with them and they understand why they are together. Love your writing! It’s been fueling my Pitt brain rot.

Note: Thank you for your request, @im-not-okay-i-promise1452 ! I hope you enjoy it💜

Word Count: 2.8k

Most of my works are 18+ due to adult language and content.

Warnings: age gap (reader is 23, Robby is late 40s), hospital setting, medical inaccuracies, implied smut, foul language, death of a patient, canon-typical gore, Pittfest mentions, Robby having a hard time with feelings, reader has parents (slightly older than Robby)

not beta read

It had started on med school rotation, after meeting the chief attending. You were fresh-eyed and eager, just coming off an internal medicine rotation. The ED had been a mess you were not quite expecting. You knew almost immediately that it was not the place for you, but you had every intention of finishing the rotation just to prove to yourself that you could.

You flustered in his company, heart beating like a hummingbird's wings and you felt just as delicate. A crush on your attending felt like a break in protocol, a break in your carefully curated plan of med school, residency, attending or physician in a clinic. You were hung up on his age, which helped you keep your distance, and eventually you just tried to avoid him unless he was showing you something.

Sticking closer to Langdon or Collins felt like a safer bet until the rotation was through.

It was impossible to avoid him forever, it seemed, especially in the chaos of the Pitt. Two patients had been rushed in after an MVA — and you raced behind Langdon as he got the vitals of the first patient.

Seven month pregnant woman, awake and alert, with abrasions along her arms and legs, but a bruise already forming from the seatbelt. She grabbed your hand while Langdon was rattling off her vitals as she was rolled into Trauma-1.

“You’ve got to save my baby,” she cried, face scrunched in pain. “Please, it’s too soon.”

It squeezed your heart and you wordlessly nodded at her. “We’re doing everything we can.”

Robby walked into the room with an air of confidence, and it seemed to reassure you. Until her blood pressure crashed and the code blue began — L&D had been called, but they had yet to make it. You each took turns with compressions, and you felt as if you had completely stopped breathing.

The main focus had been to bring back the woman, even as the fetal heartbeat stuttered to a stop. A L&D attending rushed in the assess the situation, and you moved out of the way until your back hit the wall, stuck frozen as the scene played out.

The attending and Robby argued back and forth over something, but everything sounded like a high pitched whine. Langdon resumed compressions and you eventually got control of your limbs again, only to run out of the room.

Your breathing had come in shallow pants, like your lungs could not take in the air you desperately needed. You vaguely heard Dana call out to you, but perhaps it had been in your head. Everything felt like it was closing in on you, like despite any efforts made, it still would never be enough.

You found the stairwell without meaning to and collapsed on the stairs. Seconds blurred into minutes as you sat there, head between your knees so you didn’t throw up or pass out. Just hours before, you had been stone faced and helpful when a man had come in holding his intestines in his hands. The blood or the gore had not phased you — but this woman? Her baby?

It rattled something to your core.

Someone sat beside you, not speaking, simply just sitting. It made your hairs stand on end, and when you pulled your head up to look at them, you realized your vision had gone blurry. You frantically wiped away your tears to see Robby sitting there, elbows on his knees, hands together, looking down at the tile like it had personally offended him.

“Dr. Robby,” you said, sticking the heels of your hands into your eyes to try to stop the tears. “I’m sorry—I won’t—it—that won’t happen again.”

He glanced over at you, “First one is always the hardest.”

You sucked in a breath, “So she’s—”

He nodded solemnly, “Fischer thinks the baby might make it.”

You swallowed thickly, “That’s good.”

Silence encased you, but the rush of anxiety being alone with him did not flush through your system. While it was a painful silence, it was one being shared.

The way his eyes swept over your face made you blush, “You’re doing good, kid.”

“I don’t think emergency medicine is for me.” You told him, like it was some moral failing.

He blinked, “Your options are always open. Your next rotation, you might find something you love.”

“When I got placed here, I guess I just wanted to prove that I could do it, you know?”

“And aren’t you?” He asked, “One patient doesn’t change the fact that you’re still doing well. Hard worker, dedicated, eager to learn and you’re excellent with patients. I can clearly see that you care.”

Heat warmed your cheeks.

He stood slowly and extended his hand, “Let’s get back out there so you can kick this rotation’s ass.”

You barked a laugh before covering your mouth with your hand. You grabbed his hand and stood, ignoring your burning cheeks.

“Thank you, Dr. Robby.”

He let go of your hand and nodded, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate, yeah?”

You smiled at him.

—

The end of your rotation came with a bit more sadness than you had expected. Not so much to be leaving the Pitt — you were quite happy about that — but the fact that you were not likely to see Robby again.

On your last day, Robby tried to have you in as many complicated cases as he could — even when only a few came through the door. He wanted for you to take as much knowledge from your time in the Pitt as possible, and you found it incredibly endearing. You shadowed him for a majority of the day, rather than Langdon or Collins.

Though, the evening came without fanfare — only people wishing you luck on your next rotation and you bid them goodbye. Robby walked with you outside.

He rubbed the back of his neck when you stopped on the sidewalk, and he looked away from you. He pulled a yellow sticky note out of his pocket, before handing it over to you. His name was scrawled at the top in his messy script, and underneath laid a seven digit number preceded by the Pittsburgh area code.

Robby’s phone number.

Your breath caught in your throat and you looked him in the eyes.

“In case you ever need anything. School. Rotations. Life. Just uh…give me a call. Or a text.”

You looked back down at it as your heart thundered nervously in your chest. After a few frantic beats, you finally got yourself to smile at him. “Thank you, Dr. Robby.

“Uh, just Robby’s fine. Or Mike—Michael, works too.”

“Thank you,” you repeated, “Robby.”

You ended up reaching out to him a lot sooner than you were expecting, asking if he was free to meet over coffee to discuss your upcoming COMAT exam. Despite having zero time to study, you truly just wanted to be able to see him again, perhaps pick his brain about some of the specialties you were thinking of, but certainly not the exam.

When you met up, it was easy to talk about what you had been up to, how you were liking family medicine, and how he had been since you had last seen him.

You were thankful that it didn’t feel awkward or forced. The attraction you had felt for him back in the Pitt had come crawling back into your chest and made it as if it had never left. His warm brown eyes on yours made it obvious it never had.

Talking over coffee became a weekly occurrence after that. Part of it felt inappropriate as the conversations ebbed away from school and his advice, and closer to something a touch more intimate and mature.

You wondered if he was just placating you, or perhaps even pitying you, until several weeks later. He had sat down red cheeked and flustered, though you were quick to see it was not from the biting Pittsburgh wind.

“You alright, Robby?”

He met your eyes quickly, before glancing away again. “I don’t know if this is forward—I was hoping you might want to grab dinner sometime?”

You stared at him, momentarily dumbfounded. “Are you asking me out?”

“That would be…” He sighed, before rushing out, “Yeah, yeah I am.”

Your smile seemed to ease the tension in his shoulders.

“Dinner sounds good.”

—

It had been difficult to figure out, to say the least. While your age gap was controversial to many, it only reared its head to you when Robby mentioned an old movie quote that had you raising a questioning eyebrow at him. He would look mildly dumbfounded that you hadn’t seen it, or hadn’t heard the song he was humming, before resorting to show it to you.

You hadn’t enjoyed the judgment at first, but you knew his intentions were not bad — he was not looking to just have sex with you, which was refreshing. None of the guys in your program were particularly interested in anything serious, and most of the men you had met outside med school were too intimidated to seek much else. Like you, Robby was looking for something serious.

You were just surprised to find it before residency in the sad-eyed attending from your last rotation. But it was good, and no one could take that from you.

Robby wasn’t looking to rush or pressure you, and you weren’t looking to fool around and break his heart. Boundaries were easily set, and expectations laid out, and soon enough, he was calling you his girlfriend.

Your parents would likely have an aneurysm once they found out his age — they had already made a fuss to find out you were dating, “don’t let this impact your grades, young lady!” — but you had decided to wait until graduation, over a year away. Robby had respected your decision, knowing how focused you were on studying. You knew he had been nervous to meet them, and you would be lying to yourself if you weren’t nervous, too.

Robby was nearly your father’s age, which had bridged some uncomfortable conversations early on about daddy issues.

Your nose scrunched up, “I really don’t think that’s what it is. I’m not seeing you to get under his skin, or get his attention, or resolve some trauma about my father. It’s a lot less complicated than that.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“I like you. I enjoy talking with you. I enjoy watching those stupid old movies,” part of your lip quirked up, “but more importantly, I like how you make me feel. I like who I am when I’m with you. I don’t feel like I have to hide or pretend, or try to be something I’m not.”

“You just get to be.” Robby said, finishing your thought.

You lit up at the way he seemed to immediately understand.

“And for the record, 80’s movies aren’t old.” His frown was playful.

You laughed, “Whatever you say, old man.”

You ended up paying for that comment all night long, more-so to prove a point, but you could hardly complain. At least not until the following morning when you woke with a soreness that should have been a crime and an ache for more that was completely impure.

A few months rolled into a year and eventually you started the fall semester with a rotation in pediatrics as an MS4. It was hard not to venture down in the Pitt to visit Robby, but after about a week, you got up the nerve to go and say hello.

You spoke with Dana, and Collins, waving at Princess and Perlah as they passed. Dana was happy to see you, and asked how you were faring upstairs.

“A lot better than I was down in here.” You chuckled.

Dana waved it off, “You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, kid. I know you’ll find something.”

You bid a goodbye with a promise to stop by again — subtly looking for Robby, and now having an excuse to see him during this rotation. He looked surprised to see you, and played up the pleasantries as to not look obvious.

“What a surprise. You wanna come back to the Pitt?”

You laughed, “No.”

Robby liked to keep his private life out of prying eyes, and certainly away from the gossiping nurses, and you respected that. You let him walk you out, exchanging small talk. Once outside, he snuck a quick kiss.

“Meet you at mine tonight?”

“Me and my textbooks will be there.” You said with a smile.

—

Pittfest had been a nightmare made real, and finding Robby on that roof after only twelve hours since Jack had been in the same spot had made him worry. Robby had looked so broken, and after the day Dana had, Jack had volunteered to be the one to go check on him.

Knocking on Robby’s apartment door, a six pack in hand to have an excuse to show up, the last thing Jack had expected was a pretty young thing to answer his door. Jack blinked dumbly, looking back to the apartment number, thinking perhaps he had knocked on the wrong door.

Looking back to you, Jack noticed you were dressed in a hoodie he knew was Robby’s — hems frayed and collar worn out, the university lettering fading with use. Your eyes moved from his face to the case of beer in his hand then back to his face.

Jack finally got his lips to move, “Is Robby home?”

You only blinked, and then smiled softly. You called for him over your shoulder, and Robby came from around the corner with his eyebrows drawn close in confusion. He still looked completely worn down, but he was in new clothes.

“Hey, brother,” Jack ventured, glancing at you in the corner of his eye.

Robby’s head moved just a hair in the slightest nod. It was a movement Jack barely registered, but you had.

You introduced yourself quickly, and Jack shook your hand before coming inside. You disappeared into the kitchen, out of eyesight.

Jack raised an eyebrow at him, setting the beer on the coffee table.

“I didn’t realize you were…seeing someone.”

Robby rubbed the back of his neck, sighing, “Yeah.”

Jack sat on one of the L-shaped couch, cracking open one of the beers. He handed one over and Robby took it.

“Wanted to check in…finding you on that rooftop, I didn’t want you to be alone.” Jack looked toward the kitchen. “Didn’t realize you wouldn’t be.”

Robby only shrugged, “Told her to stay home, meet me here.”

Jack absorbed the information, “She a…resident?”

It was easy to see the rose color tinting at his cheeks, “Med student.”

Jack let out a low whistle, “How the hell did you manage that?”

“She passed through the Pitt on rotation.” Robby offered, looking at the beer in his hand. “Started seeing each other after that.”

“So you’ve got game.” Jack nodded, smirking slightly.

Robby chuckled, sipping his beer.

“Can she even drink one of these?”

Robby choked on the liquid, coughing a few times before looking at Jack wildly. “She’s twenty-three.”

Jack raised his hands in defense, “Had to ask.”

Robby’s nose scrunched up, “I’m not a—”

“I know, I know.” Jack said, “So you drop off at school?”

Letting out an exasperated sigh, Robby shook his head, rubbing a hand on his face.

“Alright, she drop you off at the old folks—”

“You done?” Robby deadpanned.

“Okay, okay. That was the last one.” Jack chuckled.

Robby laughed, so many pent up emotions clearly overflowing. He took a few deep breaths and shook his head.

“What a day. Thought I had a few more months before I broke the news to everyone slowly.”

Jack raised an eyebrow at him, “You were gonna tell us?”

“Eventually. We wanted to take our time — knew how people were likely going to respond.”

Jack frowned.

You appeared again, sweatpants now joining the oversized sweatshirt — Robby’s sweatshirt. You smiled sheepishly, taking a seat beside Robby. The sleeves were just a bit too long for you, but you looked at home in it.

Jack’s mind was swimming — looking to just check in on his friend and instead finding a relationship Robby had kept secret from everyone. His mind kept jumping to you using his friend, or his friend seeking companionship in problematic places — until your hands intertwined and Robby’s entire body relaxed.

The way your eyes swept over Robby’s face with affection dripping with love and care, or the way he kissed the back of your hand like it was holding him together. The way Robby looked at you like Jack was not even there, and you smiled back at him with a soft adoration, quiet and tired, but deliberate. Deliberate in the way someone chose to care about someone else, a decision made every day, even when it got hard.

Jack settled deeper into the couch, no longer on guard, no longer concerned his friend would fall flat on his face after falling in too deep.

“I’m happy for you.” Jack told you both, and Robby smiled at him genuinely. Jack took a quick swing of his beer, smiling to himself.

Dana was going to love Jack’s update in the morning.

want to join any of my taglists? shoot me a message!

Dr. Robby taglist: @cherriready @seeyalaterinnovator @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @bxxbxy @18lkpeters @flyinglama @hagarsays @mayabbot @anakingreys @happyfox43 @dark-twisted-and-mechanical-mind @sarah-the-bird-nerd @girl-obsessed-with-things @laurenkate79 @woodxtock @rosie-posie08 @artsymaddie @partofthelouniverse @diasnohibng @qardasngan @looneylooomis @happyfestpanda-blog

The Pitt taglist: @cannonindeez @spoiledflor @kittenhawkk @nessamc @thatchickwiththecamera @sharkluver @loud-mouph @ksyn-faith @sunfairyy @dragonsondragons @mischiefsemimanaged @pastelbunnelby @jetjuliette @that-one-fangirl69 @moonlightmvrvel @andabuttonnose @boldlyherdream @cosmosnkaz @brnesblogposts @concentratedconcrete @satanxklaus @gardeniarose13

All: @nixandtonic

This feels like it might inspire something longer👀a reader this young might be problematic, but damn it’s fun! And fictional!

[drrobbysbabygirl]

2 Hands

A/N: It's finished! It’s already been posted to ao3, which I’ll make a separate post about. I had SO much writing this, and I hope y’all enjoy it as much I do!

Word count: 9.8k (It got a bit out of hand)

Warnings: Masturbation, faginal fingering, vaginal sex, oral sex (f!receiving), creampie. I think that’s it, but let me know if I missed anything! ASFAB!reader, reader is 25-35, has hair, and is described as shorter and smaller than Robby.

It all started with a brush of his hand over yours, as cliche as it sounds. It was a quick thing, his large hand over yours in the middle of intubating a patient whose airway was blocked by blood. It wasn't something you put too much thought into until later, when you were home in your empty apartment, sunk low into your bathtub, stroking over the spot he had touched. Robby was touchy; it was well known within the Pitt. He’d squeeze a shoulder, gently touch a hip to get past, or hover with a hand on your lower back for stabilization when guiding a tricky procedure. It wasn't the first time one of his large hands had touched you, nor was it the first time it had fanned the flames of desire low in your belly. But it was the first time he had looked at you and not through you while doing it. It was there and gone in an instant. 

As a third-year resident, you had been giving orders to the interns hanging near the patient, demanding more space and orders for propofol and ketamine for sedation. You couldn’t see, but you had done more intubations than you could count and knew you could do it. However, the patient's blood pressure tanked, and Robby grew irritated and snapped at you to move. You had a stubborn streak a mile wide and were confident in your abilities, but you also knew when to ask for help. 

You had shaken your head. “I just need help, but I can do it,” you said tensely.

Then, before you could blink, Robby was beside you, his warm hand on yours, helping you guide the tube down the blocked airway. After the tube was placed and you were pushing more meds, you had caught Robby looking at you from the corner of your eye. He didn’t say a word; he just looked you in the eye before walking out to assist with another patient. 

Two patients later, Robby had found you. “You could have cowered and let me do it instead, but you knew you could do it, and you asked for help when you needed it, good job,” he had said, brushing his fingers over your arm. You had shivered, and he noticed, letting his fingers linger just a second longer than he should have, his eyes open and gleaming with something you couldn’t put your finger on.

Then, you were fresh out of the bath, lying in bed, imagining where else those hands could go. It wasn’t something you made a habit of; it was bad enough that you thought about him nonstop during the daylight hours, at work, nonetheless. The last thing you wanted was for your…infatuation with your attending to reach a level you couldn’t handle. But as your hand slid down your body, the only thing you could think of was how Robby’s large hands would feel on you, how hard he’d grip your thighs, or how big they’d look on your breasts, and especially how they would look between your thighs. You threw your head back as you pictured it, circling your clit with a soft moan. Your breath came out in short pants as you imagined just how full two of his fingers would make you feel, or how his larger frame would loom over you. You rubbed faster and slipped a finger inside yourself, gasping as you thought about how deep his voice would get, and how deep he'd bury himself inside of you when he finally sank inside your velvet heat. You cried out into your empty apartment, the thought of Robby’s large hands roaming your body and the deep rasp of his voice as he praised you just enough to send you over the edge. You didn’t make a habit of it, but sometimes the temptation was too great to ignore.

The next time, you didn’t think anything of it. It was weeks later, the ED was at a lull, and you had been catching up on charting, your fingers practically dancing over the computer keys. Every once in a while, you would look down and scribble a note into your small notebook. Eventually, your pen stopped working and wouldn't work again, despite your scribbling in the margins. “Dana, can you toss me a pen?” you asked the older woman. Engrossed in her own charting, she had replied absentmindedly, “Yeah, just give me one sec.” 

Robby, who had been leaning against the nurse's station, piped up. “Here, take mine, I have more in my locker,” he said. When you hesitated (pens were personal around the ED), Robby had taken his pen out of his scrub top pocket and physically put it in your hand, letting his hand linger momentarily, all while staring you in the eyes. You glanced down at your lap, uncommonly shy, and when you glanced up, he had still been staring at you, a look in his big eyes that tugged at your heart. You ripped your eyes away, cheeks pink, but before your thoughts could stray too far into not-safe-for-work thoughts, the ambulance bay had opened, and a seizing patient was wheeled in. Robby had tossed a glance at you, and before you blinked, the two of you were over to the woman, going through the checklist to stop the seizing. 

The time after that, your suspicions were confirmed. It had been six p.m., two hours before you were both scheduled to be off, which meant at least two hours before you actually went home. You had a massive headache and knew you were dehydrated. Your monogrammed cup had long been left behind at a different station, and you had just been ready to go home and crawl into bed. 

“You look like you need this,” Robby had said, materializing out of thin air, your cup in his hand. 

“Jesus,” you said, throwing your hand over your heart. “If you do that again, you may be down a resident,” you joked tiredly. 

Robby had laughed, and your cheeks heated up. You liked it when he laughed, and enjoyed it even more when it was you causing it. “Well, I’ll be more careful next time, I definitely can’t afford to lose the staff I have, especially one of my best residents,” he said, the corner of his mouth tipping up.

“I’d be careful, praise like that could go to my head and inflate my ego,” you quipped. 

Robby tilted his head to the right thoughtfully, slowly reaching out with his long fingers to touch the inside of your knee. You had swallowed heavily, your eyes never leaving his as his fingers stayed there for three long seconds, and then another, and another. “Maybe it should, you deserve every bit you get,” he said honestly. 

You swallowed hard, your cheeks heating up once again, and you watched as his eyes tracked the movement of your throat. He moved half an inch closer, and you nearly gasped when his whole hand enveloped your knee. You had stared up at him, water long forgotten, but then you were ripped out of your reverie by Trinity yelling across the ED for Robby. Robby’s hand had fallen away like something had burned him, but the look he threw over his shoulder was enough to make your cheeks heat up again. 

By somewhere around the eleventh time, and many months later, you had started to play along and would intentionally seek out his touch. You’d pass by him, ghosting your fingers over his hip, or brush your fingers over his when you passed him something in the break room on the rare chances you got to eat. Occasionally, you would be brave and place your smaller hand on his if he stayed still long enough and no one was paying attention. The most memorable occasion happened on a cloudy day in June, after you had worn his patience thin. 

You had been sassing him all day, bantering back and forth like always. At one point, though, he must have gotten tired of it and snipped at you. You had been surprised, but didn’t let it outwardly show. This thing between you may have grown, but you were still first and foremost a professional. So, you finished what you had been doing, swiftly threw your gloves away, sarcastically patted his shoulder, and walked out of the room without a second glance. 

Later, after he had finished with that patient, he found you tucked in a corner at a portable workstation. You had been pretending to work for the better part of twenty minutes, glancing at him across the room, when you worked up the nerve. You had jumped slightly at the touch of his hand against your hip, and he made a soft sound of reassurance. He pretended to look over your shoulder, like he was consulting on what you had been working on. 

“Did I upset you?” he had asked, his voice hushed but earnest. You didn’t immediately respond, body tense. You were upset but didn’t want him to know it immediately. Some groveling would do him good. He leaned closer. “I know you hear me, I can practically feel your pulse through your scrubs,” he had commented, squeezing your hip gently. 

You had shaken your head. “No, I’m fine,” you said curtly. You knew it was ridiculous to be upset about something as small as Robby getting pissy at you. Robby snapped at most people at some point throughout the day; you just happened to have drawn the short stick for the day. 

“I know you better than that by now, whether you realize it or not. I see the way you look at me; look at my hands,” he had said, giving another slight squeeze to get his point across before continuing. “I shouldn’t have snapped. I’ll try not to let it happen again,” he assured you. Your spine was ramrod straight, and you had felt the tension radiating from him behind you. He went to pull his hand away, and you could see his panicked, shuddered expression from the corner of your eye. Before he could pull away, you had reached behind you and wrapped your small fingers around his wrist, keeping it in place.

You slowly let your body relax, the thought of him entirely pulling away from you more than enough to encourage your mind to slow down. “You didn’t read this wrong,” you had assured, already aware of where his brain went. 

“I didn’t,” he asked, voice small. “Because you can tell me to fuck off right now and I swear to god I’ll never touch you again,” he swore. 

“No,” you said, dropping your hand as someone walked by, “you didn’t,” you finished. 

“Good.”

Robby had wrapped his long fingers around the curve of your hip, squeezed with his whole hand, pulled away, and walked off, his calm exterior back in place like he had never lost it. 

After that, it turned into a game: How many times could you get his hands on you in one shift without it being glaringly obvious? It turns out there were quite a few; you just had to be more subtle about it. But, much to your frustration, it never evolved into anything more than the brief touches. You were wary of making a firmer move, even though you had somewhat of a confirmation that Robby felt something for you, he was still your superior. Over the months his eyes had gotten softer towards you, but he still had a guarded aura around him, like he was afraid you would change your mind and tell him to fuck off at any moment. You had no intention of doing that, but your frustration was starting to reach its peak. 

When your best friend, Dr. Samira Mohan, slid up next to you, you had been looking up at the board, scanning for a new case, and occasionally glancing at Robby across the room. “So, has that happened yet?” she said casually.

Your eyes had instantly snapped away from Robby to glance at her, and your cheeks heated when she raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow at you. “I don’t know what you are talking about,” you hummed.

She smirked, and you glanced across the room reflexively, just to find Robby already staring at you. You forced yourself to turn towards Samira, whose smirk had grown. “So?” 

“No. Apparently, he’s determined to drive me insane,” you sighed. 

“You should be straightforward. Invite him out for drinks, or if you’re feeling saucy, just invite him back to your place,” Samira had said, shrugging. 

It was your turn to smirk. “Is that how you got Abbot?” you asked slyly. 

Her cheeks had pinked, but she smiled. “That is exactly how I got Abbot,” she responded. 

“Robby is a bit different than Abbot, in lots of ways. I think he’s a bit worried I’ll change my mind, which is ridiculous because we haven't even done anything for me to change my mind about,” you grumbled. 

“Dr. Robby is more reserved, maybe, but he’s still a man. I would just use that, bend over in front of him, or something,” she had said, eyes focused on the board. 

You laughed. Samira was nothing but direct. It was something that you appreciated about her. “I think I’ll wait just a bit longer, I’m sure I’ll think of something, or who knows, maybe he’ll surprise me,” you said. 

Samira had looked doubtful about your approach, but your conversation was cut short when Robby called her to assist with a patient. 

It all came to a head exactly a month after your conversation with Samira, and four days before you, half the residents, a handful of interns, and most of the attendings were due to be in Boston for a fundraiser gala. 

All the months of touching, of longing for Robby’s hands on you, led to now. 

“Sir, I’m going to need you to calm down,” you said firmly, attempting to shine your pen light into the man’s eyes. 

“I’m not calming down, you need to calm down,” your patient jerked away as he shouted, slurring his words. 

He was drunk, so much so that his buddies decided to drop him off outside the ambulance bay, unconscious, for Dana to find on a smoke break.   

Now, he was wide awake, and pissed. 

“Are you in any pain…” you asked, glancing at his chart, “Mr. Wade?”

“No,” he snapped, rubbing at his arms aggressively. “Get these fucking bugs off me,” he complained loudly, scratching at his arms.

“Bugs?” You said, slightly alarmed. The last thing you needed this week was another lice treatment. It was only Wednesday, and once was enough. You glanced down, but his arms were bug-free, and a quick glance at the rest of him told you so was the rest of his body. 

“Yeah, bugs! Jesus fuck lady use your eyes,” he said agressivly, now scratching at his arms so hard blood was starting to appear from unhealed scabs. 

“Perlah, get me fifty of Benadryl and two of Lorazepam,” you called to the Filipino nurse. Alcohol induuced hallucinations were common, especially the closer it got to summer. 

“On it,” she said, walking away. 

“Okay, sir, I am so sorry about those bugs. I’m going to get something to help you calm down and take care of the bugs,” you said, trying to soothe the larger man. 

“I told you, I am fucking calm,” Mr. Wade yelled, attemptig to rise from the gurney. 

You placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to ease him back down, but that made him angrier. “Get your hands off me dammit, fuck, they are everywhere,” he exclaimed, now wobily standing on his feet. You heard Perlah’s tennis shoes across the room, and a quick yell for security. 

“Sir, please sit back, do-” 

The larger man cut you off by screaming. “Get them off! Get them off! 

“Sir, I’m just trying-” Once again, he cut you off, only this time, he used his weight against you, and pushed into you. 

The world went sideways, and you felt the thunk of your head against the linoleum. You had just enough time to cry out in pain before Robby was above you, cradling your head in his hands. 

“Don't move,” he said, voice uncharacteristically soft. 

“It hurts,” you groaned.

“I need Neuro down here, and order an MRI, no contrast,” Robby barked. You heard the shuffling of feet and Mr. Wade being hauled away. 

“How bad does it hurt, one to ten?” Robby asked, shifting so that your head was cradled in his lap. 

“Three,” you said, grimacing. 

“Don’t bullshit me right now,” Robby said seriously, a shadow passing over his face. 

“Five, final answer,” you groaned again. 

“Okay, okay, we can work with a five, he said, running his hand over the crown of your head. His lips twitched when you pushed your head further into his hand. “Any blurry vision or spotting?” He asked. 

“No, Dr. Robby,” you told him, cheeks heating up. He looked at you like you were going to disappear, and you could see the desperation lurking in his deep brown eyes. 

“Robby, they are here to take her up to the MRI,” Dana said, resting a hand on the older man’s shoulder. 

Robby closed his eyes and sighed deeply. “Okay, come on, sweetheart, I’ll be here when you get back,” he said gently, helping you up off the floor into a wheelchair. 

Your heart fluttered at the nickname. Inconspicuous touching was one thing, but him calling you a term of endearment in front of other people was entirely different.

“I can walk, I’m fine,” you tried to assure your attending. 

Robby shook his head. “Nope, you fell and hit your head for Christ’s sake, you could have a concussion. Sit your ass down, and we’ll talk when your neuro work up and MRI is done,” he said, placing a hand on his hip. 

You sighed and let the medical assistant wheel you away. You knew a losing battle when you saw one. 

Later, after being cleared by neuro and being assured that you did not have a concussion, you walked back into the ED.

Samira found you first. “Well, I said get his attention, but I didn’t think you'd go that big,” she laughed and nudged your shoulder with hers. 

You giggled and rolled your eyes. “I can promise that was not the plan, but I guess it worked,” you told her.

“Oh yeah, it worked for sure,” she said, nodding in the direction Robby was approaching. You sucked a breath in at the instense look on his handsome face. “Good luck,” Samira sang before walking away. 

“You didn’t come and get me,” Robby stated as he stopped before you. 

“I’m fine, no concussion. Neuro even said I could stay for the rest of my shift,” you told him. 

He made a sound of disbelief. “Absolutely not,” he said. 

You ground your teeth together. You should have guessed he’d be this way. The way he had looked at you when he held your head in his hands…something changed for him. You could see it in his expression now. 

“Neuro said-” He held a hand up.

“I don't care what Neuro said; I’m your attending, and you need rest,” he said. 

“Is that your professional opinion?” you asked tersely. 

He squeezed his eyes shut, took his glasses off, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I mean it, go home, and don’t come back tomorrow. I’ll see you Friday when we fly to Boston,” he said, eyes burning.

“Dr. Robby,” you said, attempting to regain control of the conversation. 

“Home,” he said, voice raised. 

Your whole body was tense, even when he deflated and reached out to touch your elbow gently. “Please, go home. Rest, it’s going to be a long weekend,” he told you, rubbing gentle circles into your elbow. 

It took everything you had to pull away from him. You snatched your arm to your body, and his eyes widened. “Hey, I-”

“I’ll see you Friday, Dr. Robby,” you told him before walking away. 

You drove home in silence, and once home, you mechanically removed your scrubs, showered, and crawled into bed. It wasn't even six. You fell face forward into your pillow and screamed. Damn Robby and his big brown eyes. You knew he sent you home because he cared, but it still upset you. You really were fine. Really. You only closed your eyes because your pillow was so soft. 

Hours later, your doorbell ringing woke you up. You blinked awake and slipped on your slippers. The doorbell rang again. “I’m coming,” you called. Door-to-door salesmen were the worst in your neighborhood. 

“I’m not interested in what-” Your mouth snapped shut when you saw Robby standing on your porch, a bag of takeout in his hand. 

“Dr. Robby,” you said primly. 

“Sweetheart,” he said gently, eyes fond. 

“Oh, we are back to sweetheart?” you asked. 

Robby grimaced. “I was an ass, but god honey, you scared the hell out me,” he told you, eyes shining. 

You felt the tension bleed out of you. “At least you see me now,” you joked weakly. 

Robby shook his head. “I’ve always seen you. Always. I-” he cut himself off, pinching his nose in frustration. I got you some food, it's just some soup, but you didn’t eat anything today, so…” he trailed off, offering you the bag.

Your stomach flipped at his observation. “Do you want to come in?” you asked hesitantly. 

Robby shook his head jerkily. “No, I shouldn’t, can’t actually, I uh, I have to get home, but I’ll see you Friday,” he said, stepping back. 

“Oh. Okay, um. Bye,” you said, closing the door as he turned away. 

Once inside, you opened the food container to find warm matzo ball soup. You smiled and brought it into your room to eat. After you ate, it didn’t take long for you to fall back asleep, a smile on your face. 

The next day passed in a blur, as you used the unexpected day off to run errands. You picked up your two formal dresses early, made a last-minute hair appointment, and even had time to get your nails done. By the time you got home, you were exhausted. You might not have had a concussion, but the excitement of the previous day, plus the anticipation of Robby seeing you in your gowns, was enough to have you going to bed early.

Friday came early. Your phone rang on your bedside table, and you blindly picked it up. “You're packed and ready, right?” Samira questioned. 

“Samira, it is,” you checked the time, “it is seven A.M. Our flight isn’t until one,” you groaned.

“Right, but I wanted to check on you,” your friend told you.

You smiled. “I’m okay. Robby came by after he got off yesterday and brought me food,” you told her. 

“Oh my god, shut up,” Samira responded.

“Yeah, don’t get any funny ideas, though. He didn’t stay,” you said. 

“Oh, I’m not worried. I know what your dresses look like, he doesn’t,” she said confidently.

You laughed. You and Samira had gone shopping almost immediately after getting your invitations to the gala. 

“If you wait until Saturday night, I’ll split the pool with you,” she said kindly. 

“The pool,” you exclaimed, laughing. 

“Oh yeah, did I not tell you? It's up to about five hundred dollars,” she explained. 

“Oh my god, who has bets in?” you wondered, still giggling. You genuinely thought you and Robby had been better at hiding whatever was happening between you. 

“Like, everyone. Trinity bet on tomorrow, in the bathroom. I think Jack bet on tonight, but on the balcony or something like that,” Samira said gleefully. 

“Abbot bet,” you gasped in between giggles. 

“Oh yeah, he was the one who created it,” she told you. You heard murmuring in the background of the call. “He says no pressure, by the way,” she informed. 

“I’m hanging up now, I’ll see you both in a few hours, you responded. 

After arriving at the airport, you slid onto a bar stool and ordered a drink while waiting for boarding. 

“Nervous flyer?” Robby asked, sliding onto the stool beside you. 

Your heart rate spiked, glancing at his fingers as he flagged down a waiter. 

“Scotch, neat,” he told the man. 

It had only been two days since you had seen him, but you had missed him. Robby glanced at you, and your cheeks heated at being caught watching him.

“No, I thought I’d just wind down a bit, it’s going to be a long weekend, after all,” you said, echoing his earlier words. 

“Ah, not a bad choice,” he responded, bringing his glass to his lips. 

“What about you, Dr. Robby, are you a nervous flyer?” you asked, looking into his eyes as you sipped your drink. 

The older man shook his head. “No, not at all. But I think you can call me Robby now, sweetheart. After all these months seeing you watch my hands the way you do, I have a strong hunch it’s what you call me in that pretty head of yours anyway,” he said casually, taking another sip of his scotch. 

You sucked a sharp breath in and he smirked. “Well then, Robby, I’ll see you on the plane,” you said, tossing the rest of the drink back as Samira and Abbot approached. 

“Just the person I wanted to see,” you told your friend, reaching out to link your arm with hers. “I have to use the ladies' room,” you said, looking Samira in the eyes. 

Her eyes sparkled, glancing from your face to Robby’s. “Oh, perfect, me too, we’ll see you guys later,” she said, steering you away from the older men.

“Oh my god, Mira, he’s trying to drive me insane,” you gasped the second the two of you stepped into the ladies' room. 

She giggled. “Hopefully, Jack will talk some sense into him,” she said, looking into the large mirror to fix a stray hair.

“God, I can only hope so, because I’m telling you, he started this thing, he can finish it,” you said. 

“Oh, it will be finished,” your friend paused to wiggle her eyebrows, “by the end of the weekend, of that I’m sure. Like I said, I know what those dresses look like,” she said. 

You rolled your eyes and grabbed her hand. “Come on, I think it’s almost time to board,” you said, dragging her out of the restroom.

You noticed Robby had an empty seat beside him as you boarded, but you just brushed your hand on his shoulder as you passed. You and Samira went for two empty seats a few rows ahead. The two hours passed quickly. It had been a while since you and Samira had uninterrupted time to talk, and it was nice to catch up with her. You didn’t see Robby again until you arrived at the hotel. He was just putting his key card into his door slot when you got off the elevator. He paused and watched as you rolled your suitcase down the hallway, stopping a few doors from where he stood. 

He watched you for a moment, multiple emotions flitting across his face as you stood there and stared back.

“I’ll see you in a few hours, Robby,” you said, slipping inside your room. 

You sighed happily as you walked in. The hospital was too cheap to hire more nurses, but obviously not too cheap to put all the doctors in a nice hotel. You carefully unpacked your things and hung up your two evening dresses in the closet. 

You laid on the bed, sighing as the cool sheets touch your skin. You glanced at your watch, deciding that you had enough time for a quick bath. 

You had just wrapped a fluffy towel around your body when your phone lit up with a text from Samira letting you know she, Cassie, Trinity, and Mel were coming to your room to get ready. You had just enough time to slip into your robe before a loud knock sounded on your door. You opened the door, and all four women filtered in, their intermingling conversations filling the ample space in your room. 

“Okay!” Samira clapped. “We have two and a half hours to get ready. I,” she paused, pointing to her travel makeup case, “will be in charge of makeup, Cassie is in charge of hair, Trinity is in charge of the tunes, and Mel will assist with hair,”  she finished. 

“And me,” you asked your best friend. 

“You, my gorgeous friend, are in charge of raiding the minibar. If the hospital is dumb enough to pay for a bunch of stressed-out doctors to relax for a weekend, that’s on them,” Samira said, shrugging. 

Cassie laughed. “We are here to bag donors, actually,” she said. 

Samira waved her hand. “Samantics,” she said as she opened up her makeup case. 

Trinity turned the music on, and Cassie got her hair tools plugged in.

You turned to the mini bar, and felt Mel come up next to you. “Do they have juice in there? I don’t really drink,” she explained. 

You smiled and pulled out a bottle of sparkling grape juice. “Even better,” you told her. She smiled, and you smiled back.

“Do you think you could do my hair in a twist?” you asked as you poured the drinks. 

“Oh, definitely, I can do most basic styles, my sister loves it when I play with her hair, so I have learned all sorts of tricks,” Mel explained as she sipped her drink. 

“I love that,” you told Mel. 

Two hours quickly passed, and you thought the five of you looked radiant by the time jewelry was being put on. 

Trinity was wearing a red, tight fitting dress with a corset top and a small slit in the bottom, Mel was wearing a soft lilac colored dress that had small sleeves, and she had curled her hair. Cassie had straightened her hair and was wearing a deep emerald floor-length gown with a tasteful cut-out in the back. Samira’s dress was a deep, jewel-toned purple with a bust that went straight across. 

You stepped out of the bathroom, and Trinity whistled. You were wearing a deep navy, floor-length gown. It had a deep neckline, and it fit you perfectly.  “Damn, is it too late to change my bet,” Trinity wondered. 

“Yes!” Cassie said emphatically. 

You glanced at the older woman, and she shrugged. “It is,” she said. 

“Mel, did you bet?” you asked, giggling.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “But I think Frank did. Oh, I was going to meet him downstairs to look at the garden,” she said, grabbing her bag. 

“I actually brought Mateo as my plus one, and he’s waiting in our room,” Cassie confessed. 

The other two women made similar comments, Trinity saying that she wanted to find Yolanda, and Samira saying she wanted to ‘show Jack something’ before they went downstairs. Your friends trailed out of your room, and Samira turned to face you, the door propped open with her black heel. “You gonna be okay? I can go find Robby and smack some sense into him, bets be damned,” she said, eyes sparkling.

“No, I’m going to go ahead and head to the ballroom. I think I need something to calm my nerves, just a bit,” you laughed.

Samira nodded and paused, looking you in the eye. “You’re going to knock him dead,” she assured you before letting the door shut behind her. 

You smiled and turned to look at the floor-length mirror against the wall, smoothing over your dress once more before walking out the door, your wristlet tucked under your arm. 

“Fuck,” you heard. 

You turned to find Robby staring at you. Even a few feet away, you could see how his eyes darkened. He was wearing a simple, fitted black suit that hugged him in all the right ways. 

You smiled and made your way to the elevator, Robby close behind you. You pressed the ballroom button, and Robby stood next to you. “You look, fuck, you look gorgeous, sweetheart,” the older man rasped, hand rubbing as his flushed neck. 

You tracked the movement of his hand with your eyes, and he smirked just as the elevator doors opened. You both stepped into the empty elevator, standing side by side, and you watched his expression in the mirrored walls as you reached your pinky out just enough to trace over his larger one. 

Robby made a slight noise in his throat before surprising you by grabbing your hand and threading his fingers through yours, his grip firm. “You have no idea, no idea, how much self-control it is taking for me not to press you up against the wall of this elevator,” the older man said, eyes staring into your soul through your reflection. 

You sucked a breath in, pulse fluttering wildly as you stared at your intwined hands. His hand practically swallowed yours. 

“I read an article once that said letting yourself lose control in a contained environment can be good for self-development.” 

“Is that what the kids are calling it these days? Self-development?” he asked, eyebrow raised. 

Your cheeks heated up. “It’s a real article, I could send it to you sometime,” you said, aiming for casual. You rubbed your thumb against the taller man’s hand, and he made a low sound. 

Before he could respond, the elevator opened. You both stepped out, hands still intertwined. He glanced at you. His jaw was clenched, and he was looking at you like he wanted to eat you. He took a deep breath, dropped your hand, and walked away, but not before you noticed the slight tremble in his hands. 

Later, after multiple flutes of champagne and more schmoozing than you had anticipated, a younger donor approached you. He looked younger than Robby, though not by much, and had kind eyes. “Would you like to dance?” he asked. 

Your eyes scanned the room, and when you didn’t spot a particular doctor to come to rescue, you smiled and accepted the stranger’s outstretched hand. “I’d love to,” you told him. 

He kept his hands in the appropriate spots, and you talked as you danced. He told you he was from the area, that he was an attending, and that he specialized in cardiac surgery. In return, you told him your hometown, that you were a third-year resident, and that you planned on specializing in emergency medicine. 

Pleasant conversation flowed until the song ended, and then you excused yourself to get a glass of water. Samira found you at one of the small tables in the room. “I don’t know what you did, but Robby looks like he’s about to lose it,” she said conspiratorially. 

“Huh? I thought he went back up to his room. I haven’t seen him in an hour,” you told your friend. 

She shook her head. “Nope. He’s been down here the whole time, see,” she said, pointing over to a shadowy corner where Robby was talking to an older woman in a mauve dress. 

You looked over and felt your knees go weak at the way he was looking at you. His eyes glinted in the ballroom's low light, and his jaw was clenched. His hands were balled into loose fists, and you could see them twitching occasionally. 

“I danced with a potential donor, but it was all very PG,” you assured your friend when you saw the look on her face. 

“Well, I guess that was enough to make the green monster come alive in Robby. Look alive,” she said before slipping away. Just as the live band was getting ready to play a new song, you looked up and saw Robby making his way across the room. 

It was the second to last song of the night, and Robby practically swept you into his arms. “Dance with me,” he demanded, voice low. You nodded rapidly and let your hands fall into position just as he wrapped a firm hand around your waist. “Having fun,” the older man asked, voice laced with double meaning. 

You ignored his jealousy and fluttered your eyelashes at him. “I am, Robby, are you?” you asked innocently. 

“Oh yeah, lots. Meeting up with old acquaintances, enjoying the free champagne, watching you look for me while another man’s hands were on you, all hallmarks of a great evening,” he said. 

“I thought you left, but I’m glad you didn’t,” you confessed, squeezing his hand lightly. Some of the fire in his eyes died down at your confession. 

“I wouldn’t have left without telling you, sweetheart,” the older man said as he spun you around. 

“Good, I was hoping to get at least one dance out of you before the night was over,” you admitted. 

“Do my hands feel better than his?” Robby asked as he squeezed your hip. 

“Robby,” you gasped as he pulled you closer. 

“Answer me, sweetheart,” he told you. 

“Yes, a thousand times better, I only ever want your hands on me,” you groaned. 

“Damn straight,” he said before pulling you in for a kiss. 

You gasped, and he gripped you harder, letting his big hands fan over your hips. 

He seemed to possess you, mind, body, and spirit, and you let out a tiny moan when he pulled away.

“I know our friends are going to a bar, but I suggest you go up to bed and go to sleep for the night, because the second you step out of this ballroom, there is a very strong possibility that I won’t be able to control myself,” he growled. 

Your breath came out quicker, and you let yourself lean into him. “What if I don’t want you to control yourself?” you asked, voice low. 

He shook his head. “Because I promised Gloria two full nights of ass kissing, and God only knows we need whatever resources she is going to send the ED’s way if I fulfill that promise,” he explained, eyes never leaving yours. 

“Well then, in that case,” you said, pulling away, “ I’ll just take care of myself.”

Before you could entirely pull away, he pulled you flush against him, and you could feel the outline of him pressed against your hip. “You just love testing my patience, don’t you?” he groaned into your hair. 

“It’s quickly becoming one of my favorite pastimes, yes,” you quipped. He groaned again and pressed a single kiss to the space below your ear. 

“Go, sweetheart. I’ll see you in the morning,” he said, releasing you. 

You grabbed his hand, placed a chaste kiss on his palm, and walked away. 

When you got to your room, you fell back on the plush bed and squealed. “Holy shit,” you said into the empty room. It took way less time to undo the evening's preparation than it did to do them, and soon you slipped under the cool sheets. You knew you’d be too wound up to sleep, but it didn’t hurt to try. Right before you closed your eyes, you pulled your phone out and sent Robby the article you had referred to earlier in the night, in the elevator. 

The next morning, it was your turn to wake Samira up. 

“Wha?” She mumbled. 

“Good morning to you, too!” You laughed. 

“Too early,” she complained. 

“What, did Abbot keep you up all night?” you asked. 

“Something like that. I made him come twice last night,” she said, voice smug. 

“She did not need to know that,” you heard Abbot complain. 

“That’s actually pretty impressive, on account of him being an old man,” you teased. 

You heard him mumble something. “He said, just wait, you’ll understand,” she giggled. 

Your face heated up just thinking about Robby. “The girls want to go shopping,” you told her, attempting to change the subject. 

“Don’t think you are out of talking about whatever happened last night. I can be ready in fifteen,” she told you. 

Later, after a nice breakfast and a pit stop at a cute coffee house, the five of you wandered around the shopping district. 

“Jack told me about a lingerie shop I wanted to stop by. It’s supposedly higher-end stuff, but well worth it,” Samira said, switching her armful of bags to her other arm. 

“I could use some new panties,” Mel agreed. 

Trinity made a face. “Mel, you know I love you, but please just say underwear,” she said. 

“Panties is not a bad word,” Mel responded, glancing at Trinity when the younger woman made another face. 

“I think that sounds great, it’s been a while since I’ve splurged on myself,” Cassie interjected. 

“And you need something for Robby,” Samira said, pointing the group in the right direction. 

“You guys are horrible,” you said, a smile on your face. “I don't even know if anything is going to happen,” you said, trying to tamp down the excitement of the thought of Robby seeing you undressed. 

“Please, we all saw that kiss last night,” Trinity said, sipping her iced coffee. 

“It was a nice kiss,” Mel said kindly. 

“It was a nice kiss, thank you, Mel. And it was just a kiss,” you told your friend ass you walked into the small shop. 

“I’ll believe that only if the pool goes uncollected,” Samira said seriously. 

“Hello ladies,” the shop attendant said, smiling. “Are you looking for anything in particular?” she asked. 

“Yes!” Cassie said. “Our friend here needs something that will blow her man's mind. Her older man,” she emphasized. 

“I see,” the woman said brightly. 

“I just want something nice,” you shrugged, cheeks warm from your friend’s encouragement. “My dress is a deep wine color, if that helps,” you supplied. 

“It does, I have a few sets in mind. Ladies, my associate Angela will help you while I help your friend here,” the woman said. 

Thirty minutes later, you stepped out of the secluded changing room, cheeks pink as your friends whistled at you. There was no such thing as modesty with ER doctors. A jet black teddy clung to your body, with a single thin ribbon settled between your cheeks. 

“Girl, if you don't buy that and send that man a picture, I’m going to do it for you,” Trinity threatened. 

“You could always send him that one, but buy a different one to surprise him,” Mel suggested. 

“Ooh, send him three different ones, so then it’s really a surprise,” Cassie said, sipping her coffee. 

“Oh, that’s good too,” Mel agreed, nodding. 

Samira held out the next set for you to try on with a smirk. 

“That might give him a heart attack before I get to kiss him again,” you joked as you slipped the teddy off behind the curtain. (but not before taking a picture).

“He’s surrounded by doctors,” he’ll be fine,” Cassie said, giggling. 

You stepped back out, feeling more confident as your friends cheered. You wore a sheer, white lace suit with matching thigh highs and garters attached.

“Oh, that one is beautiful,” Mel said, her cheeks matching yours. 

“If that doesn’t make him lose his mind, I don't know what will,” Trinity agreed.

“One more,” Samira sang, dangling the hanger at you. 

You snapped a nice picture before shimmying into the next one, a deep red slip that had lace detailing on the breasts and a slit through the delicate chiffon. 

“That one is great, but it’s up to you,” Samira said. 

You nodded and slipped back into the booth to snap a quick picture and change back into your clothes.

“We have enough time to get lunch before we head back to get ready,” Mel pointed out as the five of you walked out of the shop, arms even more weighed down with bags. 

“Good, I’m starving,” Trinity said, groaning. 

You: Attachment: three photos

You watched as the three bubbles appeared and then disappeared. 

Samira laughed at her phone from across the table. “Jack said he dropped his phone,” she said.

You smiled. 

Robby: What the fuck is that

You: I tried a few things on, do you not like them?

The bubbles appeared and then disappeared. Then, repeated the process. 

 Robby’s name flashed across your screen a few seconds later, signaling a call. 

“Shit, he’s calling,” you said, standing up. 

“Go! You better answer that thing,” Cassie told you with a grin.

You rushed to the bathroom and stuffed yourself in a stall before hitting the answer button. 

“Hello?” you asked breathlessly. 

“Sweetheart,” Robby groaned. 

“Hi,” you said softly. 

“Hi? That’s all I get after you show me how pretty you are all wrapped up in lace,” he asked. 

You laughed, but he continued. “You wear one of those tonight, and I guarantee my hand will end up making a necklace around your throat,” he growled.

“Robby,” you gasped, a flash of heat going through you at his words. 

“Babygirl, I can promise you, when I get my hands on you tonight, they aren’t leaving your body until you are begging me to stop,” he promised darkly. 

“Oh my god,” you whimpered. 

“Now, back to lunch. I’m going to take care of a little problem that you created. I’ll see you tonight, sweetheart,” he said before hanging up. 

You cursed and let your head fall back against the stall. How did a few innocent touches end up with your attending spewing filth at you over the phone? You shook your head, trying to clear your thoughts. You sighed and rubbed your thighs together briefly before returning to your friends.

Hours later, after going through the hair and makeup process once again, the five of you were ready. Mel had already left to find Langdon and looked beautiful in her soft pink, floor-length halter dress. Cassie had left not long after, her long black dress trailing after her. 

Samira was putting the finishing touches on your makeup as Trinity quickly straightened her hair. 

“I know we have been teasing,” your best friend started, brushing lipstick over your lips. “But whatever happens, or doesn’t, it’s clear to everyone that Robby cares for you,” she said, pulling back. She looked radiant in a light green mermaid dress. Jack Abbot was a lucky man. 

“True,” Trinity agreed. “Even though I’m salty about not winning, you guys are obviously over the moon about each other,” she said, setting the straightener down. She stunned in a royal blue dress with a slit in the side, very similar to her dress the night before.

You checked yourself over one last time, fixing a stray hair as you looked over your wine-red gown. It had a soft neckline and a slit in the thigh. 

“Should we walk down together? I think the attendings are already down there,” Samira said as she grabbed her purse off the bed.

“Absolutely, " you said, taking hold of Trinity’s hand. The younger girl smiled and rolled her eyes fondly. 

Once in the ballroom, Trinity made a beeline for Yolanda, while you and Samira went to the open bar. 

“Two glasses of Merlot,” you told the bartender. 

“You think I might have to give Jack mouth-to-mouth when he sees the thong I bought?” your friend said, smirking into her wine glass. 

“It’s in the realm of possibility,” you laughed as you searched the large room for Robby. You spotted him before he spotted you. He and Abbot were both in deep conversation with a group of donors, and you admired how animated he was. He was laughing and waving his hand in the air, clearly in the middle of a story. 

You sipped your wine as you watched him, and then, as if sensing your eyes on him, he looked up. He stopped midsentence before catching himself and resuming his conversation, glancing at you occasionally as he spoke. 

An older woman approached you, and you lost track of Robby as you talked. The music started, and you were pulled into a dance with a much older gentleman, whom you delighted with stories from the ER. The night went on much the same, and you kept a genuine smile on your face as you talked and danced with prospective donors. You were having fun at the hospital's expense, but securing the funding your department desperately needed was still important. You caught Robby’s eyes from across the room once more as he danced with a donor, who was obliviously chattering away at him while he stared at you. His eyes were heavy, and you could see the fire in them as he danced. 

You snatched a flute of champagne from a passing tray, mouth suddenly dry. 

The song ended, and you felt yourself going to him, as if drawn by a magnet. 

He caught you by the hips as you fell into him. 

“I’ve been watching you, sweetheart,” he murmured into your ear as the next slow song started. 

“Yeah?” You asked breathily. 

“I’ve been so damn hard all night, watching you be so good and talking to everyone, I’ve seen the way the others have been looking at you. Have you felt their eyes on you?” he asked as he dipped you. 

You whimpered at his praise. “No, I’ve only been watching you,” you confessed like a prayer. 

Robby’s mouth twitched, and he pulled you closer. “I can’t stop thinking about how wide your eyes are going to get when I finally get my hands on you,” he whispered roughly into your ear. 

You moaned softly, and he squeezed your hip. “I think it’s time for us to go, don’t you think?” he asked, eyes full of desire. 

You nodded your head as the music came to a stop. He grabbed your hand and practically swept you off your feet, leading the two of you to the bathrooms.

He crowded you into the empty bathroom, hands already squeezing your hips. 

“What about Gloria?” you asked with a gasp. 

“Fuck Gloria, Jack can handle the donors, he owes me one,” Robby said as he tangled his hand in hair. He gently pulled your neck back to attach his lips, and you groaned as he sucked a mark into the tender flesh. 

“Robby, please, don’t make me wait,” you begged. 

The older man moaned lowly and pressed himself against you, moaning again when his cock made contact with your hip. “I’m done waiting, sweetheart. Watching you tonight made me lightheaded, and I barely had a single sip of alcohol. Fuck,” he groaned, hand tugging at your hip, trying desperately to bring you closer.

“Please, I want to touch you,” you whined. 

“Not here,” he said, pulling away. You whined at the loss of contact, and he took your smaller hand in his. “The first time I get my mouth on you is not going to be in a bathroom, no matter how nice it is,” he said, pulling your body back against him. 

“Take me to bed, Dr. Robby,” you said, looking up at him.  

Robby shuddered. “That has no business being that sexy,” he said, sticking his head out of the bathroom, hand never leaving yours. 

“Come on, if I don't have you naked under me in the next ten minutes, I might not be able to be held responsible for what happens,” the older man said, tugging you along to the elevator.  

Once safely behind the elevator doors, Robby pressed you into the wall and gently peeled away the strap of your dress, revealing the white lace that lay underneath. 

“Goddamn babygirl, you’re trying to kill me,” he said, pulling your dress down further to wrap two think fingers around a nipple, causing you to cry out.  

“Robby!”

He pulled back to look into the eyes. “When I have my mouth on you, or you’re in my bed, it’s Michael. Let me hear you say my name, pretty girl,” he said, pinching. 

“Michael,” you groaned as he attached his mouth to your other nipple. 

“That’s it, let me hear you,” he encouraged against your skin. 

Just as you cried out, the elevator came to a halt, and Robby quickly covered you back up. You stepped out first and wrapped a finger around two of his thicker ones, leading him to his room. He fumbled for the key card before inserting it and shoving you inside the room, lips on yours. 

“I could kiss you for hours, sweet girl,” he moaned into your mouth. 

“Just kiss me?” You asked as you pulled his tie off. 

“I’m going to do more than kiss you, of that I can assure you,” he said darkly as he rid himself of his jacket and undershirt. 

“Turn around,” he murmured. You did as he said, and he slowly pulled the zipper down the back of the dress, his breaths coming out in harsh pants. Your dress fell to the floor, and just like that, his hands were finally on you. 

He ripped the panties right off your body, and you cried out in surprise. 

“Those were new,” you gasped as he pressed you against the bed.

“I’ll by you another set, shit, I’ll by you four,” he said as he attached his lips to your skin. 

“You want to know why I didn’t come in when I brought you dinner?” he asked, running his hands along your body. 

“Why,” You whimpered as he sucked a mark onto your breast. 

“Because I knew the second I got my hands on you, I’d never want to take them off,” he said, rubbing his beard against your sensitive skin. His hand went lower, and your fingers gripped his bare shoulders as he ghosted his fingers over your core. 

“I need, fuck, I need,” you whimpered as the older man ran his fingers along theoutside of your lips. 

“Tell me, tell me what you need, honey. I’ll give you anything you want,” Robby cooed against your lips as he stroked your core. 

“You, your fingers. Your fucking pants off,” you cried in frustration, tugging at the older man’s dress pants. He breifly pressed his thumb to your clit and you cursed as he pulled away, divesting himself of his pants, underwhere, and sock. 

He crawled back onto the bed and propped himself up so he was eye level with your pussy. 

“Fuck I can’t wait to taste you,” he groaned as he threw one of your egs over his shoulders. The very next second, his tongue was pressing into you. His big hands held you open as he tasted your slick. 

“Michael,” you gasped, hand flying to hold onto his hair. Robby groaned into you and slid one long finger into you. 

“You taste so fucking good honey, you’re doing so good for me,” he praised. 

“Fuck, fuck,” you screamed, arching into his mouth.

Before you could catch your breath, he slid another finger, causing you to moan at the stretch. 

“More,” you begged, pleading. 

“So fucking greedy for me,” he growled as he slid a third finger inside of you. “Come on, sweetheart, just give me one and I’ll give you what you want,” Robby said into your skin. He curved his fingers just right, and you arched off the bed, mouth shaped in an O as you silently screamed. 

His lips were instantly on yours, and you gasped into his mouth at the taste of yourself on his lips. 

“You’re doing so good for me, baby girl, you think you’re ready for me?” he asked, teasing his tip over your entrance. 

“I need it,” you panted, hair stuck to your forehead with sweat. 

He leaned down and kissed you one more time before pushing in as gently as he could.

“So big,” you gasped into his shoulder.

“Shh, just breathe, baby, you can take it,” he soothed. 

After what felt like forever, he bottomed out, and you gasped, walls fluttering. 

“Fuck, I need-” You felt his whole body twitch. “I need just a second,” he groaned. 

You whined and wiggled your hips. 

“Michael, please,” you begged, tears forming at your waterline. 

He cursed, and his hips reflexively twitched against yours.

“I’m not going to last if you keep doing that,” he warned. 

You clenched around him, and he huffed out a laugh before pulling almost all the way out, before quickly pressing back in.

“Fuck! Please, more. Michael, I need more,” you gasped as the tears fell. 

“Shh, I have you, baby, just let go and feel,” he said before setting a brutal pace. 

You cried out as the tip of his cock hit that spongey spot inside you. 

Robby didn’t let up, groaning when you scratched down his back. 

He pulled your leg up to rest against his hip, and you screamed at the change in angle. 

“I feel so full, oh my god,” you whimpered..

“You’re taking me so fucking well honey, fuck, you should see yourself. Next time I’m fucking you in front of the mirror so you can see how pretty you are when you fall apart,” Robby mumbled, almost to himself. 

“Michael, I’m close,” you gasped, clutching his arms. 

“I love you, fuck do I love you” he gasped, snapping his hips.

“Michael,” you said, eyes wide and full of emotion as you fell apart under him.

“Come on, sweetheart, come for me, let me feel you squeeze me,” he begged, eyes desperate. 

“I’m so close,” you whimpered. Robby leaned down, pressed his lips to yours, and gently wrapped his hand around your throat, applying just the slightest pressure. 

You saw white as your orgasm tore through you, and Robby groaned loudly, hips stilling as he spilled into you. The older man fell forward, landing next to you. You shivered, and he pulled you closer, arranging you so your head was on his chest. He wrapped his arm around you, and you relaxed into his embrace. You both lay there, catching your breath and basking in the afterglow. 

“Did you mean it?” you asked softly, some time later,

He turned to look at you, and you grimaced at the sticky feeling between your legs. 

“I did, and you don’t have to.”

“I love you, too,” you said, cutting him off with a kiss. 

He melted against you and pulled you closer. “I’m so glad,” he confessed against your lips. 

“Will you shower with me?” you asked, looking into his eyes.

“Of course, let’s get cleaned up, sweetheart,” he said, helping you stand, gently laughing when your legs didn’t hold you. 

“I have you, honey, come on,” he said before scooping you up into his strong arms. 

The next morning, as you and Robby boarded the plane, you made eye contact with Abbot and slightly nodded at him. He smirked and whispered to Samira, who stood up from her seat to loudly annouceto the plane, “Jack won the pool, suck it losers!”

Half the plane groaned while Robby simultaneously looked at you with confusion. “What pool? These fuckers bet on us?!”

[xximperioxx]

Help Me Hold Onto You

Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x fem!reader

Word Count: 3.1k (not proofread)

Warnings: parent death (mother) , mourning, panic attack/breakdown(reader throws up), patient death, robby walks in on reader having a panic attack, fluff, age gap, medical inaccuracies, very brief mention reader having tattoos

Notes: For some reason did not include a dad but oh well. Probably why the reader has a thing for Robby. this took me a while to write idk. Also I based the panic attack symptoms on mine so pls don’t come at me. Totally listened to The Archer by Taylor Swift while writing this. Thank you for all the love recently and hope you enjoy <3

——————————————————

You don’t hear Robby’s voice telling you to call the time of death until he puts his hand on your shoulder. You flinch.

You silently watch Donnie and Mateo cover the woman’s body.

“She was your family?” Mel asks

Your eyes pull away from the now sheet covered body to look at her confused, “No, she-she came in yesterday.”

She sees your confusion and nervously rocks on the heels of her feet. “Oh. You called her mom, I just assumed.”

Your head whips up and your eyes burn with anger. “No, I didn’t.”

Mel shrinks and is about to open her mouth before Robby pops his head back into the room instructing everyone to take a break.

An irritated scoff leaves your mouth as you slip away from the group. Donnie and Mateo share a silent look.

Your heart hurts. It’s not that you didn’t believe Mel- you absolutely did. You just didn't think you would slip like that. Someone else’s mom you couldn’t save. You let her slip away like your own mother. Same cause of death. A heart attack.

You come to a stop and your hand rests at your chest. Your heart thumping loudly. Your eyes begin to burn as you try to focus your breathing.

Your feet move you to the closest bathroom which happens to be the unisex bathroom.

You bust open the bathroom door, fully hyperventilating now.

You couldn’t save her. You didn’t even get to say goodbye to your own mother.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mel finds herself approaching Dr. Robby at the hub. “Dr. Robby,” She interrupts, “I’m um… concerned about Dr. (Y/N).”

Robby continues his work on the tablet, “Well, she did just lose a patient, Dr. King, and that doesn’t get easier no matter how many times.”

“She kept calling the patient ‘mom’. At some point during compressions I heard her say, ‘Please don’t do this mom’.” Robby’s eyes glance up with concern. She continues, “I tried to ask her about it and she got angry.”

He sets the tablet on the counter. “I’ll check in on her.” He gestures to the screen, “And you keep up the good work with your patients.”

As Dr. King walks away, Robby slides his glasses to the top of his head before running his hands down his face. He knew something was up. Normally the two of you worked in sync. Two peas in a pod. You were his top senior resident, not that he would admit it out loud.

You were always in his eyesight and even on your days off, Robby’s eyes would search for you. You had taken a few days off during the week and you had left suddenly. Not even letting him know, he had found out from Gloria you would be taking a few days off due to personal reasons. He knew something was wrong when he texted you and never got a response or when you had come back to work with dark circles under your eyes. You looked fragile and not your usual radiant, lighthearted self. There were no jokes, no smiles, no laughs, no glances directed at Robby or anyone in the Pitt.

Robby had watched Gloria approach you at the beginning on your shift. How she took your hands and gently told you something he couldn’t read on lips. How you gave her a weak smile as you said thank you. When you just silently stood with your arms around yourself for a few moments after Gloria walked away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You slide to the floor gripping at your chest and neck as if it would help you breathe.

You don’t hear the door open with the ringing in your ears nor do you see who swiftly comes into the small bathroom. Your eyes are closed with the intent of trying to focus on your heartbeat. Hopefully to also stop the tears from flowing.

Robby rushes into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. He let out a sigh of relief, finally catching a moment to pee.

The sound of a zipper causes your eyes to peek open. A noise attempts to come out of your throat. You recognize the navy blue sweatshirt and cargo pants. Your head finds itself back in between your knees.

Robby jolts at the sudden noise, “Jesus – fuck.” He whips his head around. His eyes widen at the sight of you. “Fuck, (Y/N).”

He quickly zips his pants back up ignoring his belt as he kneels in front of you. His hands pull your face up, his eyes scanning your face. Your name continues to slip from his mouth.

Your eyes open and your vision is still fuzzy. His fingers graze over some stratch marks on your neck before checking your pulse. 160 bpm. Your shortness of breath suddenly turns into dry heaving. Without thinking, you shove Robby to the side and retch into the toilet. All that comes up is the iced coffee you had this morning.

Robby places a gentle hand on your back. You let out a deep sigh of relief. Finally feeling like you can breathe again as if you threw up the heavy feeling in your chest. You finally pull your face away from the toilet and let your body relax. Grabbing some toilet paper, you wipe the lingering tears on your face before looking at Robby.

“I’m sorry for interrupting your bathroom break,” your voice raspy. A tired smile attempts to form.

He leans against the bathroom wall with you. He doesn’t say anything. His eyes studying you. “You doing okay?”

You blink.

He takes in your bloodshot eyes and the dark circles before letting out a nervous chuckle at your reaction.

“Besides the fact that you walked in on me having a panic attack?” You press your lips into a fine line, “Just peachy.”

He nods and nudges your shoulder with his. “What’s going on? You’ve been distant.”

You scoff while standing up. Robby lets out a groan as he stands up, his joints yelling at him. You turn the faucet on and begin washing your hands. Your eyes meet his in the mirror.

“Talk to me,” he pleaded.

You wipe your hands,“That’s rich coming from you.”

Robby wants to flinch. There had been moments in the past where you had begged him to tell you how he was feeling whenever he would shut himself down. You had begged him to let you help him. You always saw right through him. He always pushed you away and you would always pull him back in.

He sighs. “I just want to help you. I’m worried about you.”

You huff, “Just stop. I’m fine. Everything is fine.”

Robby tries to reach for you. You jerk away as your voice wavers, “Please just leave me alone. I-I want to be alone.”

His heart breaks. You sound like him. His lips press together as he watches you unlock the door. He runs his hand through his hair. The roles are reversed now.

You pause before leaving, “Don’t forget to piss.”

All you hear is a snigger as you slip out of the bathroom.

You make your way to the hub. Your eyes up to see Langdon already staring at you. A small smirk resting on his face.

You sigh, “What?”

He leans against the counter, “Don’t think I didn’t notice you just walked out of the single bathroom Robby happens to be in.”

The two senior residents watch Dr. Robby walk out of the bathroom. You quickly clear your throat and reach over Langdon, grabbing a tablet, “You just love being an asshole, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I do.”

Robby would never want to admit it to himself but you’re the one he would risk it all for. Yet he’s too scared to act on his feelings with you. When he looks at you, he’s reminded of his failed relationships and deep down he knows he’s better off alone. He wouldn’t make you happy in the long run. You’re young. You have your whole career left ahead of you and he doesn’t want to put that in jeopardy.

Dana snaps her fingers in front of Robby’s face. He gently shoves her hand out of his way. Her hands now on her waist.

“I’ve been calling your name for like two minutes.” She searches his face. “You okay?”

He aimlessly nods, his mind still on you. Dana gives him an update regarding some patients. Half listening, he glances past Dana and focuses on you. You meet his gaze.

Robby interrupts her, “Do you know what’s going on with (Y/N)? She’s not herself.”

Dana tries to joke, “Worried about her, lover boy?” He gives her a look. “Right. Well, the poor kid just lost her mother. She just lost a part of herself. So of course she’s going to be out of it.”

Robby's face falls. His heart drops. The pit in his stomach is now bigger. Why didn’t you tell him?

Dana notices the look and frowns, “Did she not tell you?”

He goes to look for you but you’re nowhere to be seen. He shakes his head out of frustration. “It’s like she’s shutting me out.”

The charge nurse puts her hand on his shoulder, “Sounds like someone I know.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Robby finds you making a coffee an hour later. Just as you’re about to take a sip, Robby takes the cup out of your hand and tosses it in the trash.

“Robby, are you fucking serious?” If looks could kill.

“You’re going home.”

“What?”

“Grab your bag. You’re going home.”

This time you laugh. You brush past him.

He backs up, blocking the doorway. “I’m serious.”

You look at him unimpressed, “Well, jokes on you I don’t have any more PTO or sick time so I can't leave.” You try to sneak under his arm through the doorway.

His arm curls around you, stopping you once again. He sighs, “As your attending, I am making the decision to send you home.”

You furiously blink away some tears, “You’re going to pull the attending card now, Robby?”

He silently nods.

“Y-You don’t understand I need,” you let out a shaky breath, “–I need to work. Please Michael.”

His lips press into a thin line as the sinking feeling in his chest returns. He was trying to do what’s best for you.

Robby’s arm drops. He looks down and gently takes a hold of your hand, “You need to mourn.”

You rip your hand away. Almost angry he knew about your mother. Your lips trembling while shaking your head, “No-No, I don’t.”

Robby lets out a deep breath. “Please.” Finally, you look up at the man in front of you. “You need to go home.”

You stand there, bitterly wiping away tears as you watch Robby walk away to grab your backpack from the hub. You sniffle.

How could he just send you home like this? How could you let yourself break down this much? He can’t just do this to you when you have tried to help him mourn Adamson for years. You angrily take your bag from his hand and brush past him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Jess, if I get any more sympathy flowers I’m going to start giving them back as a warning. Like an omen.”

Your roommate, Jessica, takes the vase of flowers from you. “I like them. They brighten up the apartment.”

You begin to walk to your room, “Yeah...nothing like being reminded your mom just died with flowers.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it!” She yells from the other room.

You lay on your bed, picking at your fingers. Your eyes close. You haven’t slept in days. You have a migraine from crying. Any time you were alone your thoughts were plagued with her. Childhood memories. Her passing. The future without her. She would never see you get married, meet her grandkids, see you succeed.

Your mind wanders to Robby. She would never meet him. You talked about him enough that she probably had him imaged out. You see him with you. Your future. Together.

Your eyes pop open. Did you just think about marrying him? Suddenly your heart aches, feeling guilty with how you treated him. You were shutting him out. You don’t want to push him away. God if anyone knew what you were going through it would be him.

You stare at the ceiling fan. Maybe you should text him.

“(Y/N)! You have a special delivery.” Your roommate sings out.

You sigh and curl into your bed. You hear her call your name again.

Slowly but surely you stand up from your bed. Your feet pad against the wood floor as you make your way to the living room. You can hear Jess making small talk with someone. “Jess I told you - give the flowers back. Let them be an omen.”

You pause when you see Robby in your apartment. Tired eyes, a warm smile on his face, a hand in his sweatshirt pocket, the other holding a coffee, and his backpack on the floor by his feet. He’s still in his scrub top and cargo pants meaning he had come right after work. To see you.

“What are you doing here?”

His eyes move away from Jess, taking you in. Your hair still damp from a shower, an oversized college shirt, and a pair of pajama shorts. Robby’s eyes can’t help but trail up your legs, noticing tattoos he didn’t know you had.

He snaps out of it, clearing his throat. “I brought you a coffee.”

“To make up for the one you threw out?”

He nods. You purse your lips to stop you from grinning. You take the coffee from his hand.

“I’m uh–going to go grocery shopping. Please make yourself at home.” Jess picks up her bag from the kitchen table. She hesitates, stopping by you. She whispers with excitement, “Is this doctor daddy?”

With a roll of your eyes, you give her a shove. You notice the tip of Robby’s ears turned bright red at the not so quiet comment. Your roommate waves goodbye before heading out.

You take a seat on your couch. “How’d you find my address anyways?”

Robby rubs the back of his neck, “Langdon.”

“That little fucker,” you mutter. He cracks a smile.

Robby follows you to the couch. He walks over to a shelf, admiring your life outside of work in pictures. You sip your coffee. It’s quiet.

He gently picks up a face-down picture frame. It’s you and your mom smiling at each other. You watch him as his eyes study the picture.

“I’m sorry,” you finally speak up. “I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want people knowing.” You sigh, “I guess it’s been a way for me to feel like the whole thing never happened.”

He takes a seat next to you. Your knees touching, “You don’t need to apologize. Especially to me.” He takes a deep breath. “I didn’t mean to send you home like that– I just don’t want you to end up like me.”

“I know you didn’t get to mourn Adamson like you should have. I know it still haunts you.”

He shakes his head almost wincing at his mentor’s name, “I could see myself in you today and that terrified me.”

He reaches for your hand and intertwines your fingers. Your eyes become watery, “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

Robby mutters, “I hated that you shut me out.”

Looking down, you blink away your tears, “I just feel so broken. Alone.”

He looks at you and whispers quietly, “I’ll put you back together,” he lets go of your hand. His calloused fingers trace your jawline, gently turning your head to look at him. “Just like you’re doing with me.”

Your eyes search his, “You would stay?”

A grin spreads onto his face, “Can’t get rid of me. Even if you tried.” His face softens, “Help me hold onto you.”

Your face mirrors his, “I mean I’ve held onto you this long.”

Robby jokes, “I know how you feel now when you try to take care of me.”

You lean into him, “I can be pretty annoying.”

He smirks and leans in closer, “I’d say so.”

“Maybe that’s why we work so well together.”

He brushes your hair out of your face, “And why’s that?”

“We see right through each other.”

There was never a time where you didn’t see through Robby’s bullshit lies. Whenever Gloria would get on his nerves, when he was struggling with his depression or anxiety, or when he had a tough patient. Robby always seemed to know when you didn’t get enough sleep, having a rough mental health day, when you were hangry, or when you just needed a hug.

Robby’s dilated eyes dart down to your lips.

“Are you going to kiss me, Dr. Robinavitch?” You murmured. Your soft lips brush against his.

“If you’d let me.”

He takes your nod as a yes. Robby closes the gap between you and connects your lips together. You immediately reciprocate, gently kissing him back. His rough calloused hands cup your face, deepening the kiss.

After a few seconds you slowly pull away. His forehead rests against yours.

You let out a soft laugh. “I’ve thought about that for an embarrassingly long time.”

A groan rumbles at the back of Robby's throat. “You don’t want to know what I’ve thought about.”

You snicker before placing a soft kiss beneath his beard. “We can discuss that later.”

He pulls your legs over his lap and wraps his arm around you. Your head rests on his chest as his hand rests on your bare thigh.

You listen to his accelerated heart beat slowly calm. He lays his head on top of yours. The two of you sit in comfortable silence. You stifle a yawn.

“I wish you could have met her,” you whisper.

“I would tell her she has the most intelligent and beautiful daughter…” his thumb gently caressing your skin, “And that she won’t have to worry about you because I’m not going anywhere.”

Your heart swells, “Thank you.”

“Adamson is proud of you. I know it.” You mumble into his chest. Robby releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding. A sense of reassurance floods him. Something he hasn’t felt in a while.

After a few moments, Robby hears your breathing become slow and rhythmic.

Robby sighs, “I would also tell your mom–I have loved her daughter for a long time and have just been too afraid to admit it.”

“I love you too, Michael.” You tiredly mumble as the curve of your mouth curled up slightly.

He presses his lips to the top of your head with an embarrassed smile.

~~~~~~~~~~

Jessica comes back to the apartment to find the two of you on the couch. Robby quietly snoring and you in his arms, sleeping for the first time in days.

[mercvry-glow]

all that gleams (18+)

parings. jack abbot x nurse!reader

summary. everyone seems to be hitting on you tonight, and your husband doesn't seem to appreciate all of the attention you're getting.

warnings. this is 18+ so mdni, unprotected sex, p in v sex, rough/jealousy sex, half plot/half porn, sex in the work place, hospital setting, age gap (jack late 40s, reader late 20s to early 30s), reader gets hit on by men who are not jack, non-consensual touching (patient grabs reader), reader has hair, let me know if there's anything else!

notes. where the fuck do I even begin? uhhhh- so many people asked for a sequel to all that glitters and I never thought I'd actually do it but here we are! I absolutely live for their dynamic, and they're softcore rich which is truly the dream. I'm actually really proud of this, especially bc this is my second time writing any form of smut! as always any and all feedback is appreciated and please enjoy!

wc. 4700+

all that glitters

There wasn’t a person in your life who hadn’t told you getting married so young was a mistake. A newly minted nurse with a shiny new degree, a big diamond ring, and a big house in the nicest part of town—people loved to talk. And they did, especially behind your back.

“Too fast,” they said

“Too young.”

 “She doesn’t know what she’s getting into.”

But they didn’t know Jack.

He’d been your constant through it all. Through the twelve-hour shifts, the night terrors you both had but didn’t always talk about, the tangled mess of silky bed sheets and plain coffee mornings. He never missed a beat, not with you. He always made sure the front door was locked, that you didn’t forget to eat, that you never had to face a bad day completely alone.

Jack Abbot was your storm and shelter all at once.

Still, some days it felt like you were speaking two different languages. You’d grown up with champagne brunches, sorority sisters, and an Ivy League education on Daddy’s dime. Jack grew up fast though—boots on the ground, blood on his hands, and scars no one could see unless he let them. 

His world had edges, and darkness only he could understand. 

Yours had comfy throw pillows and a walk-in closet.

Falling for each other had been a whirlwind, but staying in love… that took work. 

Especially now.

Lately, every conversation felt like walking on eggshells. He was short with you. Distant. And maybe you were a little more sensitive than usual—he always said you felt deeply, cared too much. Maybe you did miss the way he used to look at you, touch you, talk to you like you were the only person in the room.

Now? Now he was somewhere else—lost in his head, behind some wall you couldn’t climb no matter how hard you tried.

And you still tried.

 You showed up to work, same time as him, hair curled, and lip gloss on as usual. Your scrubs were still fitted just right, your badge reel sparkled, and your sneakers matched your pastel compression socks of the day. You were tired, overworked, and emotionally frayed—but damn it, you still tried, for yourself, for him, and most certainly for your patients .

He didn’t even say “Hi,” when you checked in.

Just a curt nod, eyes already scanning a trauma sheet.

Fine. You had a job to do anyway.

The ER was chaotic, as usual. You floated between rooms, upbeat as always, soft-voiced with your patients, making the new interns laugh with your sparkly pens and habit of humming softly under your breath.

That’s when he showed up.

Leo, tall, handsome in a sun-kissed, ex-lifeguard in the Baywatch kind of way, and new. The latest temp nurse from another hospital, and definitely not shy.

“You always this put-together at 7 p.m.?” he said, grinning as he helped you restock the IV cart.

You glanced up from your clipboard, smiling just enough. “Only when there’s new employees to impress.”

He laughed, nudging your elbow. “Well, consider me thoroughly impressed.”

Across the hall, you didn’t see Jack. But he was seeing everything.

You caught a flash of movement in your peripheral vision—him, leaning against the med station, pretending to read a chart. The way his jaw clenched was less than subtle. So was the way he suddenly had something urgent to discuss with Dr. Reese, right behind where you were standing.

You didn’t react. Just went back to scanning meds, asking Leo if he needed help finding anything on his first night. You were being polite. Friendly. Maybe a little intentionally oblivious—but only because it felt good to be noticed by anyone today.

Jack didn’t say a word.

But every time you turned around, he was there. Close. Watching.

He didn’t like it. You could feel it.

And for the first time in weeks, you felt something that wasn’t just disappointment.

You felt giddy.

You weren’t trying to make him jealous.

But if he was suddenly remembering the woman he married? The one who lit up a room? The one who still wore t-shirts to bed and nothing else, even when he acted like he didn’t care?

Good.

Let him remember.

The next few hours passed in a blur of motion and monitors—IVs, trauma alerts, vitals to chart and families to console. You stayed busy, focused, but not so focused you didn’t notice the way Jack kept drifting into your orbit.

Not close enough to talk.

Just… there.

Lingering near the nurse’s station when you laughed at something Leo said. Answering the trauma bay calls himself when you usually did first. A silent presence, watching without watching, always just a little too close not to be intentional.

There had been so much to do between learning about coworkers drama, taking care of patients, and dealing with incoming traumas that you’d been on your feet for almost seven hours straight before getting any sort of break.

Still not having found the right time to touch the overnight oats in your lunchbox.

Typical.

You finally ducked into the break room around 2:30 a.m., practically vibrating from a bit too much caffeine and sheer stubbornness. Your sneakers squeaked on the tile as you opened your lunch tote, pulling out your jar with a satisfied “Aha”. You gave it a little shake and popped the lid, the faint scent of almond butter and cinnamon curling into the air.

Leo was already in there, lounging in the corner with a Coke Zero and half a sandwich he didn’t seem particularly interested in eating.

“That looks suspiciously healthy,” he said, eyeing your jar like it confused him.

You grinned. “It’s delicious. Cinnamon, chia seeds, oat milk, with a little bit of honey and almond butter. You should try it sometime—maybe it will lower your blood pressure.”

Leo let out a low whistle. “Oof. She’s cute and judgmental.”

You wiggled your spoon at him. “I’m not judgmental. I’m just stating a fact,”

“Same difference,”

You laughed, shaking your head as you settled on the couch. Your big water tumbler clinked softly on the table as you set it down. Leo glanced at it.

“Okay, real talk. How many cups do you own?”

“Oh at least ten,” you said proudly. “And yes, they all match my scrubs and socks.”

He chuckled. “Of course they do.”

You were in the middle of telling him about your latest homemade electrolyte concoction—something with sea salt, lemon, and maple syrup—when the door creaked open.

Jack stepped inside, silent as ever. No one noticed at first, but you felt him before you saw him. That familiar pull.

You looked up and smiled, just a little.

He didn’t smile back.

He walked to the cabinet, pulled out a pod of instant coffee, and started making the world’s saddest cup of caffeine.

“You good?” you asked, casually, spoon still dangling from your mouth.

Jack shrugged. “Fine.”

Leo gave him a nod. “Rough night, man?”

“Same as every night,” Jack said coolly.

There was a pause.

You went back to your oats.

Leo leaned over slightly, stage-whispering, “Is it true you color-code your vitamins?”

You lit up. “Oh my god, yes! You have to! It’s so satisfying.”

Jack let out a breath—not quite a sigh. Not quite anything.

Just something.

Leo turned to him. “She’s kind of a fairy, huh? Healthy, pretty, and scary organized.”

Jack didn’t answer. Just stirred his coffee with the kind of force that made the spoon clink too loudly against the mug.

“I mean, who even makes time for meal prep on night shift?” Leo kept going, still playful, still oblivious. “She comes in glowing while I’m running on vending machine Pop-Tarts and anxiety.”

You grinned again. “You say that like Pop-Tarts are bad.”

Jack finally looked up. Right at you.

“I liked you better when you were sneaking granola bars from my locker.”

Your breath caught a little—not because it was mean. But because it sounded like a memory.

You raised a brow. “You never let me finish the boxes.”

Jack’s gaze didn’t move.

“Maybe I liked the distraction.”

The room went quiet again.

Leo cleared his throat and stood. “Okay, I’m gonna grab another Coke. You two want anything?”

“No,” Jack said, a little too quickly.

You shook your head. “I’m good, thanks.”

When Leo left, the silence stretched.

You scooped another spoonful of oats, pretending not to feel the weight of Jack’s stare.

“You didn’t answer my text,” he said finally.

You blinked. “Which one?”

“The one about locking the side door this morning.”

“Oh.” You smiled faintly. “Sorry, I was halfway through meal prepping for us and my mom called... You know how she gets.”

Jack nodded, jaw tight. “You’re supposed to text me back.”

You raised a brow again, but this time softer. “Jack. It was about a door.”

“It was about you being safe.”

That landed somewhere in your chest.

You didn’t say anything for a second. Just set your spoon down and leaned back into the couch.

“I was fine,” you said gently. “I promise.”

Jack didn’t reply. But he reached for your cup, unscrewed the lid, and took a sip (not using the straw) like it was the most normal thing in the world.

You stared. “That has lemon in it.”

He grimaced. “Tastes like a scented candle.”

You laughed.

He didn’t.

But the corners of his mouth twitched—just a little.

He set your water with a quiet thud, the lid clicking into place like it was holding something back for him, too.

You tilted your head, watching him in that way you always did when you were trying to read what was going on behind those stormy, hazel eyes. “You're drinking lemon water,” you said, voice lilting. “Should I be worried?”

Jack didn’t look at you. “I was thirsty.”

You smiled. “And yet the entire fridge full of bottled water didn’t do it for you?”

He shrugged.

“Grumpy,” you said under your breath, just loud enough.

His eyes finally flicked to yours. “I’m not grumpy.”

“You kind of are.”

“I’m tired.”

“You always say that when you’re being grumpy.”

Jack gave you a slow look—flat, dry, and just a little amused. “You finished?”

“Not even close,” you said sweetly, your elbow propped on the arm of the couch. “You’re cranky, you’re overcaffeinated, and you get weirdly possessive whenever someone’s nice to me.”

That got his attention.

“I’m not possessive,” he said.

You smirked. “Jack, you nearly snapped Leo’s neck when he said I had good handwriting.”

“That’s not what he said, and you know that.”

You blinked, then laughed. “Okay, fine. ‘Prettiest charting I’ve ever seen,’ and he winked. So what?”

Jack’s jaw tightened—just slightly.

You stood, stretching your arms overhead in a way that made your scrub top ride up just a little. His eyes tracked the motion like muscle memory.

You stepped closer, toes nearly brushing his boots. “I like that you care about this,” you said, softer now. “It’s kind of hot, actually.”

He looked at you—really looked at you—for the first time all night.

“You drive me crazy, kid.” he muttered.

You beamed. “So you are jealous.”

Jack sighed through his nose, the tension melting from his shoulders like an exhale he’d been holding in too long. His hand came up, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, fingers lingering a second too long.

“I know you’re mine,” he said quietly. “I just… sometimes I forget the rest of the world doesn’t always know it.”

Your chest tightened. Not in a painful way. In a finally, you’re here with me again kind of way.

You reached for his hand and squeezed. “Well, they do. But if you ever forget again, I’ll tattoo your name on my ass”

That earned you a snort—low and surprised.

“I’m serious,” you teased, squeezing his fingers. “Right across my cheeks. Property of Jack Abbot. Think it’d go with my Bikinis when I start tanning again?”

His lips twitched. “You’re insane.”

“Mm. And you’re stuck with me.”

“I know,” he murmured, voice quieter now, as he dipped down for a soft kiss,  “Wouldn’t change it.”

And there it was.

The part of him no one else got to see—the softness under all that armor he put up. The way he looked at you like you were the only thing in this chaotic, blood-slicked hospital worth holding onto.

Before you could say anything else, the overhead crackled to life:

“Trauma en route. ETA four minutes. MVA, two patients. GSW secondary.”

Jack’s head lifted, all instinct now. You were already moving toward the door when his hand caught yours.

He didn’t pull, didn’t squeeze—just held.

“Be careful,” he said.

You leaned in again, kissing his cheek, quick and certain. “Always.”

Then the moment passed, and the hallway swallowed you both—he leading, you following, hearts synced in the rhythm of the ER. But his hand brushed yours again as you walked.

The trauma had come in hard and fast—twisted metal, broken glass, and enough blood to soak through your shoes. Jack had been in the thick of it, barking orders, steady hands moving like muscle memory while you worked across from him, suctioning, suturing, stabilizing. For a while, there was no room for anything else. No talking. No teasing. Just the two of you, back in sync, locked in the rhythm you knew so well. It was easy to forget the cracks when the adrenaline kicked in.

But by 4:15 a.m., the ER had slowed to a lull.

The kind that was never quiet, but at least breathable.

You’d just finished helping a resident clean up trauma one when they wheeled in another patient—mid-40s, minor head lac, walking wounded and very, very drunk.

You smiled politely, grabbing a suture kit.

“Alright, sir. Let’s get you cleaned up, okay? Can you sit still for me?”

He gave you a once-over that made your skin crawl. “Sure thing, sweetheart. For you, I’ll be real good.”

You kept it professional. “Thank you.”

But the longer you worked, the bolder he got.

“You married?” he slurred.

You didn’t answer.

“Bet your husband’s not half as pretty as you.”

You offered a tight smile. “Try to stay still. This part stings a little.”

He didn’t even flinch. “You ever date older guys? I got a boat, you know.”

You glanced around the bay, but the resident was long gone, charting somewhere out of earshot.

“I’m flattered, really, but I already have a boat,” you said lightly, finishing the last stitch. “And you’re gonna feel real silly about this in the morning.”

He grinned, crooked and gross. “Not if you give me your number.”

And then he reached out—his hands brushing your hips in a way that was not accidental.

You stepped back instantly, heart thudding.

“That’s enough sir,” you said sharply, your voice still steady, still calm—but colder now. “I’m going to step out for a minute, since I’ve finished. Someone else will check on you soon.”

You didn’t wait for a reply.

You slipped into the furthest supply closet you could easily find and leaned against the shelves, chest rising and falling like you’d just run a sprint. Your hands were shaking—more with anger than fear—but still. It clung to your skin.

The door creaked open a minute later.

“Hey.”

Jack.

He stepped inside and shut the door behind him, gaze scanning your face. “One of the other nurses said he got grabby.”

You looked up at him, throat tight. “I’m fine.”

He didn’t answer that right away. Just moved closer and touched your cheek, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth like he needed to ground himself.

“You sure?” he asked, quieter now.

You nodded. “Just… gross. Not the first, won’t be the last.”

His jaw flexed. “It shouldn’t be happening at all.”

You leaned into his hand. “It’s okay. I handled it.”

“You shouldn’t have to handle it.”

You looked up at him. “Jack—”

He stepped closer, and suddenly his body was pressed against yours, warm and solid and steady. His hands found your waist, rough fingers curling around your hips.

“I should be the only one touching you,” he said, voice low.

“We’ll get written up…”

“I don’t care.”

But Jack wasn’t hearing logic right now. He was standing there like he could still smell every guy you had met tonight on you, like the air hadn’t cleared yet.

“Hey.” You placed your hands on his chest, grounding him. “We don’t have to do this here…”

His hands squeezed your waist. “You’re mine.”

“I know.”

“You don’t flirt like that with anyone else, right?”

You blinked, caught off-guard. “Flirt like what?”

“Like you did with that prick.”

You frowned a abit. “I was being nice. He asked if I wanted  something from the vending machine- he asked you too and you looked at him like he offered me lingerie.”

Jack didn’t budge. His grip didn’t loosen.

You tried again. Softer this time.

“I steal your clothes. I come home to you. I wear the ring you bought me, and I’m your wife. I chose you.”

His eyes searched yours—tired, and heavy, with a mix of something else.

You rose on your toes, placing your lips to the corner of his mouth. “I’m yours, Jack.”

And then his arms were around you fully, pulling you in like he needed to feel your heartbeat to believe it. Your heart thudded in your chest, a beat behind your breath. You looked at him, eyes narrowed, lips parted.

You didn’t hear him lock the door.

You felt it.

That soft, decisive click behind you—like a promise.

“Did you just lock the door?”

Jack’s answer was a look—slow, hot, and so heavy it pinned you in place. He stepped with the kind of precision that said this wasn’t spontaneous. No, he’d decided the second he saw you walk into the closet room, cheeks flushed, lip gloss smudged, tensions high. 

The second all these guys started paying attention to you tonight. 

Jack hadn’t liked that.

He tried to be quiet about it, like always. Quiet the way a storm is—only right before it breaks.

He stopped just barely inches from you, hand coming up to trace a line along your jaw. His fingers were thick, rough, warm, familiar. His touch didn’t ask permission. It remembered.

“You keep smiling like that,” he said low, his voice a gravel-coated whisper, “and I’ll have to fuck the memory of it out of you.”

Your breath caught—somewhere between outrage and arousal. “Jack—”

But you didn’t get the rest out.

He kissed you.

Not sweet. Not careful.

Claiming.

His hands tangled in your hair, dragging you into him like it was instinct, like your mouth had always belonged to his. You melted into him, your body curving against his like you were built for this—built for him. His hips pressed forward, pinning you to the wall of the storage closet, and your head thudded back softly against the cool plaster as his lips slid down to your throat, sucking, biting just enough to make you gasp.

“Locked the door for a reason,” he murmured, tongue flicking against the skin where your pulse fluttered. “Tired of pretending I didn’t want you every second we’re here.”

You let out a shaky breath, your fingers gripping his shirt like lifelines. “You’re sooo jealous.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, dark eyes devouring. “Damn right I’m jealous.”

His hand slid under your scrub top, skimming up your ribs, palm flat, hot and possessive. “You’re mine—I can’t fucking stand it when they look at you like you’re not.”

“And what are you going to do about it?” you whispered, breathless, lips grazing his.

His answer was a growl.

Jack spun you, quick and controlled, pressing you front-first against the shelves. Supplies rattled, somewhere above you—gloves, gauze, sterile wraps—but it was the sound of his breath at your neck that made your knees threaten to buckle.

His hands roamed—under your shirt to your tits, over the waistband of your scrub pants, every inch of bare skin he found earning a new kind of heat.

“You wanna be flirted with?” he whispered, voice dragging down your spine. “Fine. But I get to remind you who makes you cum”

You gasped as his mouth met the base of your neck, teeth grazing, tongue following. “Jack…”

“You knew,” he said again, almost reverent now. 

And god help you, you did.

Because you’d walked in here to take a second, needing this—needing him. Not just his hands or his mouth or the way he made you come apart so effortlessly, but this claiming. This reminder. That under all the stress, the silence, the long nights and missed moments—the fire still burned. Hot. Unrelenting.

His fingers slipped lower, teasing the waist of your scrub pants, and you pressed back against him without thinking, needing more, needing everything.

“You’re mine,” he murmured again, lips brushing your shoulder, low and slow. “Say it.”

You turned your head just enough to whisper, “I’m yours, Jack. Always.”

And that was all it took.

He kept you facing the shelves, a hand coming down to your hips to steady you as he continued to feel you up with the other. “Yeah? You gonna be my good girl, sweetheart?” 

The whimper you let out was pathetic. A low pitched sound that came from the back of your throat, as Jack started to flood your senses. He gave your ass a quick, hard, smack. Hand going back to rub over the spot, as it snapped you out of your daze. “I asked you a question, baby.” 

You nodded, desperately. Already whoozy from the assault on your sense that your husband brought on. “Mhm! Jack-”

He shushed you, gently pushing down your scrub pants, “Gotta make this quick and quiet, or they’ll all know what a bad girl you’ve been.” 

Reaching back, you straightend up leaning into his burning touch, wanting him closer than he already was. You could feel how hard he was beneath his cargos, half chubbed as he ground his hips into your panty-clad ass. 

You would’ve felt embarressed if this hadn’t felt so right. 

Clothes barely off, lazily grinding against your husband in a closet like you’re back in some college frat house at UPenn. 

Jack doesn’t waste anymore time though, hastily shoving your panties down, rough fingers making quick work of finding your swollen clit. The tight circles he does against you, make you feel dizzy—legs already beginning to shake, as if you haven’t been working for ten hours already. 

Your moans are muffled by your arm as you lean further into the shelves, but press your hips back toward Jack. Your resolve slowly slipping, as he dips a finger in your wet heat. 

“Fuck, you’re soaked.” he groans out softly, continuing as he brings you closer and closer to the edge. 

Then he just pulls away.

Not entirely, still so close that you’ve basically become one. It’s enough for you to whine at the loss of contact, pushing back into him hoping he’ll start again. 

“Why’d you stop?” Jack can practically hear the pout in your voice. The breathy little lilt of displeasure showing in your tone. 

“Sorry, baby. We only have time for one thing, and I’d much rather make you cum on my cock.” He kisses the back of your neck, gentle and loving as ever as he reaches down to free himself from his scrub pants. 

He’s aching, he’s so hard. 

He takes a few deep breaths before haphazrdly stroking himself. Fisting his cock in his meaty hand, already slick after playing with your wet little cunt. 

Jack wasn’t going to make love to you. 

He was going to fuck you like you needed it. 

Lining himself up, Jack pushed in with a solid thrust of his sturdy hips. You just about collapsed into the shelves, already feeling so full of Jack as he started a steady rhythm. It was overwhelming, one of his hands tight against your hips as he used it to guide you into his thrusts, the other snaked over your mouth to muffle your breathy moans because the hallway was just beyond the locked closet door.

“Shit- you’re so fucking tight, baby.” you cleched against him as he drove himself further into you, trying to angle himself to hit the spot that would have you seeing stars in no time. 

Your walls hugged him tight, leaving him a mess as he watched himself slip in and out of you in a trance like state. 

“Fuck Jack-” you start mewling, hips pushing and grinding to meet his thrusts. “Ah- ah, you’re so deep.” 

He mumbles something incoherent against your shoulder, both of his hands moving to your hips and ass to get more leverage to fuck you nice and hard. 

You can tell you’re making a mess of yourself, panties clearly ruined with how you’re leaking down your thighs and his cock. Each thrust is a new shockwave of pleasure you don’t expect, but Jack doesn’t let up and you don’t want him to. 

“Too m-much,” his cock throbs, hard and heavy inside you as he stills for just a second. 

“Yeah? It’s too much for you, Sweetheart?” It’s almost mocking as he draws it out into longer deeper strokes—the ones that make it hard to breathe, the air escaping your lungs faster than you can take the chance to gasp for air. 

“You’re just so big,” you whimper out, trying to keep yourself from collapsing back against him as your legs start to feel like jello. 

Jack gives you a light scoff, “Good thing you’re being a good girl, and takin’ me so well, huh?” He keeps the pace steady, if not a bit quicker. Switching up the tempo to keep you on your toes and eager for him. 

“Mhm!” You can feel your orgasm building, that all too familiar pressure in your lower tummy bubbling over. “Fuck- fuck I’m gonna cum-”

It’s like a switch flips in his brain, kicking him into high gear as he spins you around to face him. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him close as he lifts one of your legs around his waist. 

“Yeah, pretty girl? You gonna cum for me?” He asks you through a sloppy kiss, one that smears what’s left of your lip gloss. 

You feel like you’re about to implode, too tense and too loose all at once. Your hands find purchase on his clothed chest and the curls at the base of his neck, as he continues his loving assault on your body and senses. Jack is everywhere, and you’d never want it to be different. 

He watches as you finally let go, shivering your way through your orgasm as you cum on his thick cock. Your breath catches as he kisses you slowly, working his cock in and out of your gushing pussy still chasing his own release. 

“Fuck- you ruin me baby,” He groans into your kiss swollen lips, giving you a few more sloppy thrusts before burying himself as deep as possible. His own breathing shallow as he spills his load deep into your cunt, right where it belongs. 

Blinking slowly, you return to your body. Jack looks down at you, capturing your lips in one last sweet kiss as he gently pulls out of you. Your body shudders at the now empty feeling, “You with me, Baby?”

His thumbs stroke your cheeks, gentle and loving as you just stare at him a little dazed. You manage a soft hum, and he begins the process of putting you back together for the public. 

You cringed a bit as he helped you pull the pants of your scrubs back up, at least they were dark… right? You’d change into your backups as soon as you found the courge to leave the storage room. Then there was your hair which Jack lovingly braided as quickly as he could, before fixing himself the best he could

“Everyone’s totally gonna know… Ugh…”  you leaned your head against his chest, sighing at the thought of John or Ellis questioning where you two were for the past 15 minutes. 

“You look fine, besides who cares?” He questioned, “Do you know how many times I’ve heard the same story from other departments,” 

“Yeah but this is us,” you gave him a deadpan expression, as he reached behind you so that he could grab your stethoscope and badge reel from one of the many shelves behind you. 

He gave you a nonchalant shrug, and one last kiss on the forehead. “You ready to go get ‘em tiger?”

“You’re so dead whe we get home, it’s not even funny Jack Abbot!” 

“We still have about two more hours, so I think I’m safe, Princess.” 

mercvry-glow 2025

[xximperioxx]

I lied about the Jack abbot fic next I’m working on another Robby one lmao

[asxgard]

Omg I love your jack Abbott writings! All of the written so well. So I have a request if theyre open.

Jack x nurse reader who had a fling but it ended soooo badly because emotions weren’t being regulated. This makes reader quit PTMC and work elsewhere when she finds out she’s pregnant. Never tells jack. Cut to a year or two later, and they manage to cross paths where jack realizes it’s his son/daughter, feelings get thrown out the bag, and they all lived happily ever after?

in the wreckage | one shot

Dr. Jack Abbot x ex!f!nurse!reader

Requested

Summary: It’s in the wreckage of what was that you find hope for what could be.

[ My Masterlist ]

Note: Thank you, anon! I struggled between giving him a son or daughter here, frankly because I really enjoyed both in my head. So like it has been in the past, it came down to a coin toss lol

Jack strikes me as both ‘“I walk you to your door and maybe kiss you goodnight on the second or third date” slow, intentional, traditional man and “if I don’t talk about my feelings, they don’t exist” longing, no title, all physical man’ so I float between them lol

Word Count: 3.1k (I blacked out)

Most of my works are 18+ for adult language and content.

Warnings: afab!reader, ex-situationship, implied age gap, foul language, hurt/comfort, mild references to smut, unplanned/surprise pregnancy, not telling jack about said pregnancy (reader being in the wrong oof), single mom!reader, hospital settings, medical inaccuracies, injuries relating to a car crash, angst with a happy ending, fluff

not beta read

It had started in the heat of the moment, neither of you being particularly careful with your feelings. The collection of lingering glances and secret smiles had brought it all to the surface until it was just the two of you after a bad shift. You had found comfort in each other that night, and several nights afterwards, lost in heat and an unspoken understanding of the horrors you faced each day.

Jack Abbot was a man of many complexities, though you thought that was what had sucked you in in the first place. The mysterious edge always left you wanting, always kept you guessing, and that just seemed like a recipe for disaster.

Perhaps because it had started on uncertain ground, always leaving you on the edge of your seat, left the relationship constantly feeling strained. What was worse was that neither of you called attention to it and simply let the insecurities fester. Simply never brought up what you were, or what you wanted to be, or got too personal to be vulnerable, though Jack had more of an affinity for that last one than you did.

You smiled at him less and less in the hallways of the Pitt, overwhelmed by the unknowing eating at your insides. You avoided him at work. He avoided your calls. Sooner or later, one of you always turned up at the other’s door. It became habitual, like a moth to a flame.

It only made your downfall so much worse.

—

You had wanted a clean break, and leaving the Pitt had been like leaving home. It had been necessary after that night with Jack, unable to look at him, let alone continue working with him. Not after what he said — not after you had asked for more and he had calmly, collectively, refused you. Like it didn’t matter. Like you didn’t understand.

It had done more than just hurt and embarrassed you, it had burned.

Like everything had reached its crescendo before stopping cold. All the feelings buzzing around your chest had been too much in the aftermath, so you left. Just left.

The two little pink lines staring at you just a few weeks later were a bitter pill to swallow. A cruel cosmic joke reeling you back to the man you were trying to run away from — leaving a constant reminder of the downfall. Bile had risen in your throat, and you felt a petty feeling rise with it.

He didn’t need to be in your life. You could do it alone. Who said you had to tell him? Perhaps that was wrong of you, a bit too childish, but you were still angry. Still running.

As your belly swelled, your feelings started seeming less bitter and more sweet. You moved out of your crappy one-bedroom apartment and into a fresh start, committing to your choice. Committing to the child in your womb and the choices that had led you there.

There was a tiny part of you that wanted to reach out, let him know, but you grew embarrassed each time you stared at his contact. You did not want him to feel like you were trapping him after he had made it clear that nothing more could happen between you.

For months you struggled with your decision, trying to wrangle your worries and insecurities about being a single mother. All the work, all the money, all the stress it was going to bring you.

It all seemed to fade away when you held your son in your arms, so small and screaming, and yet your heart filled with joy. He was perfect, with tiny fingers and toes, small tufts of dark hair atop his head. His eyes gave you pause — as they were unmistakably Jack’s.

You cried without really knowing why. Joy, longing, loss, love, or something in between had boiled up and then boiled over. Jack should know, echoed quietly in the back of your mind, he should know he has a son.

It felt too late to say it. You had had months to say something, anything and chosen not to. It was too late.

Despite the hardships you faced as a new mom facing it alone, Daniel was loved fiercely and spoiled when you could manage it. Your friends and co-workers helped when they could, and never let the absence of a father grow when they could help fill the void. Even your old co-workers came to see you and your son, visiting with curiosity soaking their eyes.

If any of them caught on, they didn’t say anything.

—

It felt crazy to you that a year since your son had been born had passed so quickly, so fleetingly. You worked a lot to afford rent, food and childcare, but even still, it felt strange that a year had gone by without fanfare.

Your friend had been a lifesaver when she allowed you to use her backyard for his first birthday party. It would be a small affair, with only a handful of kids Daniel knew from daycare and a few of your friends and their kids. Perlah and Dana even stopped by, giving their well wishes from everyone.

When you ran out of ice for the coolers, you and one of your co-workers, Liam, offered to go get more at the corner store. You left Daniel in the caring hands of Dana and promised to be back in only a few minutes.

A few minutes turned into a few hours after you had been blindsided and t-boned by a car trying to run a red light. You felt hazy when the paramedics arrived, carefully trying to apply pressure to the gash on Liam’s leg.

When you were wheeled into PTMC, you felt a flood of panic. Hadn’t you asked to head to Alleghany East? Maybe it had only been in your head. You prayed to whatever was out there that you would only see Robby.

Fate had other plans, it seemed, as Jack was the one who had come to the ambulance doors to assess you.

He stared at you like he had seen a ghost before buckling down and getting to work. He checked your pupils and your vitals, muttering something about a concussion, before checking over the handful of cuts the glass had made when the windows broke.

You were stable, so they wheeled you back into an open room to wait for a head CT. Jack lingered in the doorway, before shooing away an intern who had come to clean your wounds.

“How’s my friend? Is he okay?”

Jack pulled the stool close to you, “He’s just a room over. Nasty laceration, concussion, but Robby’s taking care of him. He’ll be okay.”

You nodded and took a deep breath. You picked up your phone to call Dana.

“I shouldn’t be long.” You told her after explaining what had happened.

“I’ll be right there.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Like hell I don’t. Don’t you worry about a thing, I’ll take care of it.”

You sighed, “Thank you, Dana.”

Jack, who had silently been cleaning your wounds, spoke, “So…is it just me you don’t talk to anymore?”

You scrunched your eyebrows and looked at him quizzically, “Excuse me?”

Hazel eyes flicked up to meet yours.

“I thought you made it clear that was the last thing you wanted.” You said, tone hard, lips dipping into a frown.

Jack let out a long sigh. “It was a bad shift. Bad day. It doesn’t excuse what I said. I was running from it being something real, I’m sorry.” A long pause echoed. “But I’d like to try and at least be friends.”

Friends? It ached somewhere deep in your chest. You could not be friends. You had made that decision over a year before and decided against having him in your life at any capacity. You frowned at him, looking away from his face before you could crumble.

“I don’t think that’s wise.” You said quietly.

He nodded, pulling over the suture kit. That seemed to be the end of it.

You let him finish working while the silence washed over you, thick and guarded. Your thoughts felt cloudy, and your head hurt, your muscles ached, but doubt began to creep in.

Had you made the right decision? You wanted to believe so. With one foot constantly out the door, would he even make a good father? Had you waited too long to even consider telling him? You felt stuck in your head, going over all the what ifs until you felt queasy.

A knock sounded on the door, pulling you from your thoughts. Dana’s pleasant smile greeted you, but it was your son in her arms that made you flush with distress. You stared at her with wide eyes, heart picking up speed.

“Someone was worried.” She told you simply, but her eyes flickered to Jack.

Jack looked up at Dana, then at the boy in her arms. The toddler was tucked against her neck, leaning on her like he was trying to sleep. Jack schooled his features easily, though it looked like he was disappointed for just a fraction of a second, which sent you reeling.

“Should I have someone call your…boyfriend?” Jack asked tightly, looking back down at the stitch work.

“No boyfriend.” You frowned, but accepted your son from Dana eagerly. Did Jack think that you’d had a baby with someone else? Good. Good. That was for the best. Bile burned your throat.

“How’re you feeling, kid?”

“I’ll be fine, thank you. Can you call my parents? I’ll need help getting him home.”

“Of course, I’ll be just outside if you need anything else.” Dana said, eyes moving to Jack and then back to you.

Your cheeks heated and you held your son tightly to your chest. You rubbed his back and hummed softly, though it was more to comfort yourself than him. Maybe Jack would not notice, just finish his stitches and be on his way and you could go on pretending this had never happened.

Though, thinking Jack wouldn’t notice something was a fool’s game. Your son turned his head to look at him, blinking his tired hazel eyes at Jack. Like you had thought when you first saw them, they were like a mirror of each other.

Alarm raced through Jack’s features, eyes flickering from Daniel and back to you, eyebrows raised, breath caught. You stopped breathing, and your joints locked into place like you were bracing for it to all fall apart. He just stared at you.

“How old is he?”

“Jack—”

“How. Old. Is. He?”

“A year…today.” You said quietly. Meekly. Words cutting your throat like they had been glass.

It was simple enough to do the math, and his expression hardened. He stood, and the air shifted to something uncomfortable, uneasy, uncharted, unknown.

“Jack—wait—let me explain.”

“So I take it this is why everyone has been so secretive about why you left.”

“They didn’t know. No one knew.”

He gestured to where Dana stood in the hall.

“No one knew for certain.” You elaborated, trying to defend them. Perhaps you could handle him being mad at you, but not the family you had made in the Pitt. You had never told them, and they had never asked, though from how she had handed your son to you, it was clear Dana had known.

“You were never going to tell me.” It wasn’t a question. It was an accusation.

Shame bubbled in your gut, low and searing, working its way upwards until tears formed. What you had been bracing for hit you like a punch to the chest — hurting more than that car had inflicted.

“I thought it was the right choice at the time.”

He scoffed and recoiled, his expression flinching between pain and anger.

“Jack—” you sighed, leveling your voice so you didn’t raise it. “—you told me I could never understand you, or the role you played here. That asking for any more from you was pointless…that it had all been a mistake and I needed to move on. I really couldn’t bear to work with you after that, so I left. I didn’t know I was pregnant yet. Was it wrong to keep it from you once I found out? …yes. But I was hurt.” You swallowed tightly, and wiped away your tears, annoyed they were forming.

He walked to the far wall away from you, then paced back toward you before repeating himself, hands on his hips. His expression broached closer to unreadable, which fueled your panic. With a long, heavy sigh, he stopped to lean against the wall. Never one to stray from eye contact, he found your eyes. Heavy, hard, reserved.

“I thought it was for the best. I didn’t want you to feel like I was trapping you, especially since it seemed like kids were the last thing on your list. I just wanted a clean break. I doubted my decision a lot—”

“And yet, you did nothing about it.”

You bit your lip. “I’m so sorry, Jack. I really messed up, I know that now. Time kept slipping away from me. I was still figuring out parenting — I still am — and to throw co-parenting into the mix? It felt like an impossible climb.”

“If you had never come here today…if Dana had never brought him in…you never would have said anything.”

More tears came as shame burned your face, “Maybe you’re right. I don’t know.”

Silences with Jack used to be comfortable, easy, as simple as breathing. The one now settling between you? It ached, it burned, it crushed.

“What’s his name?” Jack asked quietly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Daniel.”

You swore you saw his eyes grow glassy.

“I made the wrong decision, and I’ll own up to that.” You admitted quietly. “I can’t change what I did or didn’t do, and I’ll never be able to apologize enough for it. I just thought this…this would be easier. For everyone involved.”

“I’m involved now. Don’t fight me on that.”

“I won’t.” You vowed.

—

Trust was built back slowly, through long conversations and with actions followed through. It had been tense and awkward as your son grew to know Jack as his father, though he fell into the role like he was made for it. It only made the guilt over stealing a year of your son’s life from him hurt all over again.

The tension and burning guilt were the hardest thing for you two to overcome. While he never raised his voice, he would grow accusatory when he remembered how much he had lost out on. You would double down on the night you had left him behind — or perhaps it truly was him leaving you behind — and the words he had said to you.

Neither of you were particularly blameless, not really. The relationship that had been was not one formed on a solid foundation, so everything felt like new territory. The pull of will they, won’t they, as Princess had put it, constantly making you question where you stood.

You just wanted to focus on co-parenting effectively, and Jack just wanted to focus on making up for lost time. That felt easy enough.

But something from the past — from the wreckage of what you had been — lingered like some part of you and Jack was haunted. An echo of what should have been fizzled just below the surface.

On the first night you felt secure enough to leave Daniel at Jack’s apartment, you settled in his kitchen to clean up a bit of the mess from dinner. Jack’s guest room had been quickly converted to be a bedroom for his son, pulling together everything he needed without complaint.

Jack wandered back into the kitchen after settling Daniel down for the night. You hummed softly, and Jack leaned against the doorway without saying anything.

“I know this is hard for you.” Jack said, hands in his pockets. “Thank you for giving me tonight.”

You smiled even though a sadness lingered at leaving your son somewhere overnight that was not his home. But this would need to be his home, too, so you swallowed it.

“You two need some quality time,” after I ripped the beginning away from you. “You two will have fun tomorrow.”

“...I got an extra ticket, if you’d like to come with us.”

Hope bloomed, “You did?”

“I’d like to put the past behind us. Move forward together.” He said, eyes never leaving yours.

Forgiveness had come with your son’s echoing laughter and hues of blue shimmering against your skin, as light moved through the water. Daniel pointed up at the sharks in their tanks while Jack held him, watching in his own kind of excitement, a smile cracking against the corner of his mouth.

Jack had grabbed your hand without saying anything.

You intertwined your fingers and let out a long breath of relief.

—

Something like love had come in a flourish after Daniel’s first words: dada. It might have felt like a punch to the gut, another cosmic joke, if it hadn’t lit up Jack’s face in a smile you had never seen before. It warmed the ache in your chest and decided it was okay for Jack to have this first.

It felt like forgiving yourself.

You ended up staying the night, curling up against Jack’s chest while your son slept soundly in the next room. Neither of you wanted to rush what was blossoming between you, or jinx it. If you were going to go for it, you each deserved steady ground to stand on.

“You’re doing really well with him.” You whispered. “I was worried it would feel clunky or unnatural to have you around. But it works.”

He looked at you for a long time. “I don’t want to mess this up, too.”

You softened, “I think that’s what parenthood is. Messing up and trying to do better, every day.”

“Do you think relationships are the same?” He asked, low and deliberate.

“Yeah, I do.”

It felt like a confession.

He leaned down to kiss you, but paused just before his lips met yours. Your heart hammered against your ribs, and you wet your lips with your tongue.

“I like what we have. I don’t want to screw it up by trying to be something we’re not.” You said quietly, though you felt the pull of wanting to kiss him.

Co-parenting had been bleeding closer to a relationship for quite some time, but you had not wanted to be the one who spoiled it.

“I’m not going to run this time, not if you don’t.”

You swallowed, focusing on his eyes, “I’m here to stay.”

He captured your lips, pulling you flush against him, one hand going behind your head and the other settling on your hip. It was hesitant, but full of feeling, of all things left unsaid.

It felt like was a promise.

I hope you enjoyed, anon!

want to join any of my taglists? shoot me a message!

Dr. Abbot taglist: @flyinglama @valhallavalkyrie9 @melancholyy-hill @travelingmypassion @yournerdmodziata @dark-twisted-and-mechanical-mind @sarah-the-bird-nerd @artsymaddie @partofthelouniverse @woodxtock @rachel2494

The Pitt taglist: @cannonindeez @spoiledflor @kittenhawkk @nessamc @thatchickwiththecamera @sharkluver @loud-mouph @ksyn-faith @sunfairyy @dragonsondragons @mischiefsemimanaged @pastelbunnelby @jetjuliette @that-one-fangirl69

All content taglist: @nixandtonic

this inspired two tiny multis:

casual (coming soon) (Dr. Robby)

champagne problems (coming soon) (Dr. Abbot)

whoops

[ovaryacted]

GREEDY

─ Dr. Jack Abbot x fem! reader || WC: 3k

SYNOPSIS: You crave to feel your lover differently, and Jack is happy to satisfy your needs.

CONTENT/WARNINGS: MDNI/18+. NSFW. SMUT. Age gap implied [Jack is late 40s, reader is late 20s/early 30s]. Power imbalance mention [Attending/Resident]. Established "secret" relationship. Creampie. Unprotected sex (p in v). Mentions of oral (f! receiving) & fingering. Multiple orgasms. Overstimulation. Dirty talk. Brief mentions of birth control & safe sex practices. They fuck nasty and are down bad for each other. Reader is described to have hair. Jack Abbot is a really good partner. Brief mentions of Jack’s scars & allusions to a vasectomy he had in the past.

A/N: This all came to me in a dream lmao. I just had a certain itch I needed to scratch and I wanted to talk about getting creampied by a fine ass old man, so this was the product of that thought. I hope you all enjoy this and join me in feening for this man. Proofread by moi. Reblogs, comments, and likes are always greatly appreciated! <3

NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST | AO3

You’d never really consider yourself a greedy or selfish person, but when it came to Jack Abbot, you just couldn’t help yourself.

On your first day of residency at the Pitt, your attention instantly gravitated to him. He carried himself so confidently at times, never crossing the line of stepping into arrogance like some of the surgeons he complained about. He kept his head high, back straight, and shoulders flared as he maneuvered around patients and rooms alike, commanding every space with a calm confidence you almost envied.

Coffee and light teasing exchanged in the emergency department turned into cold beers and tipsy laughter at the local bar everyone frequented after long shifts or on their off-days. One drink too many resulted in a not-so-accidental one-night stand with the enigma of a man that was Dr. Abbot. You wondered if he regretted it by the time you woke up in the morning, hair a mess over your head, going in different directions; doing your best to bury the disappointment tugging at your chest when the other side of the bed was found empty.

Much to your surprise, light clanking from your kitchen forced you back on your feet, spotting Jack working over the stove, the smell of eggs and fresh toast wafting through your apartment. His jeans hung low on his hips, unbuttoned, with his black briefs hiding the rest of him. He turns when he senses your presence, the corner of his lips tugging upwards in a small grin at the sight of you, slightly disheveled and wearing nothing but his shirt from the night before.

“Morning. Stole some of your coffee; hope you don’t mind.”

You were doomed from the start.

It never stopped after that; a one-night stand turned into several over the course of one month, and one month turned into two. You found yourself in the consistent presence of Dr. Abbot, who was always there to satisfy your needs, whatever they may be. He learned how to read you, your likes and dislikes, your quirks, and the things that made you happy and tick in agitation. The few weeks you spent with him in secret amounted to the moment Jack popped the question of exclusivity one night, and you were more than happy to say yes.

Now here you were, Dr. Abbot’s favorite night-shift resident at work and his girl when you two were alone. You already had him wrapped around your finger, hitting close to five months of being with him and selfishly enjoying his company in this bubble you’ve created for yourselves away from prying eyes.

And yet you still wanted more.

You couldn’t quite explain what happened along the way, why you simply couldn’t stop finding any little moment to touch him, to kiss him, to taste him. You just knew you wanted every part of him to yourself, and he was ready to give it.

All but one.

Your sex life with Jack was already more than satisfactory, and even using a word as simple as that was a disservice in describing your experiences with him. Hell, you’re pretty sure he’s ruined you for anyone else, and you don’t plan on finding another to take his place any time soon. But there was this one pesky thing that still kept you separated from him.

The damn rubber.

Jack was almost too good for you—a softie despite his take-no-shit attitude, always sweet and considerate when it came to you. Of course, that translated to when he fucked you, prioritizing your safety and pleasure above all else, including maintaining recommended sexual habits. You can’t blame him; he’s not an idiot, and neither are you, but at times it irks you to still have something getting in the way of feeling him the way you wanted.

It almost pissed you off how badly you craved him, desperately holding on to him and pulling him closer when he was too busy fucking you into the mattress. His face dug into the crook of your neck, grunting as your walls fluttered around his length, your arousal covering the thin non-latex material that separated your bodies. Just the thought of it made you whine, clawing at his shoulders and wrapping your legs tighter around his waist.

You knew he was getting close from the way his breathing rumbled deep within his chest, his grip on your hips tightening as his thrusts picked up in force. The words that had been swirling in your head for the past 30 minutes slipped out of your mouth and into his ear before you could stop them.

“Fill me up, baby.”

He groans when he hears you, slamming his hips hard against yours, a curse tumbling from his mouth as he fills up the condom. He draws a final sigh from you before pulling out to dispose of the wretched thing while you remain occupied with taking a peek at his ass as he heads to the bathroom.

Having sex without protection was something Jack didn’t think to bring up or mention. The last thing he wanted was to make you assume all you were to him was a toy to be used when it's convenient and discarded when he grew bored of you. He already had the displeasure of approaching sex that way when he was younger and reckless; he vowed to never do that again, especially with you. And of course, you didn’t want to potentially ruin the relationship you’ve worked so hard to build with your attending.

As much as he wanted to deny it, your words tormented him, playing in his mind on loop so frequently he started dreaming about feeling you with no barriers, claiming you properly. He knows once you hit that stage in your fairly new relationship, there’s no going back. From the way you struggled to hide the slightest tinge of disappointment whenever he ripped open the foil wrapper in front of you, he knew the conversation would happen eventually.

“What if next time, we just don’t use anything? Protection, I mean.” You blurt out to him in the kitchen, wringing your hands together as Jack busied himself washing the dishes after dinner. He finished up and dried his hands, pivoting to face where you leaned against the island.

“Is that what you want?” He asks carefully, his eyes boring into yours gently, the way he always did when speaking to those he cared about. “Surprises aren’t exactly what I’m worried about; we’re good on that end, but, it’s whatever you want to do, sweetheart.”

“Yes, I want to try it out.” You feel his hands coming towards your waist, a comforting gap of space between as you mess with the collar of his t-shirt. “It’s not that our sex life isn’t fun or anything; I very much enjoy sleeping with you.”

“I sure hope so considering how much I risk pulling my back doing all the work.” You playfully slap his chest, rolling your eyes at his teasing smirk.

“I just…I want to feel you, all of you. It’s like an itch I can’t scratch sort of thing, and it feels stupid explaining it, but it’s a thing, okay. Don’t fucking laugh at me.”

Jack couldn’t help but chuckle dryly at your mild panic, shaking his head as he stepped closer to you, planting a kiss on your cheek and squeezing your hips in reassurance.

“Not laughing at you, I just think it’s cute how flustered you’re getting when you’re begging me to fuck you raw.”

“Now why are you saying it like that? It sounds raunchy coming from you.” He only laughs harder.

“I think we’re way past the point of calling what we do raunchy in our relationship, don’t you think?” There’s a faint glint in his hazel eyes when he takes in your features again, his fingers pinch your chin, holding your gaze. “Besides, you aren’t the only one who’s been thinking about it. I was just waiting for you to crack first.”

That’s how you found yourself in this position now.

Your cunt pulsed from the lavish attention bestowed by the older man above, who already made you cum once using his mouth and again in combination with his thick fingers. Even with the two orgasms you gladly took, your body clenched around nothing as you watched Jack lazily jerk himself off, dark eyes raking over your bare body. By now, he’d be tearing open another one of those flimsy foil packets and slipping inside you. Instead, your legs subconsciously widened even more, beckoning him closer to you in an attempt to take you.

Notching the tip of his length at your entrance, he groaned at the feel of you, shifting his hips to grind against your heat as more of your wetness coated the underside of his cock.

“Last chance to take it back, sweetheart.” He quirked, meeting your hazy eyes—glossed over and feral as you admired his broad silhouette and tempting movements.

“Shut up and fuck me already.” You only seemed to be thinking with your downstairs brain, your thirst for more overriding common sense, not that he was complaining.

“Yes, ma’am.”

He angled himself over you, keeping his observant eyes on your face as he started pushing into you, slowly sinking deeper into your welcoming body. Jack didn’t expect you to feel so damn hot, your walls surrounding his cock like a vice, like you were made for it. Your hands flew to grasp his bicep, gasping at the bare feel of him for the first time. Eyes fluttering closed, a whimper lurched out of your mouth when he was down to the hilt, the trimmed hairs by his pubic bone rubbing against your sensitive nub, causing you to twitch around him on instinct.

As he sat inside you and let you adjust to him, you could feel everything—every ridge, every vein, every swell and throb his body gave you, even his damn pulse. It was bringing you closer to the deep end.

“Jack…” You mumbled his name, blinking slowly as his nostrils flared.

“Hold on, hold on, don’t move.” Large hands clutched your hips, keeping you pinned to the mattress with his strength. “You feel so good.”

“Yeah?” The compliment took the rest of the empty space in your head, your thighs taking their rightful place around his waist, knees bracketing over his sharp hips.

“So damn warm and wet…God.” It sounded like Jack wasn’t talking to you anymore but reiterating his own innermost thoughts, filter gone. His attention trailed down to where your bodies were joined together, shifting his hips back to watch your lower set of lips part for him, your slick covering his skin. You moved towards him, already missing the stretch of him inside you, and Jack was just as eager to give you what you needed.

“Look at her. Taking me so well, like she always does.” Thrusting forward, he didn’t spare you an inch, drawing back just to pound into you again and again.

The friction of his hips intensifies the more he gets to feel you, and soon enough the four walls of your shared bedroom are filled with the audible slapping of skin as you lose yourselves in each other. Jack’s hips pummeled into you with a force you weren’t completely unfamiliar with, but this carnal need to have more of him creeps onto the surface. Your nails raked down his freckled arms and the planes of his shoulders, encouraging Jack to buck into you harder with your sweet cries.

It all felt too fucking good, like a dream.

You didn’t want him to stop, your legs winding tighter around his torso, mewling when he hit that textured spot tucked inside you with practiced accuracy, head thrown back against the pillow as you focused on catching each one of his harsh lunges. A hand sneaked to the back of your head, grasping the nape of your neck and angling your face to look up at Jack, the smallest bit of sweat lining up on his forehead.

“Keep those eyes on me, baby. Want to see your pretty face when you come for me.” He practically snarled over you, leaning down to roughly plant a kiss, his tongue swirling around yours, swallowing all of the petulant sounds he brought out of you. “Perfect fucking pussy, and all mine.”

“All yours, Jack.” You parroted, nodding dumbly from the impact of his movements against you. “I’m all yours, sir.”

His grin turned predatory at your needy words, both hands curling around your thighs to angle them higher up, your knees now pinned to your chest, allowing him to dig just a bit deeper into you. You jolted from the change in position, one hand rushing to press against his lower stomach, fingertips skimming the raised scars along his side, long faded and meshed with the rest of him. 

He was unfazed by your movements, holding you steady, and upped his efforts against you. Your arousal practically seeped out of you, pooling at the base of him and dripping down his balls. Another whimper echoed in the room, your clouded gaze glanced down to watch Jack fuck you, mesmerized at the shine you left over him. You didn’t need to warn him that another release was swirling in your gut; your body language did all the talking for you.

“Know you’re close, honey. Can feel you getting tighter around me, damn near choking me.” He grunts, adding a swivel to his precise advances into you. “C’mon, need you to drench me. Let me feel you.”

Three more drives into you, and your third orgasm hit you so ardently your whole body trembled, a silent cry flying out of your mouth. Jack observed your reaction with hungry eyes, cooing at your cock-drunk expression, drool starting to spill out the corner of your lip.

He knew it was only a matter of time before he hit his peak, the tension in his body building in his core, and with the way you haven’t stopped convulsing around him, it will catch him off guard sooner than later. Through the haze of ecstasy, you found your voice and mumbled at him, the lust-filled mania that started this whole ordeal possessing you.

“Jack,” his attention was drawn to your face, plump lips and warm cheeks mirroring his ravenous stare, “I need you to come inside me.”

“You want it that bad, huh?” He was struggling to keep it together, his mind already hyper-focused on finishing inside until you took every damn drop. “So desperate to have your old man fill up your greedy pussy, hm?”

“Yes! Yes!” Tears streaked down your face at the mere thought of getting to feel him like this; the promise of getting what you wanted after so long was enough to overwhelm you. “Please, Jack. I need it; need to feel it. Want to feel you tomorrow, baby.”

That fired him up; the sight of your watery eyes motivated him to flex his forearms and force you to take all of him as he chased his prolonged release. A few more jabs and he was done for, digging his face into the crook of your neck and biting your shoulder to suppress the loud growl that buzzed through him. His hips were flush with yours, giving you everything he had to give, his thighs trembling and stomach almost cramping from his violent climax.

His orgasm felt never-ending; he just couldn’t stop, your body melting from the inside out as you held him above you until he plopped on top of you, pelvis subconsciously grinding into you more, never wanting to leave your warmth.

“Jesus.” You heard Jack murmur against you, placing light kisses over the indents of his teeth on your shoulder. His mouth followed a path up to the column of your throat, your jaw, and to your lips, offering you sweet pecks. “You alright?”

“Mhm,” you hummed at his affections, the rest of your limbs becoming one with the mattress under you. “Didn’t break me yet, though I don’t think I can feel my legs.”

“Means I did my job well.” Both ends of his mouth curl upwards, mimicking his expression as he gently wipes your tears away.

Carefully, he took hold of your legs, bringing them back down to the bed, rubbing them with an apologetic smile as you quivered. With ease, Jack maneuvers himself to pull out of you, his eyes going to your pussy and the mess he made of you. He catches the way his spend drips out of your opening and stains the sheets below you, a sight he was committing to memory for the first time.

A carnal urge flares within him, his curiosity getting the best of him as he brings a hand to the most sensitive part of you, his thumb spreading you out to get a better look at you. More of his seed dribbled out of you, tainting the thick digit as he smeared more of himself over the rest of your cunt. You gasped at the sensation, his thumb circling over your slick pearl, squirming under his touch from the overstimulation.

“I get the appeal now,” he says to himself again, swiftly bringing two of his fingers to scoop the rest of him and sink them back into your hole, serving as a plug to keep his release inside you. You keened at him, clutching his thick wrist as he breached your body with his hand, your breath hitching in your throat.

“Jack…”

“So pretty when you’re so full of me.” You clench around him, the sensation sending a current of pleasure coursing through him, his cock twitching again at the thought of having you again. “You can take a little more, right?”

Who were you to say no to that? You couldn’t get enough of him, and when it came to Jack Abbot, you always made room for seconds and more.

©️ ovaryacted 2025. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

[livingdxadwriter]

Hands On

Dr Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x F!Doctor!Reader

Summary: when innocent flirting and longing looks turn into hiding in the on call room. Porn with a lil plot

Warnings: explicit sexual content, minors dni, unprotected sex, p in v, creampie, fingering, little bit of exhibitionism if you squint, fucking in the hospital, he talks her through it, age gap (yk the drill, reader is 35+, robby is 50), established relationship, brief mentions of reader having hair long enough to braid, mentions of Robby being taller

WC: 4.2k

A/N: yay! Finally some more Robby smutties! This was mostly just me being horny and too tired to write convoluted plot. I did get some requests so I’ll work on them as soon as I finish the semester. But for now I wanted to feed yall so you wouldn’t forget me. Enjoy :)

i want to note that this was inspired by this post by @abbotjack so some dialogue bits are inspired by their post. Also thank you to @wittyjasontodd for putting up with my insanity and for encouraging having a quickie with this old man in the middle of a shift <3

This was so agonizing. You didn’t know what demon possessed your soul or why you were so flustered and bothered. All fucking day, from the moment you woke up. In his bed, tangled up underneath his sheets. You didn't know if he was the cuddling type, but you woke up in his arms, on his chest, every time. And this time? You wanted to fucking stay there. All over him. You could feel it, crawling in your skin, perpetually warm even after you shrugged your hoodie off your shoulders like it had offended you. You were hyper aware of his presence at any given moment. If you heard his voice, your head was snapping in that direction. He came in to assist with a patient? You gravitated toward the side he was on to be as close to him as possible. You even got lucky a few times when he was hovering over you, standing behind you to look over your shoulder. It was subtle, always professional, but he would never stand this close to another resident unless he was doing the procedure himself. He could watch from a distance, but he didn’t, because he could tell. 

You were on hour five of your twelve hour shift when you managed to sneak into the doctors lounge to munch on a granola bar and attempt to down your lukewarm coffee. You sat for a collective two minutes when Robby came through the door. Suddenly your pulse spiked and you nearly choked at the sight of him. He was on his phone, typing something, black framed glasses sitting on his pretty nose. Your eye nearly twitched. Why you were having such visceral reactions to seeing your boyfriend today, you didn’t know. You offered him a smile nonetheless, slightly nudging your head at the empty chair next to you. The lounge was empty aside from you, anyway. 

“You hiding?” He shot you a look, a tiny eyebrow raise making you smile a bit. Yes, from you, you thought. You nodded slowly as you chewed on your bar. 

“Maybe.” You mumbled quietly, eyeing him as he leaned back on the chair, casually sliding down it until his knee was touching yours under the table. You jolted the slightest bit, blinking at him, but you otherwise didn’t comment. 

Robby was a very observant man. Call it age, call it wisdom, call it whatever, but it didn’t take him long to be able to read your body language like an open book he read for the sole purpose of his amusement. Your fluttering eyelashes, your bottom lip tucked between your teeth, your opposite leg bouncing incessantly. The way you damn near shuddered every time he barely touched you. Whether it was a subtle hand on your lower back when he walked away from assisting with your patient, or your shoulder just barely touching his arm as you talked to him in the hallway. Or how you nearly kneed the table just now. You were aching for something you couldn’t have, and it was driving you to madness. 

“Me too, I saw Gloria in the hallway.” He shuddered, shaking his head aggressively, which made you let out a giggle. God, he loved all your sounds, every one. 

“Want it?” You offered the last bit of your granola bar as you sat in that familiar silence that was often shared between people who had already said everything needed to be said. You sat in silence a lot, you didn’t need to fill it with small talk, but today you were painfully aware of his presence, his warm brown eyes lingering on you every once in a while, his knee touching yours. A subtle act, nothing more than a gesture of affection. But today, god, it would be your breaking point. You quickly realized turning your head to look at him would be a mistake. 

“Uh-huh. Thank you.” He happily and graciously accepted your offering, one hand lifting his glasses off his face and set down on the table as he grabbed your bar with the other. It was the most normal thing he could ever do, he did it all the time, it wasn’t like he wore his glasses for everything. But the simple act as he so unbothered munched on your leftovers made you dig your nails into your palm. “You did really good on that car crash patient, by the way. Readjusting a hip dislocation and a sternum fracture is pretty damn impressive.” 

You nibbled on your bottom lip, your eyebrows shooting up in surprise. It always took you aback when he so casually praised you, it always left you a flustered fucking mess. “Mmm, really?” 

“Mhmm, yeah.” He replied, nonchalant. He blinked at you slowly, big brown eyes swallowing you whole. You could hear your breath as he slowly leaned in, stopping when your shoulders touched. 

“Are you gonna kiss me right now?” You dared to ask, which made him slip the tiniest grin. 

“No. But you want me to, don’t you?” He was toying with your sanity, a straight face meeting your fragile demeanor. You knew he would never display such affections so openly where you could be seen. Yes, everyone in the ER was well aware of your relationship, but that didn't mean he would shove it in their faces. But that didn’t mean you didn't  wish he would just grab you by your hair and kiss you silly. “If you want something, you ask for it.”

“You are so evil for that, I hope you know that.” You sighed out, a little unevenly, not amused in the slightest. He let out a dry chuckle, head tilted at you.

“I'm not doing anything.” He shrugged, the slightest bit of amusement lacing his tongue, but his expression remained stoic, probably to tease you even more. You found no humor in this, and you kicked his knee with your own under the table. “Okay, ow.”

You rolled your eyes, opening your mouth to berate him a little about the torture you have been enduring all day and that would continue to endure until you got home because how dare he not stay in bed with you like you begged him to that morning, but just as you were, the door of the lounge opened and Dana peaked her head inside. She shot you a suspicious look, but neither of you said anything. 

“Alright break time’s over. Langdon needs you in trauma one,” she shot Robby a knowing look, to which he simply sighed, choosing not to comment. And then she looked at you, “and you, you can take the auto versus pedestrian that’s coming.” 

So much for your little coffee break. You shot Robby a look that was a reminder that this conversation was not over and he would be hearing from you for the rest of your shift. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

You managed to compose yourself for the most part. Sure, you were a little amped up, a bit hot and bothered, your cheeks were a little flushed and your heart raced every time Robby was in the same room as you, but, you promised yourself you would finish your shift before you actually jumped his bones. And your plan has been working so far.

You were just leaving a patient’s room when you saw Robby, annoyance and a little irritation written all over his face.

“What happened to you?” You chuckled a little as he shot you a pointed look. You definitely noticed that his hoodie was gone and his scrubs were suspiciously a size too small for him. This was definitely not helping your issues today.

“Bleeding ulcer, apparently they failed to mention they had a cough when I was doing the exam. I had to change scrubs and now I have to try and get that blood off my hoodie.” He sighed out a groan, rubbing the back of his hair a little exasperated. You held in your laugh and simply gave him a sympathetic look. 

“I can try to wash it off when we get home.” You offered, knowing he hated throwing away hoodies when they got stained. He shot you a half smile and nodded. But you still couldn't overlook the way the sleeves were tight on his biceps, riding up more than normal, which revealed the slightest bit of his tattoos. And you definitely noticed the way they fit a little too short on his torso. “Couldn't find scrubs your size?”

“No, actually. All they had was medium. And of course, I didn’t bring a fucking spare today.” you could see how this predicament would be quite annoying, you, too, would be annoyed if your scrubs were too tight. But you were definitely enjoying this a little too much. Teasing him back was also a bonus.

“Don’t let Myrna catch you looking like this.” You snorted, bringing the back of your hand to cover your mouth. You had to bite down your lip to muffle your laugh at the glare he shot you. He tilted his head at you, eyes narrowed the slightest bit like he was plotting. 

“Don't start.” He warned you, voice low and leveled. You leaned your chin on your hand and shrugged. 

“No, really, it's a good look. Definitely one way to bring up your patient satisfaction scores. Whore yourself out a little bit. You’re definitely popular among a certain demographic.” You truly wanted to keep a straight face but the way he looked at you the more you teased him made you swallow a bit. Like he was considering whether or not to drag you by your arm somewhere. He found it so rich that you said that, like you weren't damn near fifteen years younger than him.

“Don’t you have patients? There’s plenty of people in the waiting room if you’re bored.” He said blankly, arms folded over his chest. You caught him subtly trying to fix his sleeve on his bicep and your eye nearly twitched, your lips curled up into the tiniest grin.

“Okay fine, Jesus. You're such a grumpy old man. You need a vacation or something.” You gave him one last jab as you started to walk away, but not before he shot you the sharpest glare, his jaw so tight you thought he would dislocate it.

“I swear to g—” you shrugged at him, blowing him a kiss over your shoulder as you all but ran away from his wrath. He chuckled dryly, shaking his head at himself as he plotted just how he was going to get back at you. It didn't take him long to devise a plan. With the one thing you were choosing to tease him about.

You balanced the ipad on one hand as you motioned around different points on the screen with each word you spoke. Mel stood beside you, she helped assist on your auto versus pedestrian case. She was always so sweet, so polite, she didn't mind your racing mouth or your chaotic explanations. 

“There’s a pretty substantial cranial fracture right here,” you pointed at the results from the head CT and X-ray you ordered. Your eyes sometimes wandered as you waited a few seconds for whoever it was you were on a case with to match your racing mind. Your eyes ultimately found your boyfriend sitting at his workstation, glasses sitting on his nose as he typed. Thank the lord you could multitask as well as you could. “I also saw some rib fractures on the left side, we should keep an eye out for pneumothorax and possible hemothorax.” 

Robby always noticed when you entered a room, he wasn't sure what it was, but he always knew where to look for you in a crowd. When he looked up from his computer, he saw you with Mel. You made brief eye contact as you spoke to Mel. it wasn't fully conscious, not entirely malicious, but it did work in his favor, perhaps. 

“What do we look for if there’s a possible pneumothorax?” You knew that she knew perfectly, but Robby always encouraged active teaching. You were listening, you truly were, until your eyes wandered again and you caught a glimpse of Robby stretching. Nothing strange about that, other than the fact that you caught in perfect view the way his scrubs rid up his stomach. You don't think anyone else cared nor noticed, but you went absolutely mental. Catching a glimpse of his thick happy trail was definitely the last straw holding your sanity together.

“Doctor…?” You heard Mel—sweet soul—say your name with a bit of concern. You swallowed a bit, trying to ignore the heat rushing to your cheeks and the racing of your stupid heart. You felt like a horny teenager. Is this what it has come to? Getting horny at the sight of your boyfriend's happy trail? Or was it the way he held his arms behind his head, further testing the strength of those scrubs? Fuck. You looked at her and gave her a strained smile. 

“Yeah, perfect. I have to go check on a patient, I’ll come get you in a bit to check on our patient, ‘kay? ‘Kay.”

An hour hadn't gone by when you realized you couldn’t take it anymore. You were hot and bothered, face flushed and warm to the touch. You were thanking the Gods that it seemed to have slowed down for now, nobody was grabbing you to assist on bleeding patients. You were waiting on some lab results. Which gave you even more time to think about how horny you were, as juvenile as it was. You were praying he would have mercy on you. You caught him walking out of a patient’s room, unbothered, blissfully unaware of your torment. Or maybe it was entirely conscious. You didn't know, or frankly, cared. You aggressively typed into your phone. He was pretty quick about answering, he almost never answered immediately.

Come. Here. 

Robby looked up from his phone, searching around the crowds of patients and staff, until his eyes landed on you. He tilted his head at you, curiosity in his eyes. He had the tiniest grin on his lips as he met you in the middle. He read your face with curiosity, amusement, even. Wide-eyes, fluttering eyelashes, bottom lip pulled between your teeth, god you looked a mess and he hadn't even touched you.

“What’s wrong, sweetie?” He tilted his head at you, leaning down a bit to your level. The pet name was definitely adding insult to injury. He never addressed you by anything other than your name at work. He truly wanted to drive you mad. And he had the audacity to even ask. You oughta beat him up just for that. 

“Shut up, just come.” You spoke in a hush, tone sharp and laced with frustration. You grabbed his wrist without saying another word, making sure that nobody was actually paying attention to what was happening. Robby said nothing as he allowed you to drag him, realizing where you were going where you turned the corner next to the lockers. 

You dragged him inside the empty on-call room. You let out the loudest, most exasperated sigh as soon as he shut the door behind him.

“Do you have any fucking idea the day I’ve had? I just—“ You stopped in the middle of the room, a short breath leaving your heavy chest, your eyes all but pleading. “I just want you, please?”

“Honey,” his voice was low, steady, almost like a warning, with a head tilt as you heard the soft click of the lock. “You know we don’t do that.” Quickies were absolutely not Robby’s thing. A quickie in the ER? Recipe for disaster.

“I know!—” You gritted your teeth at your volume, immediately biting down on your lip. God, you felt so pathetic. Robby met you in the middle, crowding your space, and for a second your brain short circuited at the way he looked down at you. “I know, I just need you right now. I need you inside me and I don’t think I can wait another six hours.”

Who was he to ever deny his sweet girlfriend anything when she asked so nicely?

“Hmm, yeah?” His voice was barely above a whisper, raspy and baritone in your ear. You were this close to fainting. You felt dizzy, flustered and bothered, all at once. “You’re just needy today, hm?” You completely lost it when he grabbed your jaw, long fingers sprawled across your neck as he forced your head back to meet his lips. The moan that left your throat was so pathetic as he made you back up against the closest wall. 

His mouth just felt so good against yours, almost as good as his free hand finally touching your flushed skin. He didn’t waste any time, much to his dismay, but he had you at home anyway. This was about pure and raw release. He could make love to you in the warm embrace of your own bed, right now, he was okay with just fucking you. 

“You really want it, right here?” He spoke with the slightest bit of amusement laced with anticipation, he knew the answer, but he just wanted to hear it out of your pretty lips. Anticipation sat heavy on your chest, your breath heavy as he slipped his hand into your scrubs.

“Yes, yes, I want you to take me right here, please, please,” shame? You didn't know her. You would do and say anything to get what you so desperately needed. Robby was always so calculated, observant, with everything he did. He watched for your microexpressions, your little sighs and whimpers. They were always so gratifying to him. He took in the way your eyes rolled to the back of your head when his long fingers brushed your sensitive clit and easily slipped inside you.

“Fuck, you are so wet. Have you been like this all day?” There was a bit of humor in his tone, teasing as he fucked you with his fingers. You bit down on your lip, keeping your noises to a minimum as you bunched up the front of his scrubs around your hand. 

“Michael, please.” Words left you in a halt, breathless as your head fell forward against his chest. You wanted to hide how pathetic you looked, jaw hanging wide open, face flushed and glowing with a thin layer of sweat. But Robby loved looking at you, he loved memorizing the ruined fucking mess he made of you. His free hand found the back of your hair to force you to meet his eyes.

“Look at me just like that,” he wanted to focus you, ground you, remind you that it was him making you feel this way. His fingers left you empty, pulsing and throbbing. 

Out of breath, you watched as he dragged your scrubs down until they pooled by your feet, you unconsciously stepped out of one leg, but your panties were still on. You held your breath in your chest as he slowly pulled the soaked fabric to the side and a groan rumbled in his chest at the sight of your swollen clit and glistening thighs. Oh, that was all for him, and he was going to make good on that. He pulled his throbbing cock out of his scrubs fast, and while still keeping eye contact, you braced for what was about to come your way. Without a word, and still holding your panties to the side, he slides into you in one thrust that has you sliding up the wall. There was no, take it slow, or adjust to it. It was so sudden you gasped so loud you swore whoever walked by heard it.

“Uh-uh, quiet. I need you quiet, baby.” His hand was on your mouth, stifling your sweet little sounds as he drove into you. His other hand found your thigh and he was lifting your knee as high as it could go until only your heel was touching his shoulder. You wanted to fucking scream. “You wanted this, so now you take it, but you take it quietly.” 

His weight was pinning you against the wall as he drilled into you, his hand still covering your mouth. He could hear your little gasps, your high pitched moans each time his cock brushed up that one spot inside your walls that made your thighs shudder. His small sighs of exhaustion were right in your ear, a reminder that he, too, was trying desperately to hold himself together, and was failing by the second. 

“You were just so desperate for it. Wanted this so bad? Hm?” His conceding words were in your ear, raspy and out of breath. Your brain has completely turned off, there wasn't a single thought in that head of yours other than the feeling of his cock filling you exactly how you wanted. Deep strokes that have completely ruined you, broken your mind. Just how he liked it. His hand left your mouth just to make you answer him. “You can use your words.”

“Yes, god, yes, I couldn’t think about anything else.” Your voice was broken, desperate, completely overwhelmed with how good he was making you feel. This was the one thing in this world you didn't have to think about, he thought for you, he could take over and make you forget about the world around you and that drove you mental.

“You just wanted to be fucked like you deserved, trust me I know.” His words were sharp, like the way he drove into you. It wasn’t fast, but it was deep, intense and with purpose. He had no need to run in circles, he knew what he needed to do, and like with everything else he was infuriatingly good at, he did it with purpose. You, fucked. That was it. “I want you to feel me for the rest of your fucking shift. Remember what it feels to be just mine.” 

Just mine, he repeated, like a mantra. A reminder that he had to share you with everyone else in this fucking place. But when it was just the two of you? He could take over every little intricate part of your mind, of your body, all of it was just for him. And you let him. You begged him to. And for that? He would fuck you stupid every single time.

It felt like an eternity, it truly did. Every agonizing minute one closer to being caught or heard. Though you had to admit that only added to your purely animalistic arousal. Your trembling hands grabbed and pulled at whatever you could. You dug your nails into his torso under scrubs with one, holding him each time he rutted his hips against yours. Your forehead was leaning on his collarbone, and he didn't even bother to redirect you this time. You clutched his shoulder like vice and you were sobbing into his scrubs as your orgasm hit you way too soon for your liking. It was absolutely delirious, left you sputtering and absolutely wrecked. You were hoping your sounds didn't pass the door.

“Just like that, breathe through it.” His words only added to your delirium. His voice, his rough hands, his authoritative presence, it fucking wrecked you and you were afraid you would never be able to come back from it. You were ruined and only he could have you now. “Fuck, you’re going to kill me. You’re so fucking perfect, you know that?”

His words grounded you. His voice. His hands cradling the back of your head as he fucked you through it. And he didn’t stop until he filled you, and when he did, it was with a breathy moan that got lost in your hair. He held you there until he felt your body collapse over his chest. Without saying a word he carried you to the makeshift bed everyone slept on when they were on call. He sat you down, amusement circling in his pretty brown eyes at the sight of you so cock-drunk. You half assed lifted your scrubs up your thighs but stopped when Robby grabbed your hand.

“Let me clean you first at least.” He chuckled quietly, to which you replied with a quiet oh. The neat braid your hair had stayed in for the past six hours was completely fucked, hairs sticking out everywhere. It was a lost cause. He was always so gentle when he cleaned you, so delicate and tender, a true juxtaposition of the predicament that led you here. “Next time? Wait until the end of our shift.” He wasn’t scolding you. It was more of a, we did something we weren't supposed to, tone.

“I know.. I’m sorry, I don’t know what was wrong with me today.” You were a bit sheepish, shifting and grimacing each time he touched you. As your eyes were down, you caught a glimpse of the angry red marks forming just underneath his scrubs. Wide-eyed, you reached to lift his scrubs and winced at the red nail marks that covered his side and stomach. “Ohhh, wow, my nails aren't that long, are they?”

“Uh, yes, yes they are hun.” He replied, mostly unbothered. You should see the ones you left on his back when he didn't have a shirt, he thought. “I hope no one asks.” He finished his thought with an awkward smile and raised eyebrows. “Oh, and by the way, maybe get yourself together before going back out? You looked like you got fucked.”

The next six hours of your life were going to be the longest of your fucking life, for sure.

[abbotty]

𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐑𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒

jack abbot

☆ these walls have eyes | @asxgard

rumors always start somewhere - and the one about you and a certain attending started somewhere between a whispered confession and myrna overhearing you.

☆ no man's land | @butyoudidthis4what

there's a shooting where you work. jack is at the ed when the dispatch comes in and is terrified when he can't get in touch with you.

☆ edge of the dark | @thepencilnerd

what starts as quiet pining after too many long shifts becomes something heavier, messier, softer - until the only place it makes sense is in the dark.

☆ this city doesn't forget | @abbotjack

you weren't supposed to see him again. not like this. not in this dress, not in this city, not with his last name still catching in your throat. but pittsburgh remembers what you tried to bury.

☆ you, me, and the empty space between us | @mercvry-glow

jack abbot talks the reader off of the ledge.

☆ just a walk-in | @abbotsanatomy

jack's worst nightmare is you ending up in his er.

☆ bar fight | @tedmustache

a rough night leads the reader to the er, and jack's only priority is making sure she's okay.

☆ coffee swap | @tedmustache

it starts with coffee. then it becomes something more.

☆ safe and sound | @science-hoes

a stormy night in pittsburgh causes jack abbot to fall into a ptsd-induced psychosis episode, and the reader does everything in her power to bring them back.

☆ you say that like you care | @frombookstoretobookstore

after reader takes a punch to the face, abbot's emotions flare as he realizes he might care a little too much.

☆ overactive empathy | @lol-im-done

will a traumatic event force jack and the reader to confront their true feelings for each other or pull them apart forever?

☆ first thing | @stellamarielu

lazy mornings with jack are few and far between, but they always exceed your expectations.

☆ who you let in | @eddiesfaerie

jack has a soft spot. he didn't expect you to be the one to find it.

☆ you shouldn't be (down here with me) | @youvebeenlivingfictional

when you're almost shot at work, your body snaps into autopilot as your mind goes into overdrive. jack has always recognized parts of himself in you - he knows a mind teetering on the edge when he sees one.

☆ love me hard love me soft | @mercvry-glow

jack abbot isn't a soft man, but he'll learn for you.

☆ stop making this hurt | @mercvry-glow

you knew jack didn't want to go to pitt fest, instead suggesting you take a few of your girl friends on your day off. little does he know that decision leads to you experiencing the worst day of your life without him.

☆ valkyries and betting pools | @nocapesdahling

one of the most popular and secret betting pools is focused on what's going on with you and dr. abbot. meanwhile, you just want to figure out if the man you've had a crush on for months likes you back.

☆ someone new | @quickestgold

after witnessing the fallout from jack's failed marriage, dana and robby have been skeptical of his new relationship. but when a freak accident forces them to see the depth of jack's feelings, their perspectives shift.

☆ don't make me someone you can't have | @abbotjack

the fallout didn't start the day of pitt fest - it started when you told jack abbot how you felt and he told you he didn't want you.

☆ say it first | @quickestgold

jack has grown used to the emptiness in his heart, a quiet companion that has kept him safe for too long. but when you finally speak your truth, he realizes the hardest battles aren't fought on the field or in the chaos of the er, but in the silence between two hearts longing for each other.

michael 'robby' robinavitch

☆ companionship | @asxgard

he’s not sure how he got here, perhaps it’s the aching loneliness or the overwhelming stress. you’re there because it seems like easy money and you have a pushy friend. all in all, it’s a good deal — he gets the companionship he’s after, no strings, and you get your utility bills paid on time. it’s pretty simple, easy, until your arrangement bleeds into something a bit more…complicated.

☆ lead the way | @traumaone

after over a year of pining over robby, reader gets into a relationship to try and get over him, and gets cheated on. robby comes to the rescue.

☆ booked for one | @abbotjack

a black tie charity gala in chicago. one bed. months of tension. and a storm that forces both of you to stop pretending.

☆ glasses be damned | @thepencilnerd

lazy sunday mornings. you in his shirt. him wearing - glasses? what could be better?

☆ drunk confessions | @thepencilnerd

you're out drinking with your colleagues. robby's not there - until he is.

☆ sticky-notes and leftovers | @thepencilnerd

a glimpse into your daily notions with robby after moving in.

☆ sweet nothings | @thebestandworstdayofjune

you own a bakery down the street from ptmh, and dr. robby is one of your favorite customers.

☆ peace | @xximperioxx

the reader comforts robby after a hard shift (she talks him off the ledge).

☆ work crush | @xximperioxx

the reader has a crush on robby. spoiler alert: it's reciprocated.

☆ doctor's orders | @tedmustache

when one rough day pushes things to a breaking point, unspoken feelings come dangerously close to the surface.

☆ the right moment is you | @cherriready

robby didn't mean to propose today. not during a long shift, not without a plan, and definitely not in front of the er. but when he saw her, he saw the rest of his life. no speeches. no perfect moment. just her. always her.