i consume way too much fanfiction

hi! i'm mishti 21 | officially unemployed (i graduated 😞) | indian-aussie river cartwright enthusiast (idk how to be normal about him...)

[barnesonfilm]

triple match point

★ summary: you and samira mohan were ‘fire and ice’ long before jack abbot came into the picture. but when ambition, obsession, and desire blur together one thing becomes painfully clear: tennis always wins

★ pairing: challengers!au! jack abbot x reader x samira mohan

★ warnings: 18+ mdni, smut, internalized homophobia, situationship but make it a throuple, toxic relationships, manipulation, threesomes, p in v, oral, fingering, public sex, cream pie, dirty talk, tennis inaccuracies

★ word count: 13k words

★ notes: rewatched challengers & something crazy came over me. this feels out of my comfort zone for writing so i hope u all like it??? part two maybe??? ;) <3

In August, the Stanford courts smelled like sunscreen, wet concrete, and too much ambition. While the California sun beamed down on your skin, your eyes were locked onto the match happening a few feet away from you. Even as your own partner’s ball whizzed right past your head. 

Everybody arrived here with rankings and reputations and old trophies clinging to them like bad perfume. Former junior champions. Olympic hopefuls. Rich girls with private coaches and devastating backhands.

Most of the team grew up inside tennis academies with recovery trainers, nutritionists, and parents' trust funds. You grew up learning how to rewrap your own blistered hands with pharmacy tape because proper grip supplies cost too much that month. 

You spent high school waking up at four-thirty in the morning to practice before classes, then racing across town afterward to whatever job was currently paying you enough to keep competing. Waitressing at a sleazy diner in town. Cleaning locker rooms at a fitness center where rich women complained about Pilates while your knees throbbed beneath you. During summers, you coached little kids at the YMCA under brutal heat until your voice went raw from yelling instructions all day, only to stay afterward and practice serves alone until dark.

There were nights you fell asleep still smelling like tennis court asphalt and fryer grease. Nights you bled through your socks because your shoes were too worn down to support your feet anymore but you kept playing anyway because you didn’t know what else you were supposed to do. College scouts didn’t care if your body hurt. 

Nobody cared how badly you wanted it until you started winning enough to force them to pay attention. And God, you wanted it.

You wanted it with a desperation ugly enough to scare you sometimes.

You clawed your way into national rankings one ugly match at a time until colleges started calling. Not because you were polished or even marketable. But because you won. Relentlessly. Meanly sometimes. You turned yourself into the kind of player people dreaded drawing in brackets. You were willing to destroy anyone and anything that got in between you and your dreams. 

Then Stanford offered you a scholarship and suddenly you were here surrounded by girls who looked born for this life.

Girls like Samira Mohan.

She was a freshman, just like you. Her reputation preceded her, a full-ride scholarship with sponsorships already circling like sharks in the water. She could have gone pro almost immediately, but insisted on going to college. You thought this was to lessen the hype surrounding her, but instead, they treated her like the future of American tennis had descended graciously onto collegiate courts for fun.

On paper, you wanted so desperately to hate her. 

But from the moment you first caught a glimpse of her, you knew that was easier said than done. 

You expected someone with that much attention around her to be unbearable in an obvious way. Some polished media-trained nightmare with a smile that belonged on sponsorship campaigns and magazine covers. Instead, she barely seemed aware of herself at all. She was kind, genuinely kind in a way that was hard to be in competitive sports. 

And the worst part? She was the most beautiful woman you had ever laid your eyes on. 

She was a vision on the court, all elegant moves and precise shots. An absolute firecracker, who was currently screaming in Hindu under her breath at her partner. Her white tennis dress contrasting against her sweatlined skin, her curly hair in a messy braid down her back. She was golden, practically glistening against the court. The sight of her in person had the habit of taking your breath away, right before another ball was struck directly at your head. 

You just barely ducked, nearly falling flat on your ass. 

“What the fuck Trinity?” You barked, looking back at your partner who was already in position to serve another one directly at your head. 

“Stop staring, you pathetic gay.” She yelled back, making your face blanch. 

This was the other worst part, you may have, just maybe, had the tiniest of a schoolgirl crush on her. Your roommate and best friend Trinity would disagree with the tiny part, but that didn’t matter. 

“Half gay,” You grumbled, in a weak attempt at a comeback. 

“And fully pathetic, get in position! We only have the court for another hour.” 

”Fuck you.” You cried out, hitting the ball back at her with expert precision. 

“Yeah, she’s back.” She cheered playfully, the two of you continuing with your head-to-head match. It was endless practice and drills to start the year. Your head was not in the game, it was on the pretty girl a few feet away who hadn’t even glanced your way once. 

By the second week of preseason, the Stanford courts had already become something ugly and sacred. Blister tape littered the benches. Empty electrolyte packets rolled across the concrete in the wind. Everyone walked around with ice-wrapped shoulders and knee braces were the new chic accessories. Nobody spoke much between drills anymore. Competition had worn through the friendliness fast. Every girl here wanted the same thing. 

You especially.

Which was why Coach Al-Hashimi eventually made the mistake of putting you and Samira Mohan on opposite sides of the net.

Trinity physically recoiled when she saw the matchup sheet.

“Oh man, you're gonna stumble over your shoes if she stares at you too long?” She asked, walking alongside you as you grabbed your gear. 

“Come on,” You whistled, adjusting the tape on your wrist, “When have you known me to stumble on the court?” 

“That’s fair, but come on. Don’t make Stanford’s golden child cry, it’ll be bad publicity.” She laughed, plopping down on the bleachers. 

You scoffed, “Please, if she cries then she shouldn’t be in this sport.” 

Across the court, Samira laughed softly to herself as she’d overheard it. Which she probably had. Her racket rested against her shoulder while she tied her curls back into a cleaner ponytail, sunlight catching against the gold chain at her throat. 

You took a few steps forward, spinning your racket around loosely in your hand. 

Samira adjusted the brim of her visor and tucked a loose curl behind her ear with absent elegance, as she existed in an entirely different environment than the rest of you despite standing under the same brutal sun.

That was the thing people noticed first about her. Not even the beauty, though there was certainly enough of that to make half the men’s team act brain-damaged whenever she walked through the athletic center. It was the composure, it never slipped. 

You had spent the last few weeks trying very hard not to care about her. Which mostly translates to thinking about her constantly.

Not in the pathetic way Trinity kept accusing you of, though she certainly enjoyed making your life miserable over it. It was more that Samira unsettled you. Players like her were not supposed to exist naturally. Nobody should have been that technically gifted while remaining genuinely kind at the same time. Every talented player you had ever met carried sharp edges somewhere underneath the surface.

But Samira smiled at everybody. Remembered names. Helped freshmen pick up tennis balls after practice without being asked. She thanked trainers. She apologized when serves clipped the net during warmups. She played with ruthless precision while somehow never seeming cruel about it.

She was the complete opposite of you, all sharp edges and bite. You’d made a girl cry during a junior's tournament in Texas after targeting her backhand for two straight sets until she unraveled publicly. You argued with judges and snapped more rackets than you could afford. It only got worse when you met Trinity, judges called the two of you the angriest doubles teams in the history of tennis. 

At least they were talking about you. 

Samira glanced toward you while bouncing a ball lightly against the concrete, her expression relaxed. Not a hint of tension to be seen on her shoulders. “You ready?” 

You rolled your shoulder once before settling into position at the baseline. “Depends, you gonna uphold the title of Stanford’s golden child?” 

She just laughed softly under her breath at that, not embarrassed or thrown off in the slightest. “I’ll try not to disappoint you.”

You refused to let it show that her words made your shoulders tighten. The game began, slowly at first. A warm-up between two peers clearly on the same level of technicality. But that didn’t last long, neither of you seemed particularly interested in easing into anything gently, and within minutes the pace escalated into something far more competitive than a preseason practice match.

You started pushing first, mostly out of instinct. Harder pace off the forehand swing. Sharper angles designed to test her movement, to coax a response out of her.

Samira redirected pace with surgical precision, using your own power against you instead of fighting it head-on. Watching her move across the court felt strangely hypnotic because there was absolutely no wasted motion anywhere in her game. Every recovery step landed perfectly balanced. Every swing flowed seamlessly into the next movement. Even the sound of her ball striking strings felt cleaner somehow, less violent than yours despite carrying just as much danger behind it.

The first real rally of the match came, and the bystanders grew and grew. Bleachers were full watching the match unfold in all of its glory. 

The secret truth about tennis was that at a certain level, it stopped being a game built purely around mechanics and became something far more intimate than people realized. You learned another player’s habits through repetition. Their breathing patterns under pressure. The exact shape of their frustration. The milliseconds of hesitation before riskier shots. Great rallies felt less like combat and more like conversation conducted entirely through movement and anticipation.

And Samira spoke your language immediately. In a way that had your palms sweaty.

You slammed a forehand down the line hard enough to nearly strip paint from the baseline, the impact cracking sharply across the courts and drawing several startled reactions from nearby teammates. It was an objectively ridiculous shot, the kind designed specifically to end points outright. Samira somehow reached it anyway, sliding into a desperate recovery before redirecting the ball crosscourt with absurd control that landed inches inside the sideline.

“Oh, fuck off,” you snapped automatically before you could stop yourself.

Instead of looking offended, Samira burst into startled laughter, bright and genuine enough that it briefly threw off your concentration entirely.

“What?” you demanded, already resetting your stance.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re intense?,” she asked, still smiling as she moved back toward center court. 

“Just about everyone I’ve ever met.” You smiled viciously. 

The next rally lasted even longer. Twenty shots at least, maybe more, both of you pushing each other deeper into increasingly impossible angles until your lungs started burning beneath the heat and sweat dripped steadily down the side of your face. You could feel your pulse everywhere by that point, wrists and throat and chest all hammering violently beneath exertion. 

All it took was one shot, a millisecond too late of a reaction for the ball to go whizzing past you. A chorus of boos and cheers erupted from behind you, your heart nearly stuttering out of your chest. 

You bent slightly at the waist catching your breath, chest heaving hard while sweat rolled slowly down your spine beneath your shirt. Across the net Samira rested her hands against her knees for a moment before glancing back up at you, loose curls escaping and sticking damply against her golden skin beneath the sunlight.

When you caught her eyes, something dangerous split between your ribs. There was admiration sparkling there, a beaming smile that contrasted your furrowed brows and scowl. 

“Wow,” she said honestly between breaths. “You’re the first actual opponent I’ve had since I got here.”

From that moment, a friendship was born. 

At first, it was a practical matchup approved by your coaches. Nobody else on the team could push either of you properly anymore. Samira needed someone aggressive enough to force her out of her comfort zone, somebody willing to turn every practice set into controlled warfare. You needed somebody steady enough to withstand your worst moods, to turn you into a ‘civilized player’ they said.

It was five-thirty runs through campus while fog still hung low over Palo Alto and the world smelled faintly like wet grass. It was weight room sessions spent shoulder to shoulder beneath fluorescent lights, Trinity half-asleep beside you both while Samira quietly corrected your form with gentle hands against your spine. It was the endless hours on court until your bodies moved around each other instinctively, your games sharpening together like knives dragged repeatedly across the same stone. The first time you two played together officially, one commentator called you two ‘Fire and Ice’ after the two of you bulldozed through doubles nationals together. 

For the next two years, the two of you were inseparable. A match made in tennis heaven, that’s what ESPN called the two of you after Stanford won nationals your sophomore year, the article accompanied by grainy action shots of you snarling at the net beside Samira looking composed enough to belong in an entirely different photograph. Beauty and brutality. 

The analysts loved turning the two of you into mythology because it made good television, because people were fascinated by the impossible chemistry of watching someone as elegant as Samira Mohan somehow fitting together seamlessly with somebody as sharp-edged and openly vicious as you.

Behind the cameras and headlines, Samira knew you better than anybody alive.

She knew when your shoulder started bothering you again because your serve motion tightened slightly afterward. She knew the specific silence that meant you were angry versus the quieter one that meant you were hurt. She knew how to talk you down after losses without making you feel pitied, knew exactly when to push and when to leave you alone entirely.

Nobody had ever handled you gently before. Your whole life, people either tried to control your intensity or feared it outright. Coaches called you difficult. Opponents called you cruel. Even people who loved you sometimes treated your emotions like natural disasters to survive instead of something worthy of understanding.

Samira never asked you to become softer. She just learned how to hold the sharp edges without cutting herself open on them.

Falling in love with her was never part of the plan, but it came easier than winning a match. 

You never told anyone, besides Trinity who called it that day on the court during Freshman year. You planned to die with the secret. As far as you knew, Samira didn’t even like women so it never crossed your mind as being an option, until the end of your Junior year. 

The season had just ended badly. Samira lost a semifinal she should’ve won and spent the entire night furious and vibrating with restless energy. The two of you snuck your way onto the courts half-drunk from some terrible fraternity party neither of you even wanted to attend. The two of you were barely able to play an actual game, your vision too blurry your balance too off. Rackets and balls were neglected on the court, for some poor lackey to clean up tomorrow. 

In a fit of giggles, and sweaty from the night air you two found yourselves in the locker rooms. She was still ranting about missed shots while peeling off sweaty party clothes in the showers afterward because neither of you were thinking clearly. The next thing the two of you knew, you were both naked in front of each other. Steam fills every inch of the tiny stalls, making the distance between you two feel even smaller. 

 Her mascara was smudged beneath her eyes, and her cheeks flushed from the drinks. You remembered the exact moment she stopped talking. The way her teeth bit down on her bottom lip. The exact moment she looked at you differently. 

Her gaze traveled down your body when you stepped beneath the spray with your eyes closed, letting the hot water hit aching muscles. You could feel her looking before you opened your eyes again.

”I don’t even know why I’m so angry,” she’d laughed softly, water dripping down her shoulders. “It’s stupid.”

“Because you care too much.” You said, focusing on rinsing the rest of the shampoo out of your hair. 

“Maybe I’ve just been spending too much time with you.” She joked, but her laugh came out flat and unfocused. You could see the faraway look in her eyes, the way her fingers twitched at her sides. 

“You okay Mira?” You asked softly, taking a tentative step closer. 

She stared at you for a long second after that. Then the distance was closed, and her lips were on yours. It was startling and desperate.

You fell into her immediately, your hands finding her hips in the steamy room and pulling her body against yours. Her hands were cold against your jaw, while your mouths explored each other’s messily. You pressed her against the damp tile, kissing down her jaw and her neck while her hands tangled in your hair. 

Her skin was soft and wet as your hands traveled down, gripping the supple flesh of her chest. She responded to you almost immediately, her legs parting for you as your hand slipped in between. Between the water gliding down her body and the arousal pooling, it was easy for your fingers to slip through her folds. You remember her lips parting, as she begged you for more. You remember the feeling of her warm cunt spasming around you with each expert thrust of your fingers.

A lot of it was a blur looking back, but you remember with startling clarity your heart beating so hard you thought you might throw up from it. You’d never forget the sound of your name on her lips as she came, how her skin tasted, and then the horrible realization of what happened after the water ran cold. 

You couldn’t look her in the eyes afterward, not when your mouth tasted like her. Shame was deep in your stomach as you watched her towel dry her hair in the mirror, your eyes pleading for her to let you out of your misery. 

You stood there pleading silently for her to say something different. Instead, Samira laughed once under her breath, thin and uncertain.

“It was just a mistake.” The words hit like physical pain. 

“We’re a little drunk,” she added quickly. “That’s all.”

You weren’t sure who she was trying to convince. Maybe herself, but it didn’t work on you. 

All you could do was nod because losing her entirely felt more terrifying than swallowing the heartbreak whole. Your friendship survived on unspoken things already. One more secret buried between the two of you hardly seemed impossible at the time. Nothing really changed in your friendship after that, but Samira never really touched you casually again, not outside the court anyways. 

Everywhere else, she hesitated. Pulled herself back at the last second. Wrapped every dangerous feeling in sarcasm or competition before either of you could examine it too closely. But on the court, instinct took over. She reached for you constantly there.

Your wrist between points. The small of your back switching sides. Your hand crushed in hers after impossible rallies. Your bodies thrown into each other in celebration. 

It became easy to pretend none of it meant anything because technically it belonged to the game.

During the NCAA quarterfinals, the two of you came back from a nearly impossible deficit after Samira saved a match point with a return so vicious the crowd audibly gasped. The stadium erupted in an ear-bursting cheer. 

Before you even processed winning, Samira had already collided into you full force, laughing breathlessly while her arms wrapped around your shoulders hard enough to nearly knock you backward.

“Oh my god,” she shouted against your neck, adrenaline making her voice wild and bright. “Did you see that?”

You barely heard the crowd. Not with her legs tangled around your waist. Not with her heartbeat pounding against your chest. Not when she looked at you afterward glowing with triumph so beautiful it physically hurt to witness.

Somewhere between junior and senior year, the shape of your life stopped orbiting tennis and started orbiting Samira. It felt like trading one obsession for another. 

It didn’t happen all at once. It wasn’t a decision you made. It was slower than that, subtle reallocations of attention that felt reasonable in the moment. You missed a training session because she needed a ride to a sponsor event. You stayed after practice longer than you should have because she was frustrated and you knew just how to make her laugh. You started saying no to things that would have advanced your own ranking if they meant less time in her orbit. 

You didn’t even realize until rankings came out, and Coach Al Hashimi sat you down. Her perfectly styled eyebrows furrowed in frustration. 

”Don’t let love dim your potential, Y/n.” She had said, Samira’s picture looming behind her on the banner hanging against the fences. It felt like a punch to the gut, but still, you kept trailing behind her. 

-

”You know,” Samira started, staring down at the US Open pamphlet in her hand. Her other hand occupied by her blackberry and lip gloss, “I used to have a poster of him in my room.” 

JACK ABBOT FINAL US OPEN 

The words were in a bold white font, underneath a photo of the rugged man. He was handsome, there was no doubt about that. You’d never had the privilege of seeing him play, but everyone who knew anything about Tennis knew about Jack Abbot. He was a legend. A legend who suffered a horrible knee injury last year, a legend who had already defied odds by being the oldest professional player to win a US Open. He was determined to finish his career on a high note. 

“Really?” You laughed, sipping your overpriced drink. “That’s so embarrassing." 

She knocked her shoulder with yours at the tease, “Oh please, you had a Katy Perry poster on your wall until last year.” 

“Okay, it was a really good album-“ Your banter is cut off by the crowd erupting as Jack Abbot himself steps onto the court. 

Jack rolled his shoulder once before stepping up to the baseline, testing the stiffness in his knee with the smallest shift of weight. The stadium lights bleached everything silver-white around him, sweat already glinting along the sharp line of his jaw despite the match barely beginning.

His entire body snapped through the shot with that old predatory force people wrote articles about in the early years of his career, the kind that made tennis commentators sound religious trying to describe it. The ball cracked into the service box so fast it almost looked unreal, skidding low and hard enough that his opponent barely got a racket on it.

Beside you, Samira made a small involuntary sound.

You wanted to tease her, make fun of her for fawning over a retiree, but you found yourself just as mesmerized. It was like watching a future version of yourself down there. He was ruthless and aggressive in each swing and pump of his arms. The vein in his neck protruded with each yell, spit flying from his mouth. 

Every rally carried that same furious edge to it. Every point felt personal, when his opponent tried to pull him wide across the baseline, Jack chased the ball down with a grim sort of joy, shoes screeching across the hard court while the crowd gasped around him. His knee visibly buckled once during a slide, just for a heartbeat, and somehow he still turned the return into a winner down the line.

The stadium erupted and Samira grabbed your thigh so suddenly it made your breath catch.

Her fingers dug into the bare skin just above your knee without thought, gripping hard as the replay flashed across the giant screen overhead. Heat flooded through you instantly, not just from the contact, but from the fact she clearly hadn’t realized she’d done it. Her attention remained glued entirely to the court, body pitched forward in disbelief while her nails pressed crescents into your skin.

“Did you see that?” she demanded, half turning toward you now, eyes bright with adrenaline.

“Yes,” you laughed breathlessly, though it came out weaker than you intended because her hand was still there. “Jesus Christ.”

Every time he won a point, the two of you reacted before thinking. Leaning into each other, grabbing each other, knees knocking together in the cramped seats while adrenaline crackled so violently through your veins it almost stopped feeling separate from attraction.

You glanced down pointedly at her hand still gripping your thigh when her thumb began stroking small circles on the inside. 

Her eyes widened slightly before she snatched it back almost violently, as the skin contact itself had burned her. A flush climbed immediately into her cheeks, though whether from embarrassment or adrenaline, you couldn’t tell.

“Sorry,” she muttered quickly.

Before you could answer, Jack fired a forehand winner so vicious the entire stadium seemed to inhale at once.

You and Samira reacted at the same time.

 “Oh, fuck off,” you gasped. 

“No way,” she breathed.

Then both of you dissolved into disbelieving laughter together, shoulders knocking hard enough to nearly spill your drinks while the crowd around you stood roaring to their feet.

Down on the court, Jack finally allowed himself the smallest flicker of satisfaction. He stood at the baseline breathing hard, chest rising beneath sweat-dark fabric while the stadium screamed around him. His curls clung damp against his forehead, racket hanging loose at his side as he stared across the net with an expression that bordered on feral.

You hadn’t felt that alive watching tennis in weeks, now it was as if something had been ignited deep in your chest. A desire to blow this afterparty and head straight to the court. But, Samira’s hand was gripping your forearm tightly, dragging you into the Jack Abbot retiree celebration party.

Everyone wanted a piece of him. And Samira looked absolutely gone.

“He’s shorter than I thought,” she murmured for probably the fourth time that night, staring openly across the terrace where Jack stood with a drink in hand speaking to two ESPN commentators.

You took another sip of your cocktail. “You said that twenty minutes ago.”

“You should just go talk to him,” you said finally, the words sour in your mouth.

Her head whipped toward you immediately. “You think?”

“I think if you stare any harder, security's gonna intervene.”

“Oh shut up.” But she laughed, biting briefly at her bottom lip before glancing back toward him again, “Do I look okay?” 

You smile sadly at her, bringing your hand up to smooth down her stray hair that the wind blew out of place. “Beautiful.” You choked out, like the word didn’t hurt. 

She just watched you for a moment, wringing her hands together. 

“You gonna go now?” You laugh, chewing on the cocktail straw, aching to sneak off for a cigarette that Samira would smell and yell at you for later. 

“I’m working myself up,” She was practically bouncing on her heels, “You know I can’t believe he’s not married,” she said, almost absently, eyes following Jack as someone from Adidas laughed too loudly at something he’d barely said.

You smirked without looking at her. “He is.”

She glanced at you. “What?”

“To tennis that is.”

That made her laugh under her breath, but it didn’t last long. Her expression shifted as she watched him again. “Well,” she said finally, quieter, “that’s just sad. I hope you don't end up like that.” 

That made you look at her.

She was still watching the room, not you. Still following Jack with her eyes like he was the most interesting thing in it. A weird feeling in your gut simmered at this. Has she ever looked for you in a room like that? Or were you simply furniture? Her peer turned partner turned cheerleader. 

And suddenly you were aware of it again, the slow erosion of yourself over the last year. Practices that became about her timing. Matches that became about her schedule. Decisions that always curved back toward Samira Mohan’s trajectory like gravity.

“Maybe tennis is my only true love,” you said, your eyes still hopelessly on her.

Samira finally looked at you, but it felt like she was looking through you,  “You used to be mean on the court, you know? Like breaking rackets spitting in people's faces means. There used to be a fire there.”

You let out a quiet breath through your nose. “I’m still mean.”

She cocked her head, “Y/n, you haven’t played a solo in weeks. The papers are saying the fire in ‘Fire and Ice’ is dwindling. Your ranking is lower than it should be.”

You frowned, letting your shoulders fall. You saw the papers, it was impossible not to. Trinity had taped them to your door, alongside a note that said ‘get your shit together.’ There was no time for you to play, not while Samira had your calendar booked up. 

In the silence, Samira speaks up again. “Have you ever considered coaching? I think it’s time to focus on the next step of your career, and I think that would be the best thing for you.” 

”What?-“ Before you can answer, or even formulate a thought a hearty laugh breaks through the crowd. 

Across the venue, Jack laughed at something someone said, the sound low and unbothered even surrounded by people trying too hard to matter to him. Camera flashes from somewhere caught him mid-turn, that familiar rough-edged charm slipping into place without effort.

Samira’s attention snapped back to him like a reflex. You noticed the exact moment she stopped thinking about you. 

“I might go get some fresh air.” You said, suddenly finding it hard to breathe.

“Go on,” she said suddenly, nudging your arm lightly. “I think I worked up the courage.”

You nodded once and slipped away to the edge of the crowd.

The air outside the main cluster was cooler, quieter, carrying the distant sound of the city below like something alive and indifferent. You found a corner near the cliffside, the sounds of the river lulling your beating heart as you pulled a cigarette from your bag, and lit it with hands that only shook a little.

The first inhale grounded you in a way nothing else had all night. You exhaled toward the skyline, watching smoke disappear into neon. 

“So this is where the real party is.” A timber voice spoke up from behind you, making your shoulders tense. 

Looking back, maybe this was the first crack in the glass. When Samira spent all night trying to get him to look at her, and he saw you first. 

“Jack Abbot,” You breathed out, thumb still flicking the cigarette filter. 

“Y/n Y/l/n.” He said, with a smug smile on his lips. 

His name coming from your mouth made your stomach fall, brows furrowing at the man. He seemed to have noticed the confusion, taking a few steps closer to you. 

“What?” The jilted teasing in his tone made your knees weak, “You don’t think I’d keep up with the up-and-coming tennis stars from my alumni?” 

“Didn’t think my name would be on that list,” You scoffed, still wallowing in your own self-pity. 

“Highest ranking score. What was it, top junior results? Higher than Mohan’s early numbers,” he said, like he was reading something off memory. “And now you’re what? Holding her water bottle at courtside and running drills like a shadow?” The cigarette paused halfway to your lips.

“That’s not true-“

“Come on,” he cut in, not unkindly. “You know what I’m saying.”

Silence stretched. Behind you, laughter erupted from the party again. Music pulsed faintly through the wind. You knew what he was saying, it was the same thing everyone close to you had been drilling into your head the past few weeks. Jack didn’t look away from you, his gaze heavy and startling. 

“She’s my best friend,” you said finally, quieter. 

A hum from him. “But?” he prompted.

Your eyes drifted back to the party. Samira was on the dance floor now. Laughing loudly. Surrounded by attention without ever seeming to need it. She looked like she belonged in the center of everything. Like she always had. Beautiful in motion. Confident in a way that made people forget how sharp she actually was.

”She’s just really good.”

Jack followed your gaze. “Yeah,” he said softly. “She is.”

There was a beat of silence before he spoke, quieter, almost like he wasn’t speaking to you anymore:

“But you could be better.”

He scoffs, “How many games do you let her win in practice? I bet she doesn't even realize you’re pulling your hits anymore, huh?” 

“Don’t act as if you know me,” You snapped, “What you watch our film? See a game? Read our stats? Just because you’re famous doesn’t mean you know anything about us.”

There was that stupid infuriating smirk still on his face, like he was looking into a mirror, “Okay, okay.” he says, his hands up in surrender. “Apologies for offending the lady, but you can’t deny that you’re selling yourself short.” 

You rolled your eyes, going to flick the cigarette out before a hand captured your wrist. 

“You mind?” He asked gently, to which you took too long to shake your head. 

Jack’s fingers loosened only slightly around your wrist, rough warmth settling against your pulse as he guided your hand back toward him instead of away. 

His gaze never left yours as he leaned down, his mouth wrapping around the cigarette between your fingers.

Heat flooded through your entire body so fast it almost made you dizzy.

The scrape of stubble against the inside of your wrist. The slow inhale hollowing his cheeks slightly. The deliberate eye contact while smoke curled between both of you in the humid night air. 

It was obscene, and erotic. Jack pulled back after a second, exhaling smoke toward the river before finally releasing your wrist. His thumb brushed once against the inside, before dropping it as if it had never happened. 

“C’mon,” he said easily. “Let’s go meet your best friend.” 

Jack walked ahead of you through the crowd with effortless confidence, occasionally nodding at people who tried to stop him but never slowing down long enough to get trapped. You followed behind him in a daze, knees weak as a newborn fawn on ice.

It was as if the party bent to his will. Not because he was handsome, though he absolutely was. Not because he was famous or that this whole party was for him anyways. It was something stranger than that. Jack carried himself like a man completely at ease with being desired. Comfortable under attention, thriving even. The kind of confidence people spent their entire lives trying to fake.

”Samira Mohan,” Jack said as he approached the bar beside you, his voice smooth and warm with amusement. “This lovely lady was outside singing your praises.”

Your stomach twisted as Samira’s brows flew up her forehead. What kind of game was he playing?

“Was she?” 

”All of them,” he said easily. “Most of which I already knew were true.” Then he reached for her hand.

You’ve known him for all of ten minutes and you already knew flirting was simply another language he spoke fluently. His fingers curled around hers with surprising gentleness before he dipped his head just enough to brush a kiss against her knuckles.

A blush bloomed immediately across her cheeks and down the elegant line of her throat, visible even beneath the warm amber lighting of the tiki torches. Through all the years you’ve known her, never once have you seen her so flustered, yet here she was tripping over her words. 

“Your backhand tonight was insane,” she said quickly, words tumbling over each other now that she finally had his full attention. “That second set crosscourt return in the fifth game? Nobody hits that angle anymore because everybody’s obsessed with baseline power but your timing was-“

“Old school?” Jack offered.

“Surgical,” Samira corrected instantly. 

Then, they were off. She and Jack fell easily into a discussion about court surfaces and younger players and racket tension like they’d known each other for years.

You stood beside them sipping melting ice from your drink feeling more and more like a third wheel in your own life.

Your jealousy curdled slowly. Not even entirely toward Jack, mostly toward the sport itself.

Because tennis always won in the end. It always got the deepest parts of Samira before anybody else could. You’d spent years quietly accepting second place to it, even making it second place in your own life to carve out space for the love you had for her.

Then, Jack’s eyes met yours. Samira was still deep into conversation about his pacing, and his footwork, before he cut her off. 

“Fire and ice,” he mused, glancing between the two of you. His finger lifted from his whisky glass, twirling around.  “That’s what they used to call you, right?”

Samira laughed softly under her breath. “God, that was stupid.”

“It wasn’t stupid,” Jack said. “People loved watching you two.”

His gaze settled on you again. Heavy enough to make your skin feel hot beneath your dress. “I related to the fire part personally. Hell, you know they called me a tennis cowboy for years. Never following the rules.”

You looked away first, unable to keep his gaze. Not while Samira looked like a kicked puppy the moment his gaze was no longer on her. 

“Well,” Samira said brightly, trying to shake herself out of whatever strange current had settled between the three of you, “she’d make an incredible coach.”

Jack’s attention shifted lazily toward her. “Yeah?”

“She sees the game differently than anybody I know,” Samira said immediately. Proud. Certain. “She notices momentum before it shifts. Patterns before they happen. Half the reason my game improved at all was that she could always tell what I was doing wrong before my coaches could.”

”So, you giving up all of this,” he moved his hands around to gesture to the party raging on without him, “to be a coach?”

It occurred to you that Jack Abbot had seen in half an hour what you’ve spent the past few years blind to. Samira had decided your future for you, on her side of the court rather than the opposite. Just the person standing behind somebody else’s success rather than making your own. 

You shrugged lightly, trying for indifference. “Maybe.”

Jack’s expression shifted almost imperceptibly at that.

Samira laughed awkwardly beside you, immediately jumping back in before the silence could settle too deeply. “She’s being dramatic. She still plays recreationally and honestly if she wanted to start competing again she probably could, she just would be much better at-“

”Do you want to coach?” Jack interrupted her gently.

You looked at him, caught briefly off guard by the intensity of his attention again. Around you, the party blurred warm and loud, people brushing past in expensive fabrics and perfume, but suddenly it felt strangely isolated there at the bar with him watching you like your answer actually mattered.

“I don’t know,” you finally admitted. “Maybe I am better suited for coaching than competing.”

Jack stared at you for a second like you’d said something genuinely absurd.

“No.” The certainty in his voice made your stomach flip. “You’re the most competitive player I’ve ever seen.”

You blinked. “That’s definitely not true.”

“It is.” His gaze dragged over your face slowly before settling heavily on your eyes again. “Players like you don’t just wake up one day and stop wanting it. Where did that fire go?” 

Something hot curled low in your stomach.

Samira shifted beside you, suddenly very interested in finishing her drink.

”You just need that…” Jack tilted his head slightly, mouth curving into a knowing half-smile. “Fire back.” 

Samira downs her drink in one swallow, the air suddenly much hotter than it was before. 

“Doesn’t she?” Jack elbowed Samira lightly, brushing his body against the side of hers. 

She set the empty glass down harder than necessary before forcing a quick smile back onto her face. “Okay,” she laughed thinly, “now you’re just feeding her ego.”

”Aww,” Jack pouted playfully, looking down at her. “Are you jealous?” 

 The question landed with a sharp little crack between all three of you. Samira froze for half a second, then laughed too quickly. “Please. She’s had an ego since she was sixteen.”

“S’ a part of the game,” you muttered, trying desperately to diffuse the strange electric tension coiling tighter and tighter around the conversation.

But Jack only grinned wider, like this dynamic was the most interesting match he had ever seen. 

“You know,” he said conversationally, “most players would kill for somebody who believes in them the way Y/n believes in you.”

”Well,” Samira said suddenly, buoyed again by alcohol and adrenaline and the fact that Jack Abbot was still standing here talking to her like she mattered, “if you’re not sick of us yet, we could do a nightcap somewhere quieter?”

You nearly choked on your own spit. Samira looked equally surprised at herself for approximately half a second before stubbornness took over. Her chin lifted slightly. “What? We’re fun.”

Jack barked out a laugh. “Jesus,” he said, rubbing one hand over his jaw dramatically. “You girls even old enough to drink?”

Samira rolled her eyes instantly. “We’re twenty-three.”

“Mm.” His gaze slid toward you lazily. “What do two young tennis players want with this broken old man?” 

“To seduce you, obviously.” Samira teased, letting her perfectly manicured nails hover above his forearm. It didn’t feel like a joke the way his eyes glittered. He pulled his hotel keycard out of his pocket within seconds, guiding both of you away from the lights and noise. 

Her fingers curled around his bicep while she talked animatedly about some disastrous junior tournament in Florida, head tipping toward him every time he laughed. Jack listened with easy patience, occasionally teasing her just enough to keep her flushed and smiling.

Meanwhile, you walked half a step behind them feeling strangely untethered.

The jealousy inside you has become complicated now. Twisted together with attraction and longing and something lonelier. Because Samira looked so happy beside him. Glowing from his attention. And Jack, infuriatingly, seemed equally comfortable with her hanging off his arm while still somehow tracking your every movement at the same time. His gaze had a way of making you feel seen in a way you weren’t sure if you had been before. 

The US Open spared no cent when it came to his accommodations. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the entire glittering city. Low modern furniture. Expensive dark wood. A terrace stretching out beyond the glass with the skyline spilling endlessly behind it. Somewhere inside the suite jazz played softly through hidden speakers.

Jack loosened the collar of his shirt as he stepped inside, immediately more relaxed here than he’d been all night.

“One drink,” He mused, grabbing a bottle of champagne that had been sitting on ice, “Then it’s off to bed for you two.” 

The bottle was popped with a loud cheer, bubbles were poured into overpriced glasses. 

“Cheers, to the legend Jack Abbot himself.” Samira cheers, clanking all of your glasses together. 

Conversation stretched deep into the night after that, sprawling loose and intimate in the strange way conversations only become after midnight. Shoes abandoned by the couch. The city glittered outside the windows. Samira was twirling her now frizzy curls between her fingers while you were arguing with Jack about whether modern players lacked aggression.

”They’re too fucking soft nowadays.” 

“You think everybody’s soft,” she accused.

“Everybody is soft.” You argued back, your bare feet pressing against her thighs from where you two were lounging on the couch. 

“You cried during your Australian Open press conference in 2006.” She pointed, making you groan. Your empty glass being filled up again by Jack who sat perched on the velvet armchair, right across from you two. 

“It was an angry cry though, those judges didn’t know their heads from their mouths.” You gulped down another drink, the bubbles going straight to your head. 

“If you can’t handle the heat, stay out of the kitchen, that’s what I said after my opponent in 2008 said I was, ‘A disgrace to the sport of tennis itself’ for forcing his hand for five rallies.” Jack chimed in, his hands lazily on his knees while he leaned back. 

“What an old saying.” Samira snorted, her hand falling on your bare ankle absentmindedly. 

“Can I ask a question?” He asked suddenly, “It might be personal but..” 

You both just hummed, nodding for him to ask. 

“Are you two together?” 

Samira’s hand is gone from your ankle like it was never there at all, pulled back so fast it’s almost violent in its restraint. The absence of it is louder than the touch was. She shifts in her seat, reaches for her drink too quickly, and you can see it in the small, betraying details of her body that she’s recalibrating in real time, trying to put herself back into something legible.

“No,” she says immediately, too quickly.

You feel the gap she leaves beside you widen, even though she hasn’t physically moved away. It’s just suddenly obvious that whatever space she occupied a second ago was more intimate than she’s willing to admit in front of him.

You smile anyway, because that’s what you do. It’s what you’ve been doing for so long it comes out easy, practiced. “Just best friends,” you add lightly, tilting your glass slightly in your hand as if the question barely touched you. “The best of friends.”

There’s a faint curl at the edge of his mouth, not quite amusement but not far from it either. “Right,” he says slowly, like he’s accepting the answer without believing it.

Samira adjusts her hair behind her ear, her nervous tick. “Why?” she asks, but her tone is careful now, guarded in a way it wasn’t a minute ago.

Jack’s attention shifts to her briefly, then back to you, like he’s refusing to let either of you escape the frame of his observation. “Just curious,” he says, “It changes how people move around each other on the court. That’s all.”

He doesn’t let the silence last for long, “Tennis is probably the most erotic sport there is,” he says. “You spend hours watching someone’s body under pressure. You learn their timing. Their breathing. The exact moment they break rhythm.”

He tilts his glass slightly, watching the liquid shift. “There’s no distance in it. Not really. Not when you’re paying attention. It’s intimate.” 

The tension in the room is so thick it makes it hard to breathe, so you swing your legs to the side of the couch, sitting upright. 

“We’re out of champagne.” You smiled, shifting the topic almost as soon as it came. 

It took a while, but the conversation drifted after that into softer territory, though the tension never loosened. If anything, it deepened with the hour, settling low and heavy into the suite like another entity in the room.

Jack had migrated from the armchair to between you two on the couch at some point, abandoning the performative distance between all of you. The cushions dipped beneath his weight as he stretched one leg out carefully, wincing faintly at the stiffness in his knee before hiding it behind another sip of whiskey.

The city glowed silver through the windows behind him. The suite lighting turned everything honey-soft. Samira’s bare knees brushing his every few seconds unconsciously, and every time it happened Jack’s eyes flicked downward briefly before returning to your faces.

”So, you’re telling me after all these years nothing has happened between you two?” He asked, Samira practically shoved against his side while his arm was slung across the couch, directly behind your head. 

“This again?” Samira groans, shoving him gently. 

You shift on the couch, drawing your legs in slightly, suddenly hyperaware of how close all of you have ended up without anyone actively deciding it. “It was one time,” you say, more casually than you feel, like you’re tossing it into the air just to make it lighter than it is. “Sophomore year. We were drunk. It didn’t… it wasn’t anything.”

You have Jack’s full attention again, his eyes sparkling at getting confirmation of something he could have easily guessed. 

Samira’s head snaps toward you immediately. “Can you not,” she mutters, half-laughing, half-warning, but there’s no real heat in it. Only panic trying to disguise itself as annoyance.

”No, can we, please?” Jack pleads, looking like the cat that caught the canary. 

“We don’t talk about it,” You shrugged, ignoring her pointed glares. “Didn’t mean anything.” 

Jack dragged his thumb slowly along the rim of his whiskey glass. “So what’s the angle here?”

Samira blinked. “Angle?”

“Mhm.” He gestured lazily between the two of you. “Two gorgeous Stanford tennis players get a newly retired athlete alone in his hotel suite after midnight. They clearly have some unresolved sexual tension.”

”I think we just, admire you.” She whispered, his face gradually inching closer and closer to hers. 

Your eyes are glued on them, watching their bodies gravitate towards each other. 

His hand lifted absently, fingers brushing along the back of the pillows behind Samira’s shoulders. Not touching her exactly. Hovering close enough to make her breath hitch anyway.

“You two act like you’re in the middle of a match neither of you wants to win.” He said, “You two just bounce off of each other, when it would be so much easier to just let someone win.”

Samira laughed softly under her breath, though it sounded nervous now. “You think everything’s tennis.”

“Everything is tennis.”

He leans forward slowly giving Samira all the time in the world to pull away. 

“So what is it, Samira?” He asks, his breath hot against her lips, “Who wins?” 

She wastes no time in pulling him closer, their lips slotting together messily. Time moves slowly, watching as his large hand cradles her face in his hands. The sound of their tongues pressing against each others makes your legs squeeze together, the temperature in the room rising.

He suddenly pulls away from her, both of them immediately meeting your gaze. He says nothing, simply turns his head and presses his lips to yours with the same urgency. 

You can taste her lip gloss on his lips, and it makes your head spin. The rough stubble of his cheeks brushing against your palms makes you groan into the kiss. As soon as your mouth parts he takes that as an opportunity to glide his tongue into your mouth, caressing against yours. It’s hot and desperate, and it’s over way too fast. 

 When he pulls back your lips are swollen, and your heart is nearly beating out of your chest. The first thing you see when you open your eyes are Samira’s on yours. Her own lips red, her hands perched on Jack’s legs to pull her closer to you. 

Jack leans back slowly, looking down at the two of you like he was watching a ball bounce across the court. 

“Come on,” He whispered, nudging his head to the empty space across his lap. The only space separating the two of you. “I know you both want it.” 

Her pupils are blown, lust written all over her face as she looks at you. It’s unspoken as the two of you are pulled together. You don’t know who leans in first, you just know your lips are on hers.

You’ve kissed Samira Mohan before, but it didn’t matter because each time it felt like getting your first breath of fresh air in weeks. 

Her hands grab your face, while yours steady themselves on Jack’s legs. He’s just watching, both of his hands cradling your heads as you kissed each other like you were starved. It was years of tension, of longing all rolled into this one kiss and he was getting to spectate it. 

When you pulled away, her spit was still attached to your lip. Jack groaned softly at this, the tent in his pants evident as he shifted. 

“Should we take this to the bed ladies?” 

It’s a messy tangle of limbs, and clothes being shed as the three of you stumble over to the bed. Samira falls into it first, her dress still dangling off her ankles. Jack’s lips are still on your neck, his hands unzipping your own dress to let it fall in the pile of clothing. When he pulls away to unbutton his shirt you take the chance to grab Samira’s legs helping her pull the dress off of her slowly. 

She looks ethereal like this, laying back with her eyes wide. Her nipples erect, and poking out high just waiting for you to put your mouth on them again. You crawl over her, settling your legs on either side of her hips. 

“This okay?” You ask, your voice hoarse. Thick with anticipation. 

She nods so fast you’re surprised it doesn’t give her whiplash. 

You lean down, dragging your lips down from her neck to her chest. Pulling each of her nipples into your mouth, tongue flicking the small buds before you pulled off of them with a wet pop. You traced a line down her stomach with your tongue, stopping right above her underwear. 

You press a kiss over the warmth of the fabric.  “Can I taste you?” You practically begged.

She lifted her hips up, urging you to pull the fabric down. There’s no time wasted in you doing this. As soon as she’s bare in front of you, you almost feel like you’re dreaming. 

”Fucking gorgeous.” You whispered, running your fingers through the dark hair perched on her mound. With one swipe of your tongue against her glistening cunt, you were gone, pressing your face even further into her. 

“Holy fuck,” She cried out, her hips bucking against you.

Neither of you even noticed that Jack had crawled back on the bed, watching the two of you patiently while you were lost in your own world. Samira tilts her head back, a smirk on her lips. 

“Aren’t you gonna join us?” 

He whistles, “Well baby, I was just enjoying the show.” He leans up off the bed, walking behind where you were still on top of her. 

You lean your head up to speak, but you’re pushed back down by Jack’s hand wrapping itself in your hair. 

“I didn’t say you could stop,” He ordered, pressing his boxer-clad cock against the curve of your ass, “You keep making our girl feel good, and I’ll make you feel good.” 

Your underwear are discarded, with Jack’s fingers finding your clit with expert precision. His callused fingers slip inside of you with little resistance, as he works you open for him. It didn’t take long for your arousal to drip down his hands, between the taste of Samira on your tongue and her breathy moans you were aching for it. 

“Think you’re ready for me?” He asks, and you’re nodding into Samira’s cunt, your moans only causing vibrations to run through her. With her legs shaking around your head, Jack’s cock slips against your entrance. 

The stretch of him takes your breath away, your hands gripping Samira’s legs tighter as he slowly inched himself inside of you. He was huge, that was no surprise you’ve seen the pictures of him in his tight shorts, but now you could feel him in your stomach. 

“Fuckkkk.” He grunted out behind you, his hips meeting yours with a soft pop. “So tight f’me.” 

“Right there,” Samira cried, when your fingers slipped inside of her, your tongue still sloppily licking her cunt, “Fuck, Jack make her feel good.” 

“Yeah?” He asked, amused at watching the two girls so focused on each other’s pleasure. He bucked his hips up into you once, then once more until he slowly found his rhythm. 

The moans bouncing off of the walls were enough to make a porn star blush, between Jack’s grunts and Samira’s wailing moans you wouldn’t have been surprised if you got a noise complaint. 

She came into your mouth with a cry of your name, pushing your head away gently. She crawled over to you, pulling your lips onto hers to taste her own release. 

All while Jack was holding your hips with an iron grip, fucking into you so deep you could hardly feel your toes. 

“Oh, my god.” You cried into Samira’s mouth, “I’m gonna come.” 

Her eyes flickered up to Jack’s, while she still lazily kissed your open mouth, “Mhm, come on Jack’s cock baby.” 

“God, yes.”

Samira drank up your moans, swallowing them down as Jack slowed down his thrusts, watching your cunt cream around him. He slipped out of you with caution, making you cry out at the emptiness. 

Your arms were shaking when you pushed Samira back down on her side, watching Jack stalk behind her like prey. His cock is slick with your release and hanging heavy between his legs. 

“Your turn, baby.” Jack hummed, crawling behind her and lining himself up with her entrance. You lie next to her, letting her body rest on top of yours. 

”Holy-“ She cut herself off by biting down on your shoulder, muffling her screams. You watched Jack’s cock stutter as he pushed further and further inside of her. ”S’big.” 

“Both of you taking m’cock so fucking good,” Jack moaned, his hand heavy on her hip as he began to fuck into her from behind, “M’ so lucky.” 

Samira’s jaw was lax, Jack kissing into her mouth messily as you watched him fuck your juices into her. 

“He feels good doesn’t he?” You moan, reaching forward to start biting and sucking whatever flesh of hers you could grab while Jack fucked her brains out the same way he just did you. Your hands are pulling at her tits, circling her clit in a frantic motion.

She lets out a gargled moan as response, kissing you back lazily. 

“Yeahhh, he does.” You cooed, “That big cock splitting you apart, baby?”

”It’s so good, gonna make me cum, gonna make me cum, oh yes.” She sobbed, falling apart sandwiched between the two of you. 

“M’ right behind you.” Jack warned, his thrusts only getting faster as his balls tightened. You pressed your mouth against Samira’s and that’s all it took for him to still, cumming deep inside of her with a desperate shout. 

The silence that followed was soft, not harsh or uncomfortable. It was heavy breathing and the post-orgasm daze of realizing what had just happened. 

Samira broke the silence with an uncontrollable giggle, her head lolling against your bare chest. 

“You didn’t cum twice.” She pouts, suddenly staring at your body like her hunger had yet to be satisfied. 

“I’m not sure what to do.” She breathed out, suddenly nervous despite the events that had unfolded over the past hour. 

“I‘ll walk you through it,” Jack whispered, his head nuzzling into the crook of her neck. Guiding Samira’s hand between your still open legs. You were still sensitive when her fingertips found your clit, flinching at the sensation. She kept making sure you were okay between each stroke.

“Now you can slip your fingers inside…” Jack guided, to which Samira nodded. 

“Just one or…” 

“She can take two, can’t she?” 

“Yes,” You cried, feeling her second finger slide inside next to her other. Her fingers weren’t as big as Jack’s, but the softness in which she moved had you wanting to cry out in pleasure. 

With instruction, she learned how to thrust her fingers just right. Her thumb hits your clit with each roll of her hand. The sound was absurd as she pulled you closer and closer to your last orgasm of the night. 

“You hear that, just how wet you make her?” He whispered to her, making her eyes nearly roll to the back of her head. His softening cock was still deep inside of her, plugging her with his cum that threatened to leak out the sides. Meanwhile her fingers were making a mess of your cunt, the lewd wet sounds making both of them mewl into each other as they watched you writhe and come apart on her fingers. 

“See that?” he asked, watching your hips grind into her hand. “She’s gonna cum.” 

“Mira,” You cried out, trying to pull her as close as possible, your lips brushing as you came around her with a shout.

Her eyes stayed locked on you while you came, drinking in each twitch of your body. 

When she slipped her fingers out of you, she stared at the slick digits like Eve staring at the apple in the garden. 

“Taste her.” He whispered, but it sounded more like an order. 

She slid her fingers into her mouth, sucking around the digits moaning at the taste of your release against your fingers. 

“Fuck.” You breathed out, watching her cheeks hollow. 

“Fuck is right.” Jack said, in awe at the two of you. 

All of your bones were heavy with exhaustion, bodies still floating in bliss. You remember cleaning up, and Samira pulling you into her chest. The next thing you remember was waking up to the bright light peering through the curtains. 

The bright intrusion made you groan, trying to roll over only to be blocked by a hard block of muscle. That’s when the memories of last night rushed through you. It wasn’t a dream, it was real and the ache between your legs and the two warm bodies lying next to you were proof of that. 

New York was still dark beyond the massive hotel windows, the city painted in soft blue-gray light while rain tapped quietly against the glass high above Manhattan. The suite smelled faintly like champagne and expensive linen and something warmer underneath it all musk, sweat, and sleep.

For a long moment, you didn’t move too busy watching her. 

Samira slept on her side facing you, curls spilled messily across silk pillowcases, mouth slightly parted beneath the dim morning light. Without all her sharpness awake inside her, she looked younger somehow. Softer. Like the version of her all those years ago you first fell in love with.

You reached out carefully, brushing a loose curl back from her face with your fingertips. Her eyes fluttered open almost immediately.

For one disorienting second she just stared at you sleepily, lashes heavy and lips still swollen from sleep and kissing and all the champagne from the night before

“Hi,” she whispered, voice rough.

“Hi.”

Behind her, Jack groaned softly into the pillows before tightening his arm instinctively around Samira’s waist. His eyes blinked open slower than hers had, still foggy with sleep while he looked between both of you lazily.

”Oh, so it wasn’t a wet dream.” He mumbled, breaking a bit of the awkward tension. 

“Hey, how are you feeling?” Samira asks, grabbing your wrist from underneath the blanket, holding it gently in her hand. 

“I’m good,” You smiled, and maybe for the first time in a while you really meant it. 

“Good,” She beamed, “Then I have a question.” 

“Oh, god.” You started to sigh, then squealed when she wrapped her still bare legs around yours pulling herself on top of you to straddle your hips. The blanket sat low on her waist, her curves on display while her tits bounced in your face, 

“Will you coach for me?” She asks, her hair falling around her head like a halo. 

How could you say no? When she looked like that, and the taste of her was still faint on your mouth. Her bare skin pressed against yours felt like heaven, and in that moment you would have done anything for her. 

“Yes, god yeah.” You laughed at her immediate squeal, leaning up to press your lips to hers gently. 

Jack just laid there, his arms behind his back staring over at you two. “Ready to play some tennis, girls?”

Your relationship was never defined, everyone knew you and Samira came as a pair. It had been unspoken since your undergrad days, but now Jack Abbot was also there. 

Jack accepted Stanford’s offer not long after that night. Officially, it was temporary. Guest coaching. Mentorship. Media appearances as an alumni. The university parading around the fact that they had Jack Abbot wandering their courts now, older and limping slightly but still magnetic enough to draw attention. 

Unofficially, he was there for Samira. Everyone knew it. The rumor mill started almost immediately. 

It became one of those things nobody directly addressed but everyone understood instinctively. Samira Mohan arrived with you attached at her side like gravity itself demanded it, and somewhere along the way Jack had slipped seamlessly into the orbit too.

It was late-night practices under empty stadium lights. Jack fed impossible balls across the court while Samira laughed breathlessly after missing them by inches. You correcting her aggression while he corrected her footwork. The three of you collapsing onto benches afterward sweaty and exhausted, sharing water bottles and protein bars and tension so thick it practically sat beside you. It was stolen kisses and the nights the three of you never talked about during the day. 

It wasn’t what any of you had planned, but it was something sacred between the three of you. At least you thought it was. 

At first, it was small things. She’d look to him first after matches now, searching his face for approval before yours. During practices, she listened more sharply when he spoke, more immediate in her adjustments, more eager to impress him in ways she never tried with you anymore because your approval had become assumed.

He challenged her constantly, pushed her harder than anyone else ever had. He understood the uglier side of her ambition. Where you soothed her spirals, Jack sharpened them into fuel. Where you protected her confidence, he provoked it deliberately just to watch her fight her way back.

Jack would pull her aside afterward for “extra work,” and suddenly two hours had passed without either of them answering texts. You’d find them still on court long after dark, standing too close near the baseline while discussing strategy, Samira flushed with her hair a little out of place. Sometimes she’d forget you were supposed to be there at all. 

Suddenly you weren’t the only one who understood her game, and it made you green with envy. How were you on the outside of something that you all had started together? 

“Late for your own practice.” You said, your voice short and clipped. Nothing but the harsh sound of your racket slamming the ball into the wall echoes from the training room you booked weeks ago. You had spent the last hour and a half, stewing in your own anger. 

Her hair is a mess, eyeliner still smudged underneath her eyes. She looks the least put together you’ve ever seen her at practice, but she’s still vibrating with energy. 

“I’m sorry,” Her voice was dry, water bottle swinging in her hand, “It was a long night. Jack and I were watching some of his old games.” 

“Yeah, I’m sure.” You whistled, another ball cracking against the wall with so much force it made her flinch at the sound. 

“Okay,” She breathes out, crossing her arms over her chest. “Are you upset with me?”

“Why would I be upset Samira?” You laugh cruelly, “Is it the part where you decided my future for me, or the part where you know how I feel about you but you continue to exploit it?”

“I’m not exploiting you,” She gawked, “Where is this coming from?”

The bitterness that rose in your throat tasted humiliating. “You asked me to coach you,” you said. “You asked me to put my career on hold because you said nobody understood your game the way I do. You said you needed me.”

“I do need you-“

“But not the way I needed you to.” The words exploded out of your chest, making your hands shake. “Not the way you need, him.” 

Her eyes widened, nearly stumbling over her own feet as if the words you said made the ground shake beneath her feet. 

“You know what the worst part is?” you laughed bitterly. “I would’ve done it anyway. That’s what’s so pathetic.”

“Y/n-”

“No, seriously.” You turned toward her sharply. “You asked me right after that night in New York. That was fucked.”

Neither of you ever talked about it directly anymore. Not Jack’s hands on both of you. Not the unbearable intimacy of waking up tangled together afterward and pretending it hadn’t changed everything. It just lived underneath every conversation, every fleeting glance. You let it happen, again. 

“You asked me after we slept together because you knew I was too in love with you to say no,” you said quietly. “And I said yes so fast I didn’t even stop to think what it would cost me. Because I love you, Samira.” 

She looked like you had slapped her, “You think I planned that?” she asked, voice cracking now. “You think I manipulated you into all of this?”

”I think you always knew you’d never choose tennis over me, but I think you loved that I’d choose you over tennis. Fuck, I would have chosen you over everything.” Your voice cracked, tears welling in your lash line. 

Samira wiped angrily at her eyes before looking back at you. “That’s not true, Y/n. I need you on my team, so I’m confused. I’m confused and scared, but what I do know is that I need you. I need us, together.” 

“There’s no us Samira,” You scoff, feeling your knuckles ache from just how hard you were gripping your racket. “There never has been, not really.” 

“Y/n..” 

“No,” You threw your hands up, stopping her from walking closer, “I need some space, okay?”

She sniffles, but spins on her feet anyway leaving you alone. 

The moment the door closes behind her, you let out a blood-curdling yell. The racket slams on the ground with such force that you can feel the ache in your shoulder before you see the plastic splinter across the concrete. You lose track of how long you’re slamming it into the ground, but when you hear the door open the racket is nothing but the handle. 

Like a bad omen, Jack Abbot is walking into the room. 

“Oh fucking great,” You scoff, trying to blink away the angry tears from your eyes, “Just the fucking person I wanted to see.” 

“You done?” he asked quietly.

“Fuck you.”

He shut the door behind him anyway, walking into the now plastic mess scattered on the court. 

Your shoulder was throbbing now, the familiar burn shooting down your arm from overtraining and rage and three straight days of sleeping badly. You wiped angrily at your face before bending to grab your bag, already wanting him gone.

”Your shoulder’s swelling again,” he said.

“I don’t care.”

“Yeah,” he muttered, walking closer. “That’s kinda the problem.”

You should’ve told him to leave, should’ve beaten him over the head with your spare racket. Instead, you sat heavily on the bench while he crouched in front of you, pulling athletic tape and scissors from your bag with ease.

The room felt unbearably quiet now. Just the soft tear of tape and your heavy, labored breath. 

Jack’s fingers brushed carefully against your skin while he rolled your shoulder experimentally, making you flinch.

“Tight,” he murmured.

“No shit.”

His hands steadied your arm anyway, surprisingly gentle despite everything else about him. The touch should’ve annoyed you more than it did. Instead, it made something inside your chest ache.

“When’s the last time you did something for yourself?” He asks, setting down the scissors and tape with a clank. 

You let out a shaky breath, shrugging, “My whole fucking college life has just been her.” 

“Maybe,” He whispered, his hand grabbing your thigh gently. “You need to start being selfish again.” 

You looked down at his hand on your bare thigh, your stomach twisting in knots. It was this again, the weird tension between the three of you. The wanting each of them in different ways that made it all so complicated. 

“She loves you.” The words escaped before you could stop them.

Jack’s expression barely changed. But his hand tightened slightly against your leg.

“She loves you,” you repeated more quietly. “And you love her.”

He nods, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “I do.” 

Something bitter twisted through your chest. “She’ll always love tennis more,” You pinch the bridge of your nose harshly, trying to warn him against the heartbreak that’s settling deep within your ribs. 

“So will I, which is why I think it’ll work.” His confession leaves you stunned, your fingernails still digging harshly into your palms. 

A harsh cry escapes your throat, amusement laced with sadness at the absurdity that is your life. 

“She loves you, you know? But you’re competition. You always have been. It’s probably why she loved you in the first place,” He hums, like it’s a fact that was glaringly obvious. “She’s not like you, she’s not insults and penalties on the court. She’s keeping you close, she wants you in her corner because if you're not? You’re her biggest competition and she fucking knows it.”

”You’ve been stroking my ego since we met,” You mumbled, “Doesn’t make any sense. I’m always second to her. In every fucking aspect.” 

His thumb rubs a soft circle against your leg, goosebumps rising on your skin. 

 “What’s your angle?” You asked finally, looking up at the man. “New York, your hand on my leg, what the fuck is all of this?” 

“My angle?” He laughs, and it’s different from how you’ve heard him laugh before. It was deeper, more real. ”I just wanna watch some good fucking tennis.” 

You ripped your leg out of his grasp, grabbing your bag so harshly you couldn’t even think about the pain that was still radiating down your shoulder. 

“I’ll show you good fucking tennis.” 

“I know you will!” His voice echoed through the hallway. 

-

In hindsight, you shouldn’t have called your friends and drank half a bottle of vodka to dull the pain that was pressing against your ribcage. It just felt like the only logical thing to do. You were a month away from graduation, your future suddenly blurry around the edges after years of precision. Tennis had always been the one thing in your life that made sense. Work hard enough and you get results. Fight hard enough and eventually somebody would recognize it. You earned your spot here, and you let love ruin all of that. 

Samira had never played by those rules inside your heart and now Jack had walked into both of your lives like a lit match tossed into dry grass.

By the end of the night, Trinity had taken your phone away twice to stop you from texting them things you’d regret. You vaguely remembered crying in the bathroom while one of the girls from track held your hair back even though you hadn’t actually thrown up.

When you woke up your mouth tasted like vodka and regret. You groaned quietly and rolled over, fumbling blindly for your phone on the nightstand.

Three missed calls from Samira <3 

You stared at her name for a long moment before finally pressing call back.

It rang twice before voicemail picked up. The sound of her recorded greeting nearly shattered whatever fragile resolve you’d managed to piece together overnight.

Hey,” You breathed out, the sound of your own voice making you cringe, “I’m sorry about last night. I just, Samira, I really love you. Jack coming into our lives has just made everything so fucking complicated. I’ll support you every step of the way, you know that. If you love him, go for it. I’ll step aside. I’ll be okay, you know? But you’re right, we n-need each other. We’re a team. Just, listen, I'm sorry again. I’ll bring you your favorite coffee before practice, okay?” 

As soon as you hang up the phone, a loud banging against your door makes you jump. 

“Y/n!” You hear Trinity’s voice on the other side, banging even harder than before. 

“Jesus, who’s on fire?” You yelped, rushing to swing the door open. She doesn’t even greet you, simply pushes her way into your room shoving her phone in your face. 

“Did you fucking see?” She’s furious, her face is red and her chest is rising meaning she probably ran all the way here. 

“What-“

You finally read the words on the news article, your breath catching in your throat. 

“RETIRED TENNIS LEGEND JACK ABBOT TO COACH RISING STAR SAMIRA MOHAN THROUGH HER PROFESSIONAL DEBUT”

Below is a picture of a press conference, no doubt happening this morning. He’s standing next to her holding a contract, both of their smiles wide. You read it again, and again, snatching the phone from her hand in disbelief. You read it so many times that the words blur together and stop making sense in your brain. 

“Are you fucking serious?” Your voice doesn’t waver; instead, it's a loud bark. 

“It came out just a few minutes ago,” She whispered, “It seems like this has been in the works for a while.”

One argument, one disagreement and she throws away years of hard work, years of love between the two of you. 

You look at Trinity with a hardened look of absolute, feeling the fire rise up in your chest, “I’m gonna beat Samira Mohan, even if it fucking kills me.” 

[yiiiikesmish]

oh my god. this is INCREDIBLE ARE YOU KIDDING ME? THE TENSION THE ANGST IM LOCKED IN I NEED MORE PLEASE.

the betrayal is CRAZY work. not even a heads up is fucked up. we are gonna beat them (up) BAD.

[afterdarkbydel]

Courtship Rocks

Jack Abbot x Reader

Summary: Jack Abbot gets drunk. This is rare. This is unexpected. This is apparently also how you end up standing at your bedroom window in Pittsburgh, staring down at your husband while he recites Shakespeare on the lawn like a very handsome, very intoxicated theater kid with excellent lung capacity. He is romantic. He is committed. He is loud. You are in pajamas. The neighbors may never recover. Eventually, you get him inside, get him sitting on the edge of the bed, and attempt to help him into sweatpants while he becomes deeply concerned about your honor, your reputation, and the fact that his legs “don’t match.” Jack Abbot is steady under pressure. Drunk Jack Abbot is apparently one balcony away from a community noise complaint.

Warnings: married Jack Abbot x Reader, drunk Jack, alcohol use, established relationship, romantic comedy chaos, Shakespeare recitation, public embarrassment, Pittsburgh setting, responsible spouse caretaking, suggestive humor, changing clothes while drunk, prosthetic leg removal handled casually and respectfully, soft domestic intimacy, dramatic husband behavior.

Author's Note:

This one is for everyone who has ever wondered what would happen if Jack Abbot got drunk enough to become both romantic and theatrical. The answer is Shakespeare. Outside your window. At night. You have to retrieve your husband before the neighbors start calling in noise complaints, then get him upstairs, undressed, into sweatpants, prosthetic off, and safely into bed while he behaves like a scandalized Victorian man being compromised by his own legal wife.

He is dramatic. He is devoted. He is very lucky he is cute.

Xoxo, Del

You were asleep when the first little tap woke you up.

At least, you were pretty sure you had been asleep. It was the heavy kind of sleep you earned after two back-to-back shifts, a shower hot enough to steam the whole mirror, and half an episode of a show you absolutely could not remember choosing.

The bedroom was dark. The house was quiet. The sheets smelled like laundry detergent and Jack’s shampoo because he had a habit of showering, crawling into bed with damp hair, and pretending he was not actively ruining your pillowcases.

Another tap near the glass.

Tiny.

Sharp.

Distinct.

You opened one eye.

For a second, you thought it was weather. Pittsburgh did weird things at night sometimes. Wind. Branches. Rain pattering sideways against the glass.

Then a third sound.

Tap.

A pause.

Tap tap.

You stared at the ceiling.

“What the fuck.” you whispered to no one.

From outside, faint but unmistakable, came a man’s voice.

“But soft.”

Your eyes widened.

Oh my god.

“But soft,” the voice repeated, louder this time. “What light through yonder—yonder—fuck.”

You sat up so fast the comforter slipped to your waist.

There was a muffled shout from outside, followed by laughter. Loud, wheezing, helpless laughter.

Robby.

You threw the covers back, crossed the room, and shoved the curtain aside.

Your husband was standing in the front yard.

Jack Abbot, attending physician, homeowner, allegedly grown man, was in the grass beneath your bedroom window with his jacket half-zipped, his hair a disaster, one shoulder slightly lower than the other, as if balance were a concept he respected but did not currently possess.

One hand was braced against his chest.

The other held what looked like a fistful of gravel from the edge of the driveway.

On the sidewalk behind him stood Robby, bent almost in half, one hand planted on his own knee while he laughed hard enough to shake. He looked drunk in the reckless, sparkly-eyed way that meant he was going to make every bad decision worse on purpose.

Shen leaned against the mailbox with the loose, happy posture of a man who was buzzed enough to be philosophical and rapidly approaching drunk enough to consider himself useful.

Crus stood near the curb beside his car, arms folded, completely sober and spiritually exhausted.

Jack saw your face appear behind the glass.

Everything in him lit up.

“Lady,” he said.

You blinked down at him.

Robby made a noise like a balloon losing air.

“Lady?” you repeated, mostly to yourself.

Jack lifted his chin with tremendous dignity. “Lady in the window.”

Crus looked up at you and mouthed, “I am so sorry.”

You unlocked the window. “Jack—”

Outside, Jack was already winding up again.

You pushed the window open.

A tiny piece of driveway gravel sailed through the gap and hit you softly in the chest.

For one perfect second, no one moved.

You looked down at the pebble where it bounced off your sweatshirt and landed on the floor.

Then you looked back out the window.

Jack stood in the yard with his hand still raised, his face draining of every ounce of drunken triumph. “Oh no.”

Robby slapped both hands over his mouth.

Shen went very still against the mailbox.

Crus closed his eyes like he had expected disaster, but was still disappointed by its form.

Jack took one horrified step backward. “I struck my lady.”

“You threw a pebble,” you said.

“I struck her.” Jack turned on Robby, devastated. “Why did you let me throw rocks at her?”

Robby’s eyes widened. “I did not authorize the courtship rocks.”

Jack looked at Robby, confused, “They weren’t your idea?” 

“No!” Robby exclaimed as if he had been accused of first-degree murder. 

Crus pointed at Jack. “They were your idea.”

Jack looked back up at you, appalled by himself. “I would never harm you.”

You press your lips together in an attempt to stop your smile, “I know, Jack.”

His gaze dropped to your sweatshirt.

Then his expression changed.

Just slightly. Concern stayed there. Guilt stayed there. But something else arrived.

Something drunker. Stupider.

Very much your husband.

Jack squinted. “Did that go down your shirt?”

You stared at him.

Robby inhaled sharply.

Crus shook his head.

Jack lifted one hand, very serious and very helpful. “I can get it for you.”

The sidewalk exploded.

“Absolutely not,” Crus said.

Robby bent fully at the waist, laughing so hard he nearly folded himself in half. “Chaperone! They need a chaperone! This is improper!”

Shen lifted one finger, swaying with grave importance. “A matter of decorum has presented itself.”

Jack’s face snapped from hopeful to offended. “I was being medically helpful.”

“You were offering to put your hand up her shirt,” Crus said.

Jack looked deeply wounded. “I am a doctor.”

“You are drunk,” Crus replied, rolling his eyes. 

Jack frowned, as if this were technically accurate but spiritually irrelevant.

You picked the tiny pebble up from the floor and held it between two fingers. “It’s the size of a Tic Tac.”

Jack’s eyes locked onto it. His shoulders dropped in relief. Then he winced all over again. 

“No more rocks!” he announced.

Robby straightened just enough to salute. “End of an era.”

Jack looked back up at you, still guilty, still giddy, still completely obsessed. “Are you sure it didn’t go down your shirt?”

“Jack.” You're warned, fighting a smile. 

Jack’s brow furrowed, “Respectfully.”

“No.” You told him. 

He nodded immediately, solemn as a vow. “Right. Boundaries.”

Crus pointed at him. “Hands where I can see them, Romeo.”

Jack lifted both hands. One was still full of gravel.

You raised your eyebrows.

He looked at the gravel, horrified all over again, and opened his hand. The tiny rocks were scattered into the grass. 

“The rocks are retired,” Jack announces. 

Shen nodded. “A noble sacrifice.”

You should have closed the window then. You should have told him to come inside. You should have reminded him that neighbors existed and that Crus looked one stern glance away from calling time of death on the evening.

Instead, your eyes drifted toward the porch.

The tiny blue light above the doorbell camera blinked steadily in the dark.

Recording. 

Oh.

Oh, this was a gift.

You glanced toward the corner of the garage, where the driveway camera sat angled toward the front yard. Also recording. You folded your arms on the windowsill and tried very hard to make your face neutral.

“Go on, Romeo,” you called down.

Crus’s head snapped toward you. “Do not encourage him.”

Too late.

Jack’s face opened like you had handed him a sword and a reason.

Robby pointed up at you, delighted. “She’s making him worse.”

“She appreciates theater,” Jack said.

“You don’t know theater,” Crus said.

Jack gave him a wounded look. “I know my lady.”

Robby made a strangled sound. “Your lady?”

Jack turned on him. “Yes.”

Crus stared at him. “Your wife.”

Jack froze.

Then, very slowly, he looked back up at your window. “We’re married?”

Your smile started before you could stop it. “We are.”

His whole face lit. Not soft, exactly. Not sad. Not even sentimental.

Just pure, stunned delight.

Like someone had woken him in the middle of the night and told him he had won the best thing in the world, then pointed to you as proof.

“Fuck yeah,” Jack murmured. 

Robby doubled over. “Oh, he’s happy about it.”

Shen nodded, solemn and wobbly. “As he should be.”

Crus rubbed a hand over his face. “He has been happy about it for years.”

Jack ignored all of them.

He was looking up at you again, bright-eyed and entirely too pleased with himself.

“My wife,” he said, testing it out.

You nodded, “Yes.”

His grin widened. “Fuck yeah.”

“Jack,” Crus said, “you cannot just keep rediscovering your marriage.”

Jack did not look away from you. “Watch me.”

Then he lifted one hand toward your window again, suddenly possessed by the urgent need to continue.

“But soft.”

Robby wheezed. “He’s going back in.”

Jack cleared his throat with the unearned confidence of a man about to ruin literature.

“But soft,” he repeated. “What light through yonder…”

He frowned.

The line had apparently vanished.

“What light through yonder…” Jack tried again, squinting at your window like the answer might be written on the glass. “Through yonder… house hole.”

Robby howled.

Crus leaned towards Jack, “Window.”

“I know,” Jack snapped, then looked back up at you and immediately softened. “Window.”

You leaned your chin into your hand, trying so hard not to smile too wide because every tiny bit of encouragement made him more powerful.

Jack saw anyway. Of course he did.

 His grin went crooked and giddy. “She likes this.”

“No, she doesn’t,” Crus said.

“I do,” you called down.

Crus looked up at you. “You are creating a monster.”

You shrugged, “He’s already my monster.”

Jack’s mouth fell open.

Robby slapped Shen’s arm. “Oh, that got him.”

Jack stared up at you, dazzled. “I’m yours?”

“You’re mine.” You confirmed. 

He turned toward the guys, almost vibrating with joy. “I’m hers.”

“We know, you’re married to her. ” Crus said.

Jack looked back up at you, needing it from the only source that mattered. “I am?”

You were laughing now. “You are.”

Jack grinned, “Fuck yeah.”

Then he remembered his mission.

His expression shifted back into concentration, but it was different now. Less performance for performance’s sake and more desperate translation. Like his drunk brain had decided regular words were not enough for what you looked like in that window, wearing his sweatshirt, smiling down at him with sleep-warm eyes and messy hair.

He did not know Shakespeare.

You were sure of that.

Jack had once referred to a sonnet as “one of those fancy rectangles.” He had complained about mandatory high school English with the same tone he used for hospital printer jams. He did not casually quote old plays.

But apparently, somewhere inside him, beneath the whiskey and whatever terrible thing Robby had talked him into ordering, a few broken pieces of Romeo and Juliet had survived.

And tonight, because he was drunk and in love and staring up at you, his brain had decided those pieces were the only tools worthy of the job.

“What light through yonder window…” Jack paused, fought for the word, and then looked offended by his own mouth. “Fucks.”

Crus sighed. “Breaks.”

Jack’s brow furrowed deeply, “That’s what I said.” 

“You said fucks.” Crus corrected. 

Jack glared at him with a frown, “Emotionally, I said breaks.”

Shen nodded. “I understood him.”

“You are not helping,” Crus said.

Jack ignored them, his gaze locked on you.

“What light through yonder window breaks,” he said again, mangled but determined. “It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.”

He stopped. His brow furrowed. “No.”

You tilted your head. “No?”

Jack shook his head with deep seriousness. “Not Juliet.”

Robby made a tiny dying sound.

Jack pointed up at you, eyes bright and unfocused and absolutely full of you. “My lady is the sun.”

Your breath caught around your laugh.

Jack looked frustrated now. Not with you. Never with you. With the words. With the fact that he had this whole impossible feeling in his chest and only scraps of half-remembered Shakespeare, curse words, and driveway gravel to work with.

“You are,” he insisted. “You’re the sun. And the moon is—”

He looked up, squinting into the dark sky. “The moon is fucked.”

Crus exhaled through his nose. “That is not Shakespeare.”

“It is now,” Shen said.

Jack kept looking at you.

“You’re more beautiful than the fucking moon,” he said, rough and certain. “And I don’t know if the stupid moon knows that, but I do.”

You pressed your lips together.

There he was.

Your ridiculous husband. Your drunk, swaying, gravel-holding husband, publicly destroying Shakespeare on your lawn because he loved you so much he needed bigger words than his own and kept breaking the bigger words in half.

Robby cupped both hands around his mouth. “Say more about the moon!”

Jack whipped around. “Do not tell me how to court my lady.”

Robby gasped. “Your lady?”

Jack narrowed his eyes. “Yes.”

Crus sighed. “Your wife.”

Jack immediately turned back toward the window. “We’re married?”

You nodded. “We are.”

That joy hit him all over again. “Fuck yeah.”

Shen sighed dreamily. “Every time, it lands.”

“It has happened four times,” Crus muttered.

Jack was not listening. He had apparently reloaded the romance. He took one dramatic step closer to the house and nearly tripped over the landscaping.

Crus moved automatically, one hand half-raised.

Jack caught himself and pointed down, “Sabotage.”

“That is a shrub,” Crus said.

“A treacherous shrub.” Jack glared down at the shrub. 

Robby staggered a step and caught himself on Shen’s shoulder. “This is the best night of my life.”

“You threw up behind the bar,” Shen reminded him.

“Second-best night of my life.” Robby amended.

Jack cleared his throat.

The yard went quiet.

He looked up at you, full of giddy purpose.

“Tell them to leave,” Jack said, without looking away from you. “I’m courting you.”

You leaned against the window frame. “You live here.”

Jack visibly brightened. “Then let me in.”

“Use your key.” You replied. 

Jack patted one pocket. Then the other. Then his jacket. Then his jeans again, with increasing distress.

His face fell. “I left it in the carriage.”

Shen lifted one hand. “He means the car.”

“The Honda,” Robby added.

Crus pointed toward the curb. “The car he escaped from at a red light.”

“It was stopped,” Robby said.

Crus turned to him, “At a red light.”

“That’s stopped,” Robby argued. 

Jack ignored them. He was still staring up at you, wounded. “I don’t have my key.”

You looked down at him, “I can see that.”

“I would like to come inside.” He said, lower lip pressing out. 

You gestured down at the lawn. “You were courting me.”

“I can court you indoors,” Jack replied instantly. 

Robby’s head snapped up. “Oh,” he said.

Crus immediately said, “No.”

Robby pointed at Jack, drunk and thrilled with his own incoming damage. “Wait. If you’re courting a lady, you need a chaperone.”

Jack froze.

You covered your mouth.

Robby nodded, warming to the bit. “Historically. Otherwise, it’s improper.”

Shen pushed off the mailbox, eyes bright with buzzed seriousness. “There would be whispers. Her honor would be ruined amongst high society.”

Jack went completely still. Then his face changed.

Horror.

Betrayal.

Moral outrage.

“No.” He breathed. 

Shen blinked. “No?”

Jack pointed at him. “You take that back.”

Shen looked genuinely confused. “The whispers?”

“The honor,” Jack answered. 

Robby whispered, delighted, “Oh my god.”

Jack lifted his chin. “I will duel Shen for inferring an insult to her honor.”

Crus’s mouth tightened. “Implying.” He stepped forward. “No one is dueling anyone.”

Jack whipped around and pointed to him, “Don’t correct my vows of violence.”

“I was defending her honor,” Shen said, pressing a hand to his chest.

“You said it could be ruined,” Jack argued. 

Shen looked over to Robby, “By Robby’s fake chaperone rules.”

Robby held up both hands. “I stand by the rules.”

Crus pointed at him. “You are not helping.”

Jack looked back up at you, devastation written all over his drunk, beloved face. “He spoke of your honor.”

You were laughing so hard that you had to grip the window frame. “He was being dramatic.”

“I’m being dramatic.” Jack gestured to himself. “He was being defamatory.”

Shen turned to Crus. “Is he using legal words correctly?”

“No,” Crus answered. 

Robby nodded. “I think he’s doing great.”

Jack took one unsteady step toward Shen.

Crus moved fast, catching the back of Jack’s jacket in one fist. “Absolutely not.”

Jack kept pointing. “Pistols. At dawn.”

Shen straightened, solemn and swaying. “I accept.”

Crus rounded on him. “You do not.”

“For the lady’s honor,” Shen said.

Jack gasped. “Do not speak of the lady.”

Shen looked up at you, then back to Jack. “You challenged me on behalf of the lady.” 

“She is my—”

Jack stopped.

His eyes widened like he had almost said something important and lost it.

Robby saw the opening.

“Wife,” he supplied.

Jack turned immediately toward your window. “She is?”

You nodded, grinning helplessly. “I am.”

The joy detonated across his face. “Fuck yeah.”

Then, without missing a beat, he pointed at Shen again. “But I’ll still duel him.”

“No, you won’t,” Crus said.

Jack turns back to the window, “For her.”

“Jack,” you said, fighting laughter, “baby, I don’t need you to duel Shen.”

Jack looked up at you with enormous sincerity. “You deserve to be defended.”

“I am very defended.” You assure him. 

Jack beamed, “By me?”

“Yes.” You answer. 

That settled him.

Some of the outrage eased from his shoulders. He looked pleased, softened by the idea that he had done something right. Then he turned back to Shen with one final warning finger. “You’re lucky she is merciful.”

Shen bowed toward your window. “Her mercy is noted.”

Robby tried to bow too, immediately lost his balance, and grabbed Crus’s shoulder. “Long live the lady of the window.”

Crus shoved him upright. “Everybody shut up before the neighbors call the police.”

Jack looked back up at you.

“My lady,” he said softly, then brightened again. “My wife?”

You nodded. “Your wife.”

Jack smiled, “Fuck yeah.”

You were going to save the security footage forever.

Jack’s face shifted suddenly. He had a new thought. That was never good.

He looked back up at you, deeply serious. “Wait.”

“Oh no,” Crus said.

Jack ignored him.

 “If I’m courting you,” he said carefully, “does that mean we can’t have sex?”

The entire sidewalk exploded.

Robby made a sound like he had been shot.

Shen turned away, shoulders shaking.

Crus stared up at the sky like he was asking God why he had been assigned this shift.

You pressed your lips together. “Jack.”

“What?” Jack demanded, offended by everyone’s reaction. “I’m asking respectfully.”

You stared at him, “You are yelling in the yard.”

“I need to know the rules.” Jack frowned. 

You shook your head, “We’re married.”

Jack’s head snapped up. “We are?”

You stared at him for one beat.

Then you softened, because God help you, it was still so funny. Every single time.

“We are.”

His grin came back, immediate and brilliant. “Fuck yeah.”

Robby crouched on the sidewalk, laughing so hard he had one hand braced against the concrete.

Shen nodded with great emotion. “The sacrament remains intact.”

“Do not help,” Crus said.

Jack looked back up at you, still concerned. “So?”

“So what?” You asked, tilting your head. 

Jack frowned deeply, “So what about the chaperone rules?” 

You leaned farther out the window. “No chaperone rules.”

Jack looked relieved. Then pleased. 

Then a little too pleased.

“But no sex tonight,” you added. “You’re drunk.”

Jack’s expression sobered instantly. Well. As much as it could.

“Right,” he said, nodding hard. “Boundaries.”

“Exactly.” You agreed. 

“I respect my lady,” Jack added. 

You nodded, “I know.”

“My wife?” He asks, so hopeful. 

You smiled. “Your wife.”

“Fuck yeah.” He grinned. 

Robby booed from the sidewalk.

Jack spun so fast he almost lost his balance. Crus tightened his grip on the back of Jack’s jacket.

“Do not boo my wife’s boundaries.”

Robby pointed at him. “You just checked if she was your wife!”

Jack pointed right back. “And she said yes.”

Shen lifted one finger. “A valid argument.”

Crus muttered, “I hate all of you.”

Jack tilted his head suddenly, studying the side of the house.

Your smile faded a little. You knew that look. It was the look he got when he decided a patient was lying about taking all their antibiotics. The look he got when a vending machine stole his money. The look he got when Robby said something so stupid that Jack had to pause before answering because violence had become a real possibility.

Determination.

“Oh no,” Crus said again.

Jack pointed up at you. “I’m coming up.”

You straightened immediately. “No, you are not.”

Jack nodded enthusiastically, “I am.”

“Jack.” You warned. 

He pointed at you, “Romeo climbed.”

Robby, delighted, whispered, “Did he?”

Shen squinted at the house. “I don’t think that’s structurally sound.”

Jack ignored them. “I will climb to you.”

“No,” you said, louder this time.

He looked wounded. “You don’t believe in me?”

“I believe you are drunk.” You replied. 

He raised a fist in the air, “For love.”

“For whiskey.” You corrected. 

Robby lifted one finger. “And tequila.”

“And tequila,” you add.

Jack nodded solemnly, accepting the record. Then he took a step toward the house.

Crus tightened his grip on the back of Jack’s jacket. “Absolutely not.”

Jack tried to keep walking and got nowhere.

For one ridiculous second, your husband simply leaned forward, legs moving slightly, while Crus held him in place like a misbehaving golden retriever.

Robby lost what little remained of his composure.

Shen put both hands over his mouth.

You slapped a palm against the window frame. “Jack Abbot, stop trying to climb the house.”

Jack looked up at you, betrayed. “I’m courting you.”

You pointed at the lawn, “You can court me from the ground.”

“I’m too far away,” Jack said with a frown.

You sighed, “You are twelve feet away.”

“Exactly,” he said, with heartbreaking seriousness, “it is unbearable.”

And there it was.

The stupid, sweet thing under all the chaos.

You looked down at him.

At your husband, drunk and swaying and ridiculous, held in place by the back of his jacket, still staring up at you like the whole world had narrowed to your face in the window.

You sighed, mostly for show. “Stay there. I am coming down to open the door.”

Jack went very still. Then his whole face lit up. “You’re coming down?”

“Yes.” You confirmed. 

His eyes widened, “To me?” 

You nodded, “Yes, Jack.” 

He turned toward the guys, triumphant. “She’s coming down.”

Robby wiped tears from his eyes. “Yeah, Romeo. Because you tried to scale the house.”

Jack shrugged, “Love requires risk.”

Crus tightened his grip. “Love requires you not making me go into the ER on my night off.”

Shen nodded. “A noble point.”

Jack looked back up at you. “Don’t rush. I’ll wait forever.”

Crus said, “You could not wait through a red light.”

Jack did not miss a beat. “That was different. My lady was in the house.”

Robby opened his mouth.

Jack immediately looked up at you. “Wife?”

You laughed. “Wife.”

Jack nodded, “Fuck yeah.”

You closed the window before he could see what that did to your face. By the time you got downstairs, the front yard had only gotten louder. 

You opened the front door just as Robby said, “I still think chaperone rules apply.”

Jack, standing at the bottom of the steps with Crus’s hand still fisted in the back of his jacket, gasped like he had been stabbed. “My wife said no chaperone.”

“I did say that,” you confirmed.

Jack turned.

The second he saw you in the doorway, everything else disappeared from his face.

He looked at you like he had forgotten the house, the street, the guys, the gravel, the moon, the duel, and every failed line of Shakespeare.

“There she is,” he said.

It was quiet.

Too quiet for the amount of chaos that had come before it.

Your smile softened. “Hi, Romeo.”

Jack took one careful step toward you. Crus released his jacket but stayed close, ready.

Jack made it up the first porch step. Then the second.

He stopped in front of you, swaying slightly, eyes warm and unfocused and giddy all over again.

“I was wooing you.”

“I noticed.” You replied. 

He leaned in, “Did it work?”

You looked past him at the yard.

Robby was giggling now. Shen was leaning against the mailbox again, smiling like he had witnessed something sacred. Crus stood on the walkway with the dead-eyed patience of a man who had kept three drunk medical professionals alive and received no thanks for it.

Then you looked back at your husband.

At his messy hair. His flushed cheeks. The tiny piece of gravel was still stuck to his palm. The stupid, pleased hope in his face.

“Yes,” you said. “It worked.”

Jack’s smile went bright. “Fuck yeah.”

Robby groaned. “God, marriage is disgusting.”

Jack turned just enough to glare at him. Then he paused.

Slowly, he looked back at you. “We’re married?”

You laughed, unable to help it. “Yes.”

His delight was immediate. “Fuck yeah.”

Robby pointed at him. “See? Disgusting.”

Jack turned back. “You’re alone.”

Robby clutched his chest. “Low blow, Romeo.”

“Go home,” Jack said. “I have been received.”

Crus looked at you. “Please take him.”

You smiled, “I’ve got him. Thank you, Crus.” 

Jack immediately leaned toward you, pleased by the words.

You caught him with both hands against his chest. “Shoes off inside. Water. Bed. No climbing anything.”

He nodded seriously. “Boundaries.”

“Exactly.” You agreed. 

Robby booed from the sidewalk again.

Jack spun so fast he had to grab the doorframe. “Do not boo my wife’s boundaries.”

Then he glanced down at you. “My wife?”

You patted his chest. “Still me.”

“Fuck yeah.”

Shen lifted both hands. “I would never boo boundaries.”

“I still might duel you,” Jack said.

“For defending her honor?” Shen asked. 

Jack glared, “For bringing it up.”

Crus hooked a hand around Robby’s arm and started dragging him toward the car. “We’re done.”

Robby waved at you. “Send the security footage!”

Jack froze. Slowly, he turned toward the doorbell camera.

The little blue light blinked back at him.

Then he looked at you. You smiled.

Jack narrowed his eyes. “How long has that been recording?”

“The whole time.” You answered. 

His mouth opened. Nothing came out.

Robby screamed from the curb, “Director’s cut!”

Crus shoved him toward the car. “Get in.”

Shen bowed one more time toward you. “Goodnight, lady of the window.”

“Goodnight, Shen.” You called back. 

Jack pointed at him. “Respectfully.”

“Respectfully,” Shen agreed.

You slipped your hand around Jack’s wrist and tugged gently. “Inside.”

Jack followed immediately.

The second the door closed behind him, the night noise muffled. The laughter outside faded toward the street. Crus’s car doors opened and shut. Robby shouted something unintelligible. Shen answered with something that sounded like philosophy but was probably nonsense.

Inside, the house was warm and dim.

Jack stood in the entryway, blinking like he had crossed into another realm.

You took the last piece of gravel from his palm.

He looked down at it. “My rock.”

“You’re done with that.” You replied. 

His eyes found yours, “It worked.”

“It hit me.” You said. 

His face fell all over again. “I know.”

“Very gently.” You added with a smile.

Jack frowned, shaking his head. “I wounded my lady.”

“You booped my sweatshirt with gravel.” You corrected him.

His frown deepened. “Still bad.”

You softened despite yourself and held up the pebble between you. “I’m keeping it.”

Jack stared at it. Then at you. “You are?”

“Yes.” You answered. 

His entire expression brightened. “The courtship rock.”

“The courtship rock,” you agreed.

He looked very pleased with himself for about half a second.

Then he looked toward your chest again. “Are we sure it didn’t—”

“Jack.”

He nodded, “Right. Boundaries.”

You shook your head, smiling despite yourself, and dropped the pebble into the small ceramic bowl where you usually kept keys.

Jack watched you do it. Then he looked at the bowl. Then at you.

“Do I live here?”

You stepped closer, unzipping his jacket. “Yes, Jack.”

“With you?” He asked. 

You pulled the zipper free. “Yes.”

His face lit again, tired and pleased and still so delighted by the answer. “Fuck yeah.”

You laughed under your breath and pushed the jacket off his shoulders. “Arms.”

He obeyed, but only barely. His balance was not great, and he kept watching you like he was afraid you might vanish if he looked away.

You hung his jacket over the railing.

“Shoes,” you said.

Jack looked down at his feet. Then back up at you. “I have shoes on.”

“You do.” You confirmed. 

Jack nodded gravely, “Good.”

You guided him to sit on the bottom step.

He dropped heavily, then immediately reached for your hand. His fingers wrapped around yours, warm and clumsy. “Are  you mad?”

“You threw rocks at our window.” You replied. 

Jack tilted his head, “Courtship rocks.”

“You hit me with one.” You countered. 

His face crumpled. “My greatest shame.”

“You tried to climb the house.” You added. 

Jack looked at you, “For romance.”

“You threatened to duel Shen.” You replied. 

Jack sighed deeply, “For your honor.”

You huffed a laugh, “You forgot we were married at least six times.” 

His thumb moved over your knuckles. “But I asked you,” he said.

You looked down at him.

He was smiling up at you, drunk and tired and so pleased with himself for that one piece of logic.

“You did,” you said quietly.

“You know the true things.” He murrmed. 

“I do?” You asked. 

He nodded gravely. “Wife things.”

You smiled and bent to untie his shoes. “Wife things.”

He brightened. “My wife?”

You looked up at him. “Yes.”

His grin came back, softer now but still giddy. “Fuck yeah.”

And that was the problem with Jack.

Even when he was a public menace with gravel.

Even when he mangled Shakespeare in the front yard.

Even when he almost started an honor duel with Shen, he tried to scale the siding like the house was a castle wall.

He always managed to say one thing that slipped under your ribs and stayed there.

You bent and kissed his forehead.

His eyes closed immediately. “There,” he murmured.

You pulled back just enough to look at him. “There?”

He nodded, eyes still closed. “My lady.”

You softened.

Then he opened one eye. “Wife?”

You nodded, “Yes, Romeo. Wife.”

“Fuck yeah.” He grinned. 

You got him up the stairs with significant effort. Mostly because Jack was determined to be helpful in ways that were not helpful. He tried to remove his shoes while standing, even though you had already removed them. You stopped him. He tried to take off his shirt halfway up the stairs. You stopped that, too. He paused on the landing to tell you, very sincerely, that the moon had deserved what he said.

By the time you got him into the bedroom, Jack was mostly upright through sheer stubbornness and your hand at his waist.

“Sit,” you said, guiding him toward the edge of the bed.

Jack dropped onto the mattress with a heavy sigh, then looked up at you with enormous sincerity. “Wife voice.”

You paused. “What?”

He pointed at you, swaying slightly even while seated. “You used the voice.”

“I used wife voice.” You confirmed. 

His face softened immediately. “Wife?”

You smiled. “Wife.”

His whole expression lit. “Fuck yeah.”

You knelt in front of him and reached for his belt buckle.

Jack looked down, scandalized. “My lady.”

“I’m taking your belt off.” You replied, pulling the leather through the loops. 

“My love,” he said, lowering his voice like the room might be bugged by high society, “we are alone.”

“We live together.” You told him. 

He gasped softly. “Scandal.”

“Marriage,” you corrected, loosening one shoe.

Jack blinked. Then he looked at you, hopeful. “We’re married?”

You nodded, “Yes, baby.”

“Fuck yeah.” He murmured. 

You slipped the belt free, then set it beside the bed. Jack watched the whole process with the solemn focus of a man witnessing a ceremony.

Then his gaze dropped to his legs.

He stared for a second. His brow furrowed. “My legs don’t match.”

You pressed your lips together so you would not laugh directly in his face.

“No,” you said gently. “They don’t.”

Jack looked up at you, eyes wide with drunk discovery. “Did you know?”

“I had noticed.” You answered. 

He absorbed that with grave importance. Then nodded once. “Good.”

“Good?”

“You’re observant.” His hand landed clumsily over his heart. “Good wife.”

You pointed at him. “Don’t make good wife sound cute right now.”

Jack smiled, pleased and unrepentant. “My wife.”

“Yes.” You touched his prosthetic side lightly. “Leg?”

He nodded at once, all trust. “Leg.”

That was the thing that always got you.

Not the jokes. Not the ridiculous courtship act. Not even the way he kept rediscovering your marriage like it was the best news anyone had ever given him.

It was the trust.

The way he let you close without bracing for it. The way he let your hands move through a routine that had become as ordinary as turning down the sheets or setting water on the nightstand.

You knew what to do.

You had done it a hundred times.

You eased the fabric out of the way, found the release with practiced fingers, and carefully helped him out of the prosthetic, setting it where he could reach it in the morning.

Jack watched you, quieter now.

For one second, the drunk performance softened at the edges.

“There,” you said.

He looked from the prosthetic to you. “You take good care.”

Your chest warmed. “So do you.”

Jack considered that. Then frowned. “I threw rocks at you.”

“Tiny rocks.” You corrected him.

Jack nodded, “Courtship rocks.”

“One courtship rock.” You replied. 

He winced. “My shame.”

You smiled, “You survived it.”

“You were merciful.” He said. 

You nodded once, “I was.”

He reached for your hand, warm and clumsy, and squeezed your fingers. “My lady is merciful.”

You smiled. “Your wife is tired.”

His eyes lit again. “Wife?”

You lifted your left hand.

He stared at your rings, then lifted his own hand so you could see his wedding band.

“We’re married,” you said.

Jack’s grin came back, bright and helpless. “Fuck yeah.”

You stood and reached for the button of his jeans.

Jack’s hand flew to his waistband. “My lady!”

You looked up at him.

His eyes were wide and deeply, drunkenly solemn. “My love, you must restrain yourself.”

You inhaled, “Jack.”

“We must consider your honor.” He glanced toward the closed bedroom door, as if Robby might burst in with a chaperone contract. “Your reputation.”

“Jack, baby, we are married.” You reminded him. 

He froze. Then slowly turned back to you. “We are?”

You lifted your left hand again and wiggled your fingers.

His eyes locked on your rings. Then you took his left hand and held up his. His wedding band gleamed in the bedside lamplight.

Jack stared at it. Then at yours. Then at you.

His grin spread, slow and delighted. “Fuck yeah.”

“Exactly.” You patted his knee. “So let me help you change before you fall asleep in jeans.”

He considered this. Then nodded gravely. “For comfort.”

“For comfort.” You agreed.

“And marriage.” He added. 

You nodded, “And marriage.”

“And not dishonor.” Jack continued. 

“No dishonor.” You agreed.

Jack relaxed his hand from his waistband with great dignity. “Proceed.”

Once you had gotten Jack successfully into his sweatpants, you got him water from the bathroom. He drank half of it, made a face like water had personally wronged him, then drank the other half because you raised your eyebrows. 

Then you helped him under the covers.

He rolled onto his side and reached for you before you were even in bed.

“No sex,” you said, climbing in beside him. “You’re drunk.”

Jack’s eyes opened with sudden seriousness. “Right. Boundaries.”

“Right.”

Jack nodded gravely, “I respect my lady.”

You nodded, “I know.”

“My wife?” He asked, bright and hopeful. 

You smiled into the dark. “Your wife.”

“Fuck yeah.” His arm settled around your waist, heavy and warm. He tucked himself closer, his face pressing into your shoulder, all that theatrical devotion quieting into simple contact.

Outside, Crus’s car finally pulled away.

The house settled again.

You stared into the dark, one hand resting over Jack’s forearm.

His breathing slowed.

Just when you thought he had fallen asleep, he mumbled, barely audible, “Still the sun.”

Your throat tightened. You covered his hand with yours. “Go to sleep, Romeo.”

A pause.

Then, soft and satisfied against your shoulder: “Fuck yeah.”

The Next Day...

Jack woke up to consequences.

 The first consequence was pain. His head was splitting. His mouth tasted like old tequila and poor judgment. One of his eyes did not want to open all the way. The room was too bright despite the curtains being mostly closed, and someone had apparently replaced his bones with sandbags.

The second consequence was you.

You were sitting beside him in bed, already showered, wearing leggings and one of his old sweatshirts, sipping coffee with the kind of suspicious cheerfulness that made every instinct in his body go cold.

Jack stared at you through one open eye. “Why are you smiling like that?”

You took a slow sip of coffee. “No reason.”

His phone buzzed on the nightstand. Then buzzed again. Then again.

Jack closed his eye. “No.”

Your smile widened. “Jack.”

“No.” He said instantly. 

You raised a brow, “You should check the group chat.”

“I’m resigning from the group chat,” Jack said. 

You shook your head, “You can’t resign from a group chat.”

“I can resign from medicine,” Jack replied. 

The phone buzzed again.

Jack groaned and reached for it with the despair of a man approaching his own autopsy report.

The first message was from Robby.

ROMEO ABBOT: THE DIRECTOR’S CUT

Below it was a video.

The thumbnail showed Jack in the front yard, one hand raised toward the bedroom window, mouth open mid-sentence, body angled with what appeared to be tragic nobility.

Jack stared. His stomach dropped. “What,” he said slowly, “is that?”

You leaned closer, bright-eyed. “Art.”

He pressed play.

On the screen, his own drunk voice rang out. “But soft—what light through yonder house hole—”

Crus’s voice corrected, “Window.”

Jack stopped the video. Silence.

You sipped your coffee.

Jack set the phone very carefully on the blanket. “I’m deleting Robby from my life.”

You smiled into your mug, “You also tried to duel Shen.”

His eyes closed. “I need to be buried.”

“You called them courtship rocks.” You added, 

He opened one eye. “What?”

You pointed toward the dresser. Sitting atop it, in a tiny ceramic dish, were three pieces of driveway gravel.

Jack stared at them. “You kept them?”

You smiled, “Of course I kept them.”

His face changed, just slightly.

Even hungover, even mortified, he softened.

Then he noticed one pebble sitting separately in the center.

His brow furrowed. “Why is that one in the middle?”

“That’s the one that hit me.” You answered. 

Jack stared at you. Then at the pebble. Then back at you. “It hit you?”

“Gently.”

His face went pale. “Where?”

You smiled over the rim of your coffee. “My sweatshirt.”

A memory seemed to crawl through the hangover.

Jack’s eyes narrowed. Then closed. “Oh god.”

“You asked if it went down my shirt.” You said, enjoying the memory. 

He did not move.

You pressed your lips together. “You offered to get it.”

He pulled the blanket over his face.

From underneath it, muffled and ruined, came, “I was trying to be helpful.”

“You were very respectful when I said no.” You told him. 

The blanket lowered just enough for one eye to appear. “I was?”

“You were.” You assured him. 

That seemed to make him feel marginally better.

Then his phone buzzed again.

You picked it up before he could stop you. “Oh, good. Robby sent another angle.”

Jack went still. “Another angle?”

“We have the doorbell camera too.” You explained. 

His head turned very slowly toward you. “No.”

You nodded, “Oh, yes.”

“You have security footage?” He asks.

“From two angles.” You replied happily. 

“Two?”

You nodded again, “Doorbell and driveway. I sent them to Robby.”

Jack lowered himself back onto the pillow and covered his face with both hands.

A long silence. Then, muffled, “I’m leaving.”

“You live here.” You told him.

He peeked at you through his fingers. “With you?”

“Yes.”

He watched you for a beat, hungover and miserable and somehow still hopeful. “We’re married?”

You smiled. “We’re married.”

A slow grin pulled at his mouth. “Fuck yeah.”

You laughed and leaned down to kiss his temple.

He accepted it with a little hum.

Then he muttered, “Did I at least do okay?”

You looked at your husband.

At the man who had jumped out of a car at a red light because he could not stand being two blocks away from you. The man who had thrown rocks at your window, accidentally hit your sweatshirt, threatened an honor duel, tried to climb the house, and rediscovered your marriage with fresh joy every single time.

You brushed your fingers through his hair. “You wooed me.”

Jack smiled into his hands. “Fuck yeah.”

@nosebeers, @moonz33, @littlewolfbird, @tubby23, @gandalfthegoatsblog, @melslavalampapp, @marauvderss, @supernaturalcat7,@jennataurus, @itwas-maroon16 , @nizzasspot, @meadow0434, @chezze-its, @callmefatherr, @amacphet, @imabapical, @offsavingtheworld, @ifyoubewooedingoodtime, @justreadinghere7, @rabbotseatcarrots, @vicky066, @manly-man-whore, @rosiepoise88, @alittlerayof-pitchblack,@woodxtock, @mafercita101, @kiatjuddae, @lacy1986, @cajunebugg76, @kittenmittensssworld, @generation-zero, @taniamiller, @countryandsweetbabygirl, @fantasyreader130

[yiiiikesmish]

fuck yeah.

[deakyjoe]

Luck Be a Lady

Pairing: Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x f!patient!reader

Category: grumpy x sunshine, fluff (??), angst (??)

Summary: A history of bad luck when it comes to injuries leaves you visiting the hospital more than you'd like. At least PTMC has a grumpy doctor to get you through these troubling times.

Warnings: medical inaccuracies (don't come for me - the NHS website was my best friend when writing this) extensive injury detail, blood, gore, vomit, reader gets into a lot of situations, Robby is grumpy as hell, reader is sunshine personified, they fall in love, talks of death, doctor-patient relationship, power imbalance that goes with that, reader is very lonely, let me know if I missed anything

Word count: 10.6k (I got carried away)

A/N: I love this grumpy doctor so much.

The Pitt had its regulars, just like any other emergency department. There were people like Louie, who was always a delight to talk to no matter how much the staff worried about him. There were people like Myrna, who caused more trouble than anything but often made for an entertaining time. And there were people like you, just riddled with an unfortunate case of bad luck. People who, for some reason, the universe hated.

It all started when your clumsy roommate had dropped a knife into your foot. 

You had been sitting in the waiting room for three hours and forty-six minutes before you were called back to see a doctor. The lovely woman who had made you fill out your sign-in form had assured you that since you had managed to stop the bleeding pretty well by yourself that you weren't extremely high up on the list of priorities. That had seemed fair so you just shrugged at her and took a seat. Luckily for you, one of the resident doctors was eager to show one of the student doctors how to check for nerve damage so you were called on way more quickly than initially predicted. 

Doctor McKay and student doctor Javadi had helped you settle yourself into a wheelchair and rolled you back into the department through the glass doors that separated the waiting room from the rest of the place. They were both very nice, Doctor McKay was soft spoken and student doctor Javadi was clearly quite nervous. You felt like you were in very capable hands.

Once they had you situated on one of the beds, you allowed yourself to take in the hustle and bustle of the place. It was noisy. People constantly talking, if not shouting, machines beeping, shoes slapping against the floor. It was overwhelming. You took deep, calming breaths and attempted to focus on the pain in your foot instead.

McKay gestured for Javadi to put on a pair of gloves as she unwrapped the towel that you had wound around your foot. "Can you tell us how this happened?" 

"My roommate dropped a knife on my foot." You winced, taking a good look at the gash on your foot. Pretty gnarly stuff. "She was chopping tomatoes and her hand slipped."

"Ouch." Javadi's eyes widened so much they pretty much took up her entire face. 

"Yeah." You sighed, before brightening slightly. "I don't mind. She's a good cook so I'm sure she'll beg for my forgiveness with something nice to eat."

McKay smiled at you gently, like she admired your optimism. "The wound isn't too deep, probably will just need a couple of stitches but I'm going to walk Javadi through some checks for nerve damage first. Is that okay?"

"Oh, of course. Knock yourselves out." You leaned back on the hospital bed like it was a sun lounger and you were relaxing on the beach. 

McKay nodded her thanks before turning to the student doctor. "How do we assess for nerve damage in feet?"

Javadi didn't hesitate for more than a fraction of a second. "Ipswich Touch Test."

"Good. What questions do we ask first?"

"Oh." Javadi looked at you. "Any numbness, tingling or burning?"

"Nope." You shook your head, giving her an encouraging smile.

"That's a good sign." McKay interjected. "But we'll do the test anyway. Javadi?"

The young doctor looked more calm as she stepped towards the end of the bed where your foot rested. "I'm going to press on your toes lightly for a couple of seconds and I need you to tell me if you can feel it."

"Sure thing." You nodded at her.

She was just about to begin when somebody appeared in the entrance to the bay. A man. Tall, dark hair, middle aged and rubbing sanitiser into his hands.

"Hello, I'm Doctor Robinavitch but everybody calls me Doctor Robby." He glanced briefly at your foot before turning to McKay. "Everything good?"

McKay nodded. "About to start an Ipswich Touch Test."

Doctor Robby's gaze landed on Javadi. "Mind if I observe?"

Javadi's whole body jolted. "Oh, of course not."

Doctor Robby nodded before lowering himself onto a stool next to the bed. His eyes slowly slid over to meet yours. "Can you tell me about what happened?"

"Roommate dropped a knife. My foot got in the way of the knife. Boom. Collision." You recounted the story again for him, eyes snapping to Javadi when you felt her press against one of your toes. "Felt that."

She nodded, focused on the task at hand. 

Doctor Robby also nodded next to you. "Good. That's good."

You smiled, feeling like you were being graded on an exam. "Can I ask why I have three doctors crowded around my bed?"

Robby's eyes searched your face momentarily, like he was looking for something which he ultimately found. "You have quite an extensive medical history. It flagged up on our system and, as the chief attending physician here, I have to come check."

"Oh, that." You rolled your eyes. "No need to worry about me, Doctor Robby. I just have bad luck."

"Bad luck?" He chuckled.

"Four concussions, eight broken bones, three dislocations and a couple sprains." You listed them all off, counting on your fingers. "Just bad luck I swear."

"That's a lot of bad luck." Javadi mumbled, pressing against another one of your toes.

"Felt that." You chimed before continuing. "Unfortunately, the universe hates some people. And I am one of those people."

Robby couldn't help the disbelieving laugh that rumbled at your positive attitude. He exchanged a quick glance with McKay, who was extremely good at reading people, but found absolutely zero doubt in her eyes. Huh, she believed your bad luck story.

"Felt that!" Your voice broke the quiet again as Javadi pressed another toe. "Seriously, I'm fine. After the third concussion, you kind of get used to the idea of the universe hating you."

McKay snorted lightly. "I like your ability to stay so optimistic."

"Probably all the concussions." You offered. "I just moved to Pittsburgh a couple months ago. So you'll probably be seeing a lot more of me in the future. Sorry in advance."

And you were right. After determining that you didn't have any nerve damage and stitching you up, McKay and Robby made the decision that you were okay to be discharged. They were somewhat surprised when they had found out that you would be driving yourself home and that you had driven yourself to PTMC in the first place. But after a long shift, you had escaped both of their minds completely. Until you appeared almost two months later.

Somehow it was worse being sat on a hospital bed to wait inside the emergency department than it was being sat out in the waiting room. It didn't help that they had placed you out in the hallway so you could watch everybody rushing by. While it was fun to people watch, it did have you almost itching with anxiety every time a doctor came near you but didn't stop to help out. But you were patient, letting your legs swing as you watched the world go by. 

Robby was crawling with his own anxiety, edging toward the end of a long shift, as he stalked through the hallways of the Pitt, rubbing at his face frustrated. He couldn't wait for his day to be over. As he passed patients, he only sent them brief glances to make sure they weren't dead before carrying on. That was until his eyes landed on someone he recognised. He did a double take as he saw you, slowing to an eventual stop at your bedside. 

"Hi, Doctor Robby." You grinned at him, legs swinging even more enthusiastically.

"Hi..." He trailed off, surprised to see you.

You offered him your name, not offended that he seemed to have forgotten it. Surely he saw dozens of people each day. Names were only a minor thing. "Knife in the foot two months ago. Long medical history. Four concussions."

Your voice hit a new level of happy with each thing you listed and Robby couldn't help the wry smile that adorned his face.

"No, no. I remember." He assured you, taking a few steps closer. "What brings you in this time?"

"Squirrel bit me." You shrugged, raising your hand to show him the tiny puncture wounds on your hand.

"A squirrel bit you...?" Robby repeated it slowly, like he'd misheard you.

"Yeah, that's a new one for me. I thought it was fine but then I Googled it, saw the word 'rabies' and came straight here." You giggled at yourself. "Told you that you'd be seeing lots more of me."

"Right." He huffed. "Just didn't realise so soon."

"Universe hates me, what can I say." Your legs stopped swinging suddenly. "What are the odds of this killing me? Because I'd hate to die by squirrel. That's a sucky way to go."

"Very low, don't worry." He chuckled. "Come on, I'll find you a room and we'll patch up this... squirrel bite."

"Y'know, it doesn't make me feel better when you say it like that." You hopped down from the bed and started following him to the central desk.

"Say it like what?" He looked over his shoulder at you, to see you close behind him.

"Say it like you know it's embarrassing but are trying to hide it so you don't make me feel bad. Just laugh. It's okay." You smiled brightly at him as the two of you stopped in front of the hub, surrounded by nurses.

Robby looked up at the big screen and you copied him, trying to see if you could decipher what any of it meant. You couldn't.

"Hey, Robby. Whatcha need?" A nurse suddenly appeared in front of you, the badge on the front of her scrubs informing you that her name was 'Dana' and that she was the charge nurse of the unit. 

"Free space for our friend here." Robby gestured at you next to him.

Dana's eyebrow arched at the word 'friend' as she looked at you. "North four is free."

"Thank you." Robby grumbled before he led you in the direction of the free room. His long legs carried him quickly and he was impressed when you managed to keep up with what people had referred to as his 'doctor's pace'. Every time he looked at you to see if you were keeping up, he found you smiling enthusiastically at him. Surprisingly upbeat for someone who was worried they had rabies.

When the two of you got to the free bay, Robby instructed you to sit on the edge of the bed as he logged into the computer next to it. He had a quick look over your file, slipping the glasses from his pocket and onto his nose.

"I see your last tetanus shot was in November."

You nodded. "Sounds about right."

He sent you a quick glance to find that you were still smiling.

Unprompted, you explained. "With my bad luck I try to stay on top of my vaccines as much as possible."

"Good idea." Robby sent you something of a smile before logging out of the computer again. "Okay, so I'm going to irrigate the wound - which means clean it - and then we'll figure out next steps from there."

"I know what irrigation is, Doctor Robby." You laughed quietly. "I've spent enough time in ERs that I could probably work a shift here."

A beat of silence.

"That's a joke. Obviously." An awkward smile crossed your face. "Although I am the appointed person for first aid at my office."

Robby looked at you over the top of his glasses as he put on a pair of gloves. "Really? You have to take a course for that?"

"Yep." You nodded once. "Was real fun actually."

He sat down on the little stool next to the bed and scooted himself towards you, then gently took your injured hand in his. "Okay, this doesn't look too bad. The puncture wounds are small so you won't need stitches or glue."

"That's good. The stitches I got in my foot last time were a pain in the ass."

"I don't remember you coming in to have those removed. Did you?" Robby sent you a disapproving look, turning your hand over a couple of times to inspect every inch of it.

"Yeah, but it was late one evening. I asked about Doctor McKay or Javadi but I was told you'd all gone home. Night shift was on duty." You shrugged.

Robby nodded, curious to know who had treated you. "Oh, yeah? Who did you see?"

"Doctor Shen. Nice guy. Very funny and chilled. Likes his iced coffee." Your eyes crinkled at the corners as you said it, like you were amused. "I felt so special getting treated by another attending physician."

Robby waved down a nurse and asked them to bring him some saline. "We all make bets on how many pumps of syrup Shen will have in his coffee each shift."

You laughed, loudly. "Well, it's good to know healthcare workers get to have some fun at least."

"Hey, what are you talking about? We get to have the most fun. It's not everyday you get to treat a squirrel bite." Robby sent you another one of those not-quite-a-smile smiles, but this one seemed more genuine. "I do need to ask some questions though. To determine if we need to treat you for potential rabies and other diseases."

"Great." You deadpanned, face falling flat. "I love potentially having rabies."

"Like I said, the chances are extremely low. But we do have to be sure." He paused as the nurse reappeared with the saline, taking it from them with a polite thanks. "Would you say that the squirrel was behaving unusually?"

You winced as he flushed the saline over the puncture wounds on your hand. "I don't know what is considered normal behaviour for squirrels."

He sighed but nodded. "Was it erratic before it bit you?"

"It just kind of appeared out of nowhere." Your hand jerked as pain shot through it. "One minute I was just walking through the park and the next bam! Squirrel on me and biting my hand."

Robby suppressed a smile at the memory of you using the word 'boom' to describe being stabbed in the foot with a knife during your last visit to the ED. "So it was unprovoked?"

"Doctor Robby, I didn't harass a squirrel until it bit me. I'm not evil."

"I'm not saying you're evil." He squirted another lot of saline over your hand to clean it some more. "I'm saying that if it bit you unprovoked then that raises some red flags."

"Rabies."

"Not necessarily."

"But you're implying rabies."

"No."

"Then what?"

He hesitated, looking away from your hand to make direct eye contact with you. "We will have to treat you to prevent rabies."

A shocked laugh escaped you. "You just said 'no' to rabies!"

He shrugged and lowered your hand onto your lap. "I said that you most likely don't have it. But we have to cover all bases."

"You're sneaky, Doctor Robby. I don't know if I like that." You squinted at him playfully. 

He huffed. "There's something we can give you to prevent rabies. Then we'll bandage you up and get you out of here."

"Okay!" You chirped and went back to watching him treat your hand.

There was something about your optimism that was quite intoxicating to Robby. It was almost contagious. If he was less tired, then he might've absorbed it a bit more. The next few steps of your treatment went quickly, with neither of you saying much other than Robby explaining to you what was happening, and before you knew it you were being discharged.

"Thank you for taking time out of your busy day to attend to my dumbass squirrel bite." You tapped nervously at the edges of the bandages wrapped around your hand.

"You don't have to thank me. It was no trouble." Robby waved you off.

"No, I mean it. How many patients in here can say they get personally seen to by the guy in charge?"

Not many.

"Until next time, Doctor Robby." You sent him a little salute and turned to leave.

He shook his head, finding it kind of funny. "I would prefer it if you didn't come back."

You clutched your chest like you were hurt. "Are you saying you don't enjoy my company, Doctor?"

He shook his head again. "I'm saying I would rather you didn't get injured again."

"It's not my choice. I told you: bad luck. See you soon!"

And then you were gone.

Four months, two weeks and six days passed before you were back in the ED.

Robby was only just starting his shift, walking through the waiting room as he arrived, when he found you sitting in a chair with a defrosted bag of peas pressed against your forehead.

He stopped in his tracks, removed the earbuds from his ears and planted his hands on his hips as he looked down at you. "You've got to be kidding me."

You grinned up at him, like the world was all sunshine and rainbows. "Hi, Doctor Robby."

He crouched down in front of you and gently pried the bag of peas from your hand to get a look at whatever was hiding behind it. He found an ugly lump protruding from your forehead. "What happened this time?"

"Hockey puck to the head." Your voice was shockingly defeated as you said it. "Go penguins."

His eyes shot to yours, to find that you were still smiling at him. Crinkles around the eyes and everything. "How long have you been here?"

"Since about nine last night." You scratched at your neck. "I'm suspecting it's just another concussion. But better to be safe than sorry."

Robby stood up straight again with a groan and a crack of his knees. "Okay, come with me."

"Right now?" You glanced at the bag slung over his shoulder.

"Yes. You can sit with Dana, our charge nurse, while I get set up. Then I'll check you over."

You grabbed your own bag and stood from the chair, scrunching your eyes shut and stumbling when the room started spinning. Robby reached out a hand to steady you but you quickly regained your own balance.

"I'm good. I'm good." You gave him a half-hearted thumbs up and started following him through to the ED. You didn't have it in you to complain when he chucked your bag of no-longer-frozen peas into a trash can. The ED was the quietest you'd ever seen it as you walked through the double doors. But you figured it was probably just before the morning rush, which meant there would be a sudden influx of patients at any minute. You anticipated that once Robby had you sat with Nurse Dana, that you'd probably be there waiting for a while. But when you got to the central desk, there was no Dana to be seen. Only a couple of other nurses that you vaguely recognised from your last two visits.

Robby didn't look too happy with that discovery. "Where's Dana?"

"Good morning to you too, Robby." One of the nurses said to him, exchanging a look with the other nurse next to her.

"Right, sorry. Good morning." He rubbed at his temple with two of his fingers. "Dana?"

"Off with Abbot and Shen somewhere."

"Okay, uh-" He looked at you like he didn't know what to do.

"I'm perfectly capable of sitting here without supervision." You offered. You could feel the two nurses staring at the lump on your forehead, causing you to rub at the edges of it self-consciously with one of your fingers.

Robby grabbed your wrist and lowered your hand with a grimace. "Don't- don't touch it."

"My point still stands. I can sit here until someone is free to see me. Or I could be like any other normal patient and wait in the waiting room."

Robby's voice was serious as he replied. "This is your third visit here in the span of six months. You no longer qualify as a normal patient."

"Ouch." You replied flatly, very aware of the two nurses watching you and Robby interact. "Anyway, I told you that it's probably just another concussion."

"It worries me that you don't see the issue with the phrase 'another concussion'." Robby huffed and pointed at a chair behind the desk. "Sit there. I'll be back in two minutes. Perlah, Princess, one of you watch her."

You did as you were told, albeit a little grumpily, and sank into the chair as Robby walked off and disappeared. The lack of sleep was starting to get to you and it didn't help that your head was practically throbbing with pain. But you tried to power through it as you turned to the two nurses and sent them a friendly smile.

"Hi."

The two of them exchanged another look and smirked. "Hi."

The way they moved in tandem suggested that they came as a pair. How nice to work with your best friend, you thought.

"So, you come here often?" One of them asked, clearly holding back a laugh.

Only a second of silence passed before the three of you burst into fits of giggles. But you abruptly stopped when it sent a lightning strike of pain through your head.

"Ow, ow." Your face screwed up and you clutched at your forehead, flinching when you poked the lump. "Motherfu-"

You were cut off by the appearance of Nurse Dana. "What's going on?"

Your mouth shut with a click of your teeth. 

A nurse responded before you could. "Robby brought her in. Wants you to watch her."

Dana looked at you, scrutinised you, before a small smile overtook her face. "I know you. Your Robby's friend from a few months ago."

"Uh, just a regular patient that I think he feels sorry for." You ignored the way that the word 'friend' set off an ache in your chest that you had buried long ago.

Dana hummed lowly, though you suspected that she actually disagreed with your statement, before telling Perlah and Princess to get back to work and shooing them away. Then she settled into a chair beside you and got to work on something on her computer.

Fifty-six minutes went by before Robby re-appeared at the central desk. He found you sat next to Dana, staring at the ceiling.

"Hi, sorry."

You looked up at him, a lazy smile pulling the corners of your mouth up. "That was a long two minutes, Doctor Robinavitch."

"I know. I'm sorry. I had to deal with something from the night shift." He looked at Dana. "She been behaving?"

Dana looked at him curiously. "She's been sitting there silently the whole time, if that's what you're asking. Don't worry, I checked on her every couple of minutes to make sure she wasn't dead or passed out."

He just nodded, not entirely sure why he'd even asked the question in the first place. "Okay, good. That's good."

You cut in. "I'm sat right here, y'know?"

He looked at you again. "Sorry, didn't know if you could hear me over the fifth concussion."

Your jaw dropped in surprise. "Uncalled for."

He shrugged, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie and his lips pressed together in a half-smile. "But true."

Dana's eyes flickered between the two of you, like she was putting puzzle pieces together. "South three is free, if you need it."

"Thank you, Dana." Then he looked at you. "Come on."

You grabbed your bag and hauled yourself up from the chair, ignoring the pounding in your head as you sent the charge nurse a kind smile. "Thank you for babysitting me, Nurse Dana."

"Just 'Dana' is fine. And you're welcome."

You nodded at her, smiled again, and then started to follow Robby to the exam room. This one was more private than the last one he'd had you in. This one actually had a door, which you appreciated since the noise of the ED wasn't helping your headache.

"Sit on the bed." Robby instructed as he closed the door and the curtain, giving the room some privacy.

As usual, you did as you were told and watched as Robby logged into the computer.

"So... hockey puck to the head. Tell me about it."

You grumbled lowly under your breath for a moment before starting your recount of the story. "Well, I thought I'd engage in some Pittsburgh spirit and go to a Penguins game."

"You a hockey fan?" He didn't know why he was cutting in to ask an irrelevant question. But as he watched your posture ease, he realised it was probably a good thing that he did.

"Oh, sure. Love the sport." You grinned before carrying on. "Anyway, the second period starts and smack! There's a hockey puck making a dent in my forehead. Which has now turned into the most tragic lump ever. Seriously, why'd it have to hit me in the worst place?"

"Bad luck."

"Hardy har." You bit back, though you liked him contributing to the joke of your bad luck. Even if it wasn't quite a joke. "And now here I am with a probable fifth concussion."

Robby signed out of the computer with a click and turned to you. "You at least get to keep the offending hockey puck?"

"No." You pouted. "Some guy next to me stole it while I was busy trying to determine if I'd died. Turned out it was just the light reflecting off of someone's bedazzled jersey."

That made Robby laugh. Fully and heartily. He slapped a hand across his mouth to stop it but the sound rumbling in his chest was unmistakable.

"Oh, yeah. Laugh at my pain. Go on. What an excellent doctor you are. Really." You huffed and rolled your eyes despite the way you beamed at the sound of his laughter.

"I'm sorry. You're just funny."

You side-eyed him. "I'm funny or my injuries are funny? There's a difference."

"Both." He shrugged. "It's never something normal with you."

"I used up all of my normal injuries as a kid. Like the classic of breaking my leg by falling out of a tree had happened twice by the time I was nine."

"Jesus."

"Now the universe has to come up with creative ways to get me injured." You scratched your neck. "It's probably a good thing that I only work in an office and don't do something more dangerous."

"More dangerous?" Robby inquired. "Like what?"

"Like, I don't know, operate a forklift or something."

He laughed again. "Yes, please never operate a forklift. I'd hate to see you in here due to some forklift-related injury."

"Aw, man. Now I'm sad I can't operate a forklift."

"I mean, you can. If you really want."

"What? Just so I can come in here decapitated by a forklift and have you say 'I told you so'? No thanks, Doctor Robby." You crossed your arms in front of your chest.

"I think me saying 'I told you so' would be the least of your worries if you'd been decapitated."

"I'm sure I could sense your disappointment even in death." You sighed, like the idea bothered you. "Okay, so let's get this examination started."

"So eager to be diagnosed with a concussion for a fifth time." He took three steady steps towards you and angled your head just how he needed it.

"Who knows? Maybe it'll be more exciting this time. Like a fractured skull."

He looked at you disapprovingly. "Not something to be excited about."

"Concussions get boring after a while." 

"You're the only person who has ever thought that." He flashed a light in your eyes and apologised when you winced. "Sorry."

"It's okay." You sucked your bottom lip into your mouth. "I've had four concussions. Maybe five now. I can think whatever I want about them."

He got you to track his finger. "Maybe you should be thankful that it's never more serious."

"Yeah, I suppose. It does get a little tiring after a while. All the injuries, I mean."

Robby was struck by how genuinely sad you sounded in that moment. He'd never seen you anything less than sickeningly upbeat. He didn't like it.

He straightened up before taking a seat in front of you. "Unfortunately, some people are just more accident prone than others. If it helps, you're probably the happiest person I've met with such an extensive medical history."

You lit up slightly. "Really?"

"Really." He nodded firmly. "Okay, I'm saying this is a concussion. Another one, I'm sorry. But I'm going to send you up for a head CT anyway, just in case. I'll get you bumped to the top of the list. I'm sure it'll be clear but I'll advise you to stay for a while longer for observation anyway. To be safe."

"Okay, thank you."

"Is there anyone you'd like me to call in the meantime? To come and keep you company?"

"No, no one." You shook your head and regretted, eyes squeezing closed at the pain.

"You sure? You might be here a while. Friends? Family? Partner?"

You sent him a sympathetic smile, like he was missing something obvious. "Doctor Robby, I'm always here alone. I was at that hockey game alone. I got on the bus here. By myself. There is no one to call."

He said nothing. What was he supposed to say? But you could see the silent question in his eyes so you explained it to him without him even having to ask.

"When you have luck as bad as mine, you find that people prefer not to get caught up in it." You smiled sadly and shrugged your shoulders. You had made peace with it a long time ago.

"I can get one of the nurses to sit with you, if you want?"

You laughed sarcastically and pinched the bridge of your nose. "Ah, jeez. No thanks. I don't need pity company. I get enough pity from you."

"You think I pity you?"

"I know you pity me." Your voice was sincere, like you had it all figured out. "Come on, it's not exactly difficult to figure out. Always treating me yourself even though I come in with first, maybe second, year resident level cases. I know you have much more important things to be doing. Sitting me with Dana earlier after bringing me through here yourself and not making me wait outside like everybody else. Bumping me up on the CT list. Come on, Doctor Robby."

Maybe you did have it all figured out.

He stared at you for a moment. "You're right. I have done all of those things. But not out of pity."

You looked at him like he was lying. "What then?"

"I think... that there are some nice people in the world. And sometimes some not-nice things happen to them. And it's bad when these not-nice things happen to these nice people since they're the least deserving of all. I think you're one of those people. So, anything I can do to make your experience here in my ED even just a little less terrible... it's going to get done." He reached out and patted your hands where they were clenched together in your lap. "Okay?"

You nodded, ignoring the sting in your eyes. "Okay."

"Good. Now-" He stood up and walked over to the computer to put his orders in. "I won't send a nurse to give you 'pity company' as you called it. But I will come to check on you as much as I can once you get your CT done. And I'll also be the one who comes to tell you the results, yeah?"

"Yeah."

He nodded once before opening the door. "I'll get someone to come to take you upstairs."

And then Robby left in a flurry of deep breaths and swirling emotions that he hadn't allowed himself to feel in a long time.

True to his word, Robby bumped you to the top of the CT wait list and was also the one to tell you your results. Which were clear, just as he'd predicted. This just solidified the fact that you had another concussion to add to your list of never-ending injuries. Woo-fucking-hoo. But you were left no time to dwell on it too much as Robby made sure that you got placed in a bed next to a nice guy named Louie. He promised that the two of you would get along, and he was right. Louie was very easy to talk to and, from what you could understand, was also a regular at PTMC. Robby had been sneaky there, you noted, putting you with another regular. Robby also stuck to what he'd promised and came to check on you at every moment he could, even bringing you a sandwich and a juice box when he figured that you'd probably be hungry. He could never stay too long, one emergency or another always pulling him away after a few minutes. But you didn't mind. Mostly you were just thankful that he was dedicating any of his spare time to you.

You ignored the heat that crawled to the surface of your skin when Louie decided to make a comment on it. 

"It seems the good doctor has taken a liking to you."

After a few hours Robby cleared you to be discharged, warning you to come back immediately if the pain in your head suddenly got worse or if you started feeling dizzy or nauseous. He made sure to drill into you that calling for an ambulance would be a better idea than getting on the bus again. You assured him that you understood him loud and clear. No buses. Or driving. Certainly no driving.

And then your third visit to PTMC was over and Robby was left wondering when he'd seen you again next. There didn't seem to be a matter of 'if' anymore. He now believed your theory of bad luck and knew he'd be seeing you sometime in the future.

This time it only took one month, one week and one day.

The gurney crashed into the Pitt, wheels squeaking, as one of the paramedics pushing it called for some help. Robby asked to hear what the case was as he snapped on a pair of gloves and marched over, gesturing for McKay to follow him.

"Suspected food poisoning. Her roommate says she's been vomiting for four days and found her passed out in their kitchen about an hour ago."

Robby stopped still when he saw who was lying on the bed. You. Unconscious, trembling and covered in a thick layer of sweat. Not a good sign.

McKay also paused. "Hey, isn't that-"

"Yes." Robby cut her off. "Okay, I need fluids-"

The instructions continued to pour out of him, not even bothering to test his residents or students, as they got you wheeled into a trauma room. He ignored the twist of upset in his stomach at the sight of you, urging his doctor brain into gear to carry him through it. Which worked. Soon enough, you were hooked up to an IV and fluids were being pumped into you. Everybody worked around you quietly. Well, more quietly than usual. It wasn't exactly a secret that you'd been added to the list of the Pitt's regular patients. Or that Robby had taken a liking to you. If somebody didn't already know, it was obvious by the way Robby was looking at you now with clear worry in his eyes. 

The concern in everybody's minds was quickly wiped away when your eyes suddenly shot open, you lurched upwards in the bed and proceeded to projectile vomit.

All over the front of Robby's scrubs.

Then you passed out again, flopping back against the hospital bed.

"If she's been vomiting for four days, how does she still have anything in her?" Javadi asked timidly as she eyed the mess that Robby was coated in.

Nobody answered her as they all stared at Robby, waiting to see how he'd react.

He didn't take his eyes off of you as he spoke. "Keep working. I'll be back."

And then he left to go and change his scrubs. Luckily your spew of puke had managed to avoid his cargo pants and shoes, only hitting his scrub top. It hadn't even soaked through to the long sleeved shirt he was wearing underneath. That was something to be happy about. Decades in the ED meant that Robby had grown accustomed to the smell and sight of bodily fluids. He often found himself covered in blood, most days actually, and was occasionally sprayed with urine. Vomit was no different. The acidic smell of it barely penetrated his nose these days. That was one perk of his long career: no longer bothered by people throwing up. Hurrah. 

He was silent as he got changed, exchanging one scrub top for another and feeling somewhat sorry for the person who was going to have to deal with his soiled shirt. Truthfully, all he could focus on was getting back to see how you were doing. He'd told you before that he wanted you to get the best care possible. And how was he supposed to keep that promise if he wasn't there to oversee it getting done? He knew you were in very capable hands in his absence but the idea of not watching as every little step of treatment took place left an uneasy feeling in his stomach.

He also hadn't failed to notice that your roommate hadn't come with you to the hospital, despite being the one who had found you and called the ambulance. Robby couldn't stand the thought of you alone in there. Even if you were unconscious and surrounded by doctors and nurses. You wouldn't have a friend by your side. At least he could provide something of a friendly face for you.

Robby forced himself not to run back to the trauma room, maintaining a steady pace as he walked through the doors. "How's she looking?"

McKay was the one to answer him. "Heart rate and BP are stable. Think we're just looking at a case of severe dehydration here."

Robby nodded, letting out a long exhale. "Okay. Okay, good. We can deal with that."

So that was exactly what they did: deal with it. Everybody worked carefully, being extra cautious not to make any mistakes with Robby's watchful gaze on them. He clearly wasn't in the mood for any screw ups, and McKay and Javadi felt similarly. Though neither of them had treated you since that first incident, they both remembered how kind you had been. Kind and easygoing patients were hard to come by these days.

With no more signs of future vomiting, it didn't take too long before they all agreed that you were in a good enough place to be wheeled out of the trauma room and placed into a bay for rest and more fluids. 

The rest of Robby's shift ticked by at a mind-numbingly slow place and, before he knew it, it was time to clock out. He had periodically checked in on you for the few hours of his shift that you had been there, only to find you still unconscious every time. Which wasn't a bad sign. He just didn't feel good about it. He'd made the decision, about an hour before his shift ended, that he'd sit at your bedside for a while. Just to keep you company, even though you weren't awake. When Dana had figured out his plan, she had sent him a smile to suggest that she knew exactly what was going on in his head. Which was absurd since even Robby didn't entirely know what was going on in his head.

Dana hadn't even tried to discourage him from the idea. She only reminded him that he had a day off tomorrow and that, if you woke up anytime soon, you'd probably appreciate the sight of a familiar face. Something about her approval solidified the plan in Robby's head. If Dana thought it was a good idea then it was probably a good idea.

So once he'd handed over to the night shift and collected his bag from his locker, Robby situated himself on a chair next to your bedside. 

When you awoke a few hours later, you were surprised to find yourself not at home. You squinted, trying to adjust to the light. Where were you? One quick glance around told you exactly where. Somehow back in the emergency room. Damn, what had happened this time? You looked to the side, shocked to find a slumped figure in the chair next to your bedside. Who the hell was that? You didn't have anybody to sit at your bedside when you were in the hospital. A couple of blinks to send away the blur in your eyes revealed exactly who it was. Doctor Robby. Asleep.

"What the hell?" You blurted, ignoring the burn in your throat, taking in the sight of the bag tucked between his legs and the way his hoodie was zippered right to the top. His features were a lot softer when he was asleep, you noticed.

The sound of your voice stirred him. And you watched as his relaxed expression immediately hardened again as soon as he was conscious. Wow. Just being awake made him stressed. 

His eyes quickly landed on you and he sat forward in his chair, a sleepy smile curling the edges of his mouth. "Hey, you're awake."

You blinked at him. "What time is it?"

"Uh-" He checked his watch. "Just after one."

"In the morning?!" You screeched, heart fluttering in your chest in panic.

"Yes. Why? Is that a problem?" He looked at you concerned. Surely you didn't have anywhere to be in the middle of the night.

"Why are you here?" You snapped, frowning deeply. "Your shift must've ended hours ago."

"Hey, hey." He reached out a hand to settle you, letting it rest on your forearm. "It's okay."

"It is very much not okay, Doctor Robinavitch. I think this goes a tad beyond the special treatment you usually give me." You scoffed but placed your hand over his anyway. "I mean, what are you doing here?"

His thumb rubbed gentle circles into the skin of your arm. "I figured it'd be confusing if you woke up here with no recollection of what happened. Thought you could do with seeing someone you recognised."

Ugh, here he went again with saying something nice that had you tearing up.

"Oh. Well." You sniffed. "Thank you then."

He nodded once. "You're welcome."

"What did happen?"

"Your roommate said you were passed out in the kitchen after vomiting for four days. Said something about food poisoning."

Recognition dawned on your face. "A new diner opened up a couple blocks from my apartment. I wouldn't recommend it."

"Yeah, probably best not to." He laughed softly at your attempt to lighten the conversation. "You came in here dehydrated. Trembling, sweating-"

"Wow, how attractive." You groaned. "Tell me, did I look better or worse than when I had that big lump on my head?"

"About the same." Robby offered. "Until you vomited all over me."

Your eyes widened. "You're joking."

"Sadly not."

"Oh, for the love of-" You cut yourself off as you buried your face in your hands. 

Robby chuckled. "It's okay."

"No, it's not." You sounded genuinely distraught. "You should've just let me die."

"Not funny."

"I'm not kidding. Death would be more enjoyable than the embarrassment of knowing that I barfed all over you. God, I'm so sorry."

"Like I said, it's okay." He let his hand rest on the bed next to you, to show that he was there, really there, if you needed him.

You suddenly looked at him, an openness in your eyes that he'd never seen before. And then you said something that floored him.

"Thank you for always taking such good care of me."

It wasn't anything that Robby hadn't heard before. People thanked him all the time for his care. But there was something about the way you said it, that implied you were thanking him for more than his medical treatment. Which he guessed was true. He knew he treated you differently to his other patients, he'd pretty much confessed as much the last time he'd seen you. He just wondered whether you were able to see how deeply it ran for him.

"You're very welcome."

Robby didn't pull away when you reached out and grasped his hand tightly in yours. He didn't move when the curtain suddenly snapped open and Shen was standing there with an iPad in one hand and an iced coffee in the other. Robby didn't even flinch when Shen's eyes shot to your intertwined hands and he slurped on his coffee in amusement. In fact, he sent Shen a glare practically daring him to utter a word about it. Shen stayed silent though Robby knew it was only a matter of time before he went to blab about it with the next person he saw.

"Doctor Shen!" You chimed, voice croaky but cheerful. "Still loving those iced coffees I see."

Shen smiled and pointed at you. "I removed your stitches. In your foot."

"That's me." You grinned, looking at Robby. "Look at me, I'm memorable."

You certainly were, Robby thought.

Shen was hasty as he checked over you, very aware of how closely Robby was watching him. He didn't do much other than check your vitals. He knew you were fine. Because if you weren't then Robby wouldn't have been sitting silently at your side.

Once he was done, he stood at the end of your bed. "Looks good to me. I'll be back later to check on you again."

"Thanks." You sounded seriously appreciative.

Shen turned to Robby. "Think about heading home. Or I'll send Abbot after you."

"Yeah, yeah." Robby waved him off and was glad to see him go when the curtain snapped closed again.

"Who's Abbot?" You asked, wondering when you'd developed the audacity to ask questions. "Wait, that's none of my business."

He shook his head. "No, it's okay. Abbot's the other night shift attending."

"Right..." You trailed off, predicting that there was something more.

"He's also an old friend."

"Ah, there we go." You nodded in understanding. "And as your friend he's going to be concerned that you're sat here at one in the morning after a long shift rather than being at home asleep."

"Actually, I think he'd be happy that I'm doing something with my spare time."

You snorted. "Oh, so I'm like a hobby. Great."

"That's not what I meant." He squeezed your hand gently. "I wouldn't be at home asleep right now if I knew you'd be here, waking up alone."

Words like that made you long for a connection with another human being that you hadn't had in a very long time.

"Careful now, Doctor Robby. I might start thinking you like me or something." Your voice was shaky as you said it. "Thank you for being here."

"You don't need to thank me every time."

You shrugged. "How many pumps of syrup are we betting on Doctor Shen having in his coffee tonight?"

Robby laughed, forgetting he'd ever even told you that. "Three butter pecan and four white chocolate."

Your nose scrunched. "I'm saying six vanilla and two caramel."

"That sounds very sweet." Robby's stomach rolled at the mere thought of it, he was much more of a black coffee man.

"Don't knock it 'til you try it." You hummed, eyelids growing heavy again. 

He watched you struggle to keep your eyes open for a moment. "Go back to sleep. Your body's exhausted."

"I'll go to sleep if you promise to go home." You rubbed at your face. "I'm sure I'll still be here in the morning when you come back."

"I'm off tomorrow."

"Oh." You lowered your eyes in embarrassment. Why had you just assumed he'd be back?

"But I can come back to visit you."

"Nope, absolutely not." You shook your head rapidly. "It's your day off. How fucking sad would it be if you spent your day off here, in your workplace?"

"I wouldn't be working."

"Not the point. Go do something fun with your day. What do you do for fun? Rock climbing or something?"

"Rock climbing...?" Robby repeated slowly. "Do I look like I rock climb to you?"

"I don't know, it was the first thing that I came up with." You huffed, shoulders slumping.

"You're a curious thing." He murmured lowly before standing up. "Okay, fine. I will go home now and do something fun with my day tomorrow."

"Promise?"

He nodded once. Firmly. "Promise."

"Great!" Your voice was still chipper despite your tired state. "Thank you again for keeping me alive and for keeping me company now. I'll see you next time I get injured."

He chuckled. "Sure. Try not to get food poisoning again please."

"I'll try." You yawned. "Bye, Doctor Robby."

"Goodnight." He watched you for a moment as you settled back into the bed and closed your eyes, only a few seconds passing before you were breathing rhythmically. You were asleep. He left the bay quietly and walked out of the ED, avoiding eye contact with every person who sent him a quizzical look. Robby went to bed that night satisfied that you were going to be okay and with his soul resting a little lighter than usual.

True to your word, you were back in the ED only a short while later. Three weeks and five days to be exact. It was a sprained wrist this time.

You'd been waiting for around forty minutes when your name was called. You frowned to yourself before walking over to the sign-in desk. You leaned in closer to the glass and sent the lady behind the desk a confused look.

"Um, you just called my name. But it must be a mistake. I've been here less than an hour."

She looked at you and shrugged. "They've called you back there, hon. I just send you through."

She hit a button and the doors buzzed.

"Head on through the doors."

"Okay, thank you." You said quickly before rushing for the doors so she didn't have to keep her hand on the button.

It shouldn't have been surprising when you made your way through the doors and found your favourite doctor on the other side. Robby stood there with his arms folded across his chest and an unimpressed look on his face.

"Hi, Doctor Robby." You said, shyly.

His usual frown deepened. "Don't 'hi' me. It's been less than a month."

"Are you saying you're not happy to see me?"

His eyes flicked to the way you were cradling your hand against your chest. "What happened?"

You puffed out a breath. "Carpet's loose in my office. Tripped. Fell. Kablam."

"Kablam?" He somehow looked more displeased.

"Okay, I admit that's a weak onomatopoeia but my wrist hurts and I'm cranky."

"You're cranky? Miss Sunshine is cranky? The world must be ending." He threw his hands up in the air incredulously. 

You scoffed. "Who got your panties in a twist?"

Robby pressed his lips into a thin line before turning around and gesturing for you to follow him. You knew he was never pleased to see you, the circumstances were always unfortunate obviously, but he seemed more annoyed than usual. So you followed him quietly to an exam room, holding your hand tightly to your chest. It really fucking hurt and you were pissed about the circumstances in which it had happened. Among other things.

Robby continued to say nothing as you got to the room, just silently gestured for you to sit on the edge of the bed as he closed the door. But it was killing you. So you snapped.

"Okay, why are you mad at me? I only just got here."

His eyes met yours, a flash of anger crossing them. "Three weeks. It's been three fucking weeks since you were last here."

"Three weeks and five days actually. Which, when you think about it, is basically four weeks. Which is a month."

"That's not the point." He held out a hand to make you quiet.

But you carried on. "Next time I get injured I'll make sure to head to Presbyterian. I'm so sorry to be a burden on you. Not like you're a doctor or anything. Oh, wait-"

"Stop. Stop." He took four sharp steps towards you. "Enough."

Your mouth snapped shut, though the look you gave him said a lot - you weren't happy.

"I'm not mad at you."

"Could've fooled me." You mumbled, ignoring the frustrated glare that Robby sent you.

"I'm mad that you're somehow injured again."

"It's not like it's my fault. Bad luck, Doctor Robinavitch. How many times do I have to tell you?" You sighed. "And this definitely wasn't my fault. I have been complaining about that loose carpet in my office for months - months - saying it was a safety hazard. And today I went and proved it!"

The way Robby looked at you continued to be bored. "Sue your office."

"Believe me, I plan on it." You sent him a small smile. "I was planning on at least a three month gap before my next visit here too, y'know?"

That got a half-hearted laugh out of him. "Three months, huh?"

"The universe had other plans." You shrugged.

He nodded, poking his tongue against the inside of his cheek. "Show me your arm."

You held it out for him to look, holding it up with your other hand. Robby took a quick glance at it, pressed lightly against your skin and apologised lowly when you winced.

Feeling bad for being angry at you, Robby attempted to break the ice. "So why are you cranky?"

You blinked at him slowly a couple of times. "Other than the injured wrist? My roommate moved out."

He didn't expect that. "Oh."

"Yeah, apparently it was too much finding me halfway to death on our kitchen floor." You sounded defeated. "It's fine. Whole apartment to myself again. Yay."

"I'm sorry." He sighed and stopped looking at your wrist. "Looks like a sprain."

"Great." Your voice was totally flat, almost completely devoid of emotion.

It made Robby uneasy seeing you like this. He'd never know you to be anything less than sunshine personified. Other than that time you'd been unconscious obviously.

"I'll get someone to put a splint on you and then you can be discharged."

A flicker of surprise crossed your features, confused that Robby wasn't doing it himself. But it passed quickly and you were nodding.

"Okay. Thanks."

He nodded, ignored the ache in his chest, and left the room. He didn't see you again before you left, choosing to avoid you in favour of other, more serious, cases.

Regret situated itself right behind Robby's sternum and lived there for five months before it finally went away. He finally managed to let go of the regret when he realised how long it had been since you last visited. He wondered whether you hadn't been injured that whole time or if you had done what you said you would and chosen to go to Presbyterian instead. Either way, it shouldn't have mattered to him. It definitely didn't matter to him. Not at all.

That all changed two weeks and six days after he finally let the regret go.

"MVA incoming. Seven minutes." Dana told Robby one afternoon after getting a phone call.

"Bad?" He asked, prepping himself by pulling on a pair of gloves.

She shrugged. "They didn't say."

The seven minutes moved quickly as he waited on the paramedics to come through the doors.

One gurney rolled through the entrance. "Broken nose and lacerations to the legs and arms."

Robby looked down at the guy on the gurney, seeing that he was still conscious. But before he could say anything more, the medic kept talking.

"We've got a second victim coming in. She's critical."

Robby raised an eyebrow and gestured for them to wheel the gurney through to a bay, this guy wasn't serious. "What happened?"

The medic looked down at the guy with the broken nose. "He ran a red light and T-boned another car. Driver's side."

Before he could say anymore, a second gurney flew into the ED. The person on the stretcher was unconscious and covered in blood, wounds covering them head to toe. But despite all of that, Robby recognised you instantly.

A ringing started in his ears. Vision blurred at the edges. 

It took four seconds too long for his doctor brain to kick in. But once it started, he was unstoppable.

Every medical professional in trauma room one worked together like a well-oiled machine that afternoon, all of them eager to keep you alive. None of them wanted to experience what Robby would have been like if they lost you. 

Major blood loss.

Crushed left leg.

Severe lacerations.

Internal bleeding.

Broken ribs.

Punctured lung.

Ruptured spleen.

Head trauma.

Despite all of that, they pulled off the seemingly impossible and kept you stable enough to be sent up to the OR. Everybody thought it best not to argue with Robby when he insisted on going up with you. The entirety of your time in surgery was a haze for Robby. He just stood and watched but he wouldn't have been able to recount anything that was done. His eyes just flickered between your face and your vitals.

After that, every spare moment of his time was spent at your bedside in the ICU. That guilt he'd finally managed to let go of returned. But this time, it was worse. If you died, he wouldn't ever be able to forgive himself for how he'd acted the last time you had seen each other.

It took three days for you to wake up. Three of the most painful days of Michael Robinavitch's life.

He was down in the ED when he got the call.

"She's awake."

That was all he needed before he got in the elevator to head up to the ICU. The elevator moved too slowly for his taste, and about halfway to the ICU floor he started wishing he had just taken the stairs instead.

The nurse sat at the desk at the entrance to the ICU didn't even have to ask him why he was there. Everybody in the unit knew exactly why. 

He sent Robby a smile. "She's a fighter."

"Yes, she is." Robby didn't stop his fast stride as he made his way to your bed. He didn't even bother announcing his presence as he wrenched the curtain open.

You looked at him immediately, eyes red. Maybe from crying, maybe from exhaustion, maybe both. Your left leg was wrapped up in a cast and the rest of your body was covered in scrapes and cuts. You were hooked up to several machines monitoring you as well as an IV. You looked like shit. Robby had never been happier to see you.

"Hi." He closed the curtain behind him and sat in the chair next to you, careful not to move too quickly. As if he might spook you.

You watched him move, not speaking until he was settled. "Hi."

"How are you feeling?"

Your nose scrunched. "How do you think I'm feeling?"

Robby shook his head. "Yeah, I'm sorry, that was a stupid question."

You said nothing for a moment. "They told me that I should thank you. That you and the rest of the emergency department brought me back from the brink of death."

Robby wanted to be humble and deny it. But it was true. He was sure the combined willpower of everybody in that trauma room was the only reason you had lived.

"You were..." He trailed off, paused, started again. "Your condition was bad. We stabilised you enough for surgery."

You nodded slowly. "Right. Thank you."

"How much do you remember? Of the accident, I mean?"

"Some of it. I think I got knocked out on impact. But I remember paramedics and firefighters talking to me. I remember the inside of the ambulance. But nothing after that." You inhaled sharply. "What happened to the guy who hit me?"

Robby didn't want to tell you. He didn't want you to know that the guy who had almost killed you was absolutely fine. But he knew he couldn't lie to you. "Broken nose. But other than that, not much else."

You laughed shakily, tears brimming your eyes. "Wow, the universe really does hate me."

"Don't say that."

"Why? It's true."

How was Robby supposed to argue with you? He'd seen it himself over the last few months. Maybe the universe really did hate you with the amount of injuries you got that were completely out of your control. He couldn't argue with you. So he just reached out and took your hand, and sat with you in companionable silence for a while.

Your time in the ICU was unpleasant. People were constantly running to your bedside and fawning over you at every irregular beep of one of the monitors attached to you. Robby visited you as much as he could, but neither of you ever said much. He wasn't much of a talker and you'd lost that spark you'd had every time you had seen him previously. He didn't like it. He wasn't sure whether it had been lost in the crash or if it was gone the last time he saw you. Robby got so worried about you that he even spoke to Caleb to see if he could get someone from psych to see you. 

But one day, when Robby went to visit you, he found you gone. This time he had been dead set on pulling a conversation out of you. But when he got to the ICU, he was informed by the nurse at the desk that you had been discharged an hour previously.

"Oh." Robby said, feeling his heart crumbling in his chest. "Okay, thanks for telling me."

And then he left, and ignored the hurt he felt at you leaving without saying goodbye.

Seven months went by without you visiting PTMC. Robby figured that you had found another hospital to frequent. He tried to move on. But he found it more difficult than he thought he would. He hated leaving things unfinished. And everything with you was unfinished.

The last place Robby expected to see you was his favourite second hand bookstore on his day off.

He rounded one of the stacks, a battered copy of Catch-22 grasped in his hands, and stopped. There you were. Browsing the sci-fi section. You looked better. Not a sign of your tragic car accident on you and some of that spark back in you. He debated his options. Did he say hello and freak you out? Or did he turn around and leave like he'd never seen you?

He didn't get the opportunity to decide. Suddenly you turned and looked at him, like you'd sensed his eyes on you. You lit up, a bright smile breaking over your face and bathing Robby in that sunshine feeling he got whenever you looked at him like that.

You abandoned your perusing of books and walked toward him. "Doctor Robby, hi!"

"Hi." He replied, wondering what the fuck he was supposed to say now.

"How are you? It's been so long."

Seven months, he thought. Seven long fucking months.

"I'm good. How are you? Any more injuries?" His gaze flickered over you like he was checking.

"Nothing serious recently. Only a few minor bumps and bruises." You grinned. "I'm sure it'll only be a matter of time before I'm back in your emergency room."

A weird sense of relief rushed through Robby. Both at the knowledge that you hadn't gotten hurt recently and also that you hadn't chosen to start going to another hospital over his.

"That's good. I'm happy to hear it." He paused. "You seem... more yourself."

"Yeah..." You lowered your eyes sheepishly. "I'm sorry about how miserable I was the last time you saw me. I think the accident got to me a little."

"You don't-" He huffed a laugh. "You don't have to apologise for not being happy after being in a car accident."

"Yeah, but you're so nice to me. Always taking care of me when you don't have to and sitting at my bedside. And then I left without even saying goodbye. I'm sorry about that. I felt like a burden."

A burden? That's what you thought of yourself?

It was then at that moment that Robby decided he needed to show you that everything he did for you was so much more than him just being a good doctor.

Come on, Robinavitch. Don't be a coward.

It wasn't like he was asking you out in the middle of the ED. No, this was fine.

He blurted out the question before he could convince himself not to. "Would you like to get a drink with me sometime? Or dinner maybe?"

You stared at him for a moment, like you were waiting for him to say more. A punchline maybe. Then you pointed at yourself. "Me?"

He chuckled. "Yeah, you."

"Oh!" You smiled, bright as always. "Yes. Yes, I would love to."

"Great." He smiled back at you, not as bright but as bright as he could manage.

"Are you sure though? I've been told that my bad luck rubs off on people." Your tone was joking, but Robby could sense an underlying genuineness there.

"That's a risk I'm willing to take."

"Even after I vomited on you?"

"Yes, even after you vomited on me."

"Wow... you must really like me, Doctor Robby." You swayed from side to side, a playful smile on your lips.

"You can drop the 'Doctor'. Just 'Robby' is fine." He insisted. "Also you don't know the half of it."

You brightened exponentially at that. Perhaps your luck was finally changing.

A/N: This occupied my brain for several days so please let me know if you enjoyed!

[deathvalleyqueen]

The Wedding Season

Pairings- Titus Danforth x Wife!Reader

Rating - M

Tags/Warnings - MDNI (obviously), FEMALE reader, Age Gap (at least 10 years), Titus obviously his own warning, canon typical sociopathic behavior, Pregnant Reader, I am probably writing Titus poorly, no use of Y/N, Set before the movie, Titus is soft only for the reader, Reader matches Titus's freak, Possessive Titus, obvious mention of violence, arranged marriage, they do love eachother in their freaky weird way. Oh, Family Drama BS.

A/N: Okay, so I have quite literally not written reader insert or in second person in about 10 years, so if it's not as smooth as it could be, please forgive me. I am trying, and I hope it improves. Also, about the first third of the first chapter serves basically as a prologue. Unlike a lot of my other fic I don't plan on posting this to AO3, if you specifically do want me to post it please let me know, and I will consider it. Oh, all this stuff is small, but the actual text of the fic is normal font because I like of the aesthetic of small text, but I am old and hate reading tiny text, so sparing all of our eyes.

Word Count: 3.5k

Chapter One: Love and Marriage

Marrying into the Danforth family was not for the weak. 

Your father had arranged the whole thing while you were still in college. Which made the four years that you had spent studying to eventually go to Law School feel so redundant. You always knew that your marriage would be arranged and not one based on love. That was the way things were done in the world you lived in. Your father may not have been powerful enough to be one of the six families, but he was powerful and, more importantly, the man was ambitious. Which is why he got close to Chester Danforth in the first place. Chester had a son, and your father had you. 

Titus was more than a decade older than you, but handsome. You knew him on a social level. You had paid him no mind. You were obviously polite, would smile sweetly at him at social events but it was not as if you were friends. He was never outright rude to you, but you hadn’t thought he had paid you very much mind either. So when your father told you that Titus had picked you specifically for his bride out of a group of potential wives, it shocked you. Perhaps it was on looks alone but you had also performed exceptionally well on your first hunt on your 18th birthday. That was what you suspected made you stand out. You could match his level of ruthlessness if need be and more importantly. You could very likely survive your wedding.

As soon as you graduated from college, your next-to-useless degree in hand. The wedding arrangements began. You obviously had no say in them. They were all handled by the Danforths. From the venue, gown, food, and even guests. It was all out of your hands, and you realized this was something you were going to have to get used to.  The wedding itself was ostentatious, extravagant, and bloody.

The ceremony itself in the black temple was lovely. You and Titus said your vows, had your first kiss, and then the real festivities began. The hunt. Which you were not worried about in the least. You knew that to survive the night, you were going to have to turn yourself from the hunted to the hunter. Which was exactly what you did. You had put on one of the most impressive shows during the hunt. You had killed five guests, one being a Danforth cousin. Even Titus’s own mother had not put on such an impressive performance. 

 In the morning, when you walked up to the front door of the main house of the Danforth compound, covered in blood. Your five-figure wedding gown was ruined, but in that moment, you had proven you were worthy of the Danforth name. 

Titus walked up to you, with a smirk playing on his lips as his hand rested on the back of your neck. “Perfection.” He whispered as he kissed you, the most primal passion you had ever seen, a passion you had never experienced. His hand wrapped tightly against the back of your neck, not just holding you longer as he deepened the kiss because he was afraid you would pull away, he was claiming you openly as his.

Over the next few years, you and Titus settled into what would pass as a comfortable marriage. He was not what you would have ever called a loving husband by normal social standards, but in your world, he was more affectionate and loving than you had ever seen your own father be to your mother. He doted on you. You never wanted for anything. Jewels, the finest clothes, round the clock servants to cater to your every whim. You were his wife, and that meant something in this world and more specifically to him, even if you had come from a lesser family. That no longer mattered. Your family no longer mattered. You were a Danforth now and he would never let a single soul, even his own sister, look down upon you. 

Particularly not once you had become pregnant. 

It was four years into your marriage. 

It was far from a surprise. At this point, a child was expected of you both. The fact that you had gotten this far into your marriage without one had raised questions. It was not from lack of trying. You had always said that it would happen when it was meant to. 

So when you walked into his office on a bright spring morning and set the pregnancy test down on his desk with a demure smile, it was a monumentous moment. You crossed your arms in front of your chest as you tilted your head, as his hazel eyes glanced down at the simple little stick. “You’re not?” He said almost in disbelief. In typical marriages, you knew these types of moments were often filled with overwhelming joy, but that was not the expression that Titus had on his face. He was pleased, but he was already calculating how this would benefit his standing within the family you could tell that simply from the way his eyes narrowed in on the test lying just an arm’s length away. 

You let out a breathy sigh as you take a single step forward, as you lean forward, tapping the stick once with your index finger. “Oh, I am very much am, my dear husband,” you respond calmly, your smile growing warmer. “There are a dozen of those upstairs in the bathroom, all saying the same thing because I didn’t believe it as well.” You had been shocked when you noticed it had been more than two months since your last period. You had been busy with the life you had been building, too busy to even really notice till the morning sickness started coming in waves. That was when both delight and panic swelled. This was a big life change for both of you. One that needed to happen. 

He leaned back in his chair, a smile growing on his face as he held out his hand for you. “Father will be pleased.” His tone was as gentle as he ever managed to be, but his words stated a simple fact. His father would be pleased. He had mentioned more times than you could count that your marriage had yet to prove fruitful, and he questioned if it was a good idea to marry Titus to someone from a ‘lesser’ family with little proven value. Though to Titus, your value was never in question. He adored you, in his own particular way. 

You took his hand as he pulled you into his lap. It always amused you how he liked to have you close in private moments like this. Pulling you into his lap was a common occurrence. His arms wrapped around your waist, keeping you firmly in your place as your eyes met. “I do not care if your father is pleased.” You state simply as you smile over at him. Whether his father was pleased meant very little to you. What really mattered was whether Titus was pleased. You were delighted when you were able to please him in any manner. In the bedroom, in hunts, in your day-to-day lives. If you managed to get Titus’s approval, it meant everything to you. “Are you pleased, my love?” You ask softly as you thread your fingers through his hair.

Thinking for a moment, Titus looked at you before he reached up and pushed a few stray strands of hair off your face and tucked it behind your ear. His tenderness in these quiet moments between the two of you was not new. It had developed over the past four years as his trust in you grew. He allowed you to see a side of him that no one else saw. That was how you knew, deep down, this was more of a marriage of convenience. That something real had grown between you. “Yes.” He whispered gruffly. “We need this.” His voice was tight as he added the second part to his statement. He let out a harsh sigh, “This will be something to set us higher than Ursula.” He stated it as a matter of practicality. His twin sister loved to hold the fact that she was more trusted by their father over Titus’s head, but this was the one thing he could give the family that she had failed to. “She is not married, she is not furthering the Danforth line.” 

“We are,” you finish with a smirk as your hand rests on the back of his neck. “Our child will be heir, the first of their generation. Even if she married tomorrow, she couldn’t give your father that.” You leaned forward and pressed your lips against his, Titus smirking as you kissed him. He nipped at your bottom lip as you pulled back. “We are giving the Danforth’s a future.” 

“That we are.” He said, pleased as his hand moved down and rested on your thigh. “I will make the arrangements for the doctor to come to the compound so you don’t have to worry about a thing.” You knew that he was going to tighten security. There was no way you were going to have the freedom that you have become accustomed to. Even with your own personal security guard, you were allowed to go out as you pleased. Go into town, go shopping on your own. Now in the back of your mind, you know that Titus was not about to let you off the compound without him if he even let you out of his sight. It was not what you would have wanted, but it was what was necessary given the Danforth’s standing within the organization. You were now too valuable to the family to be left to your own devices. 

“So when will we tell your father and sister?” You ask softly.

Titus shrugged. “Once the doctor has seen you. Coming with proof in hand, more than this.” He gestured to the pregnancy test on his desk. “Would be best.” 

And that was exactly what you did. 

+++++

A week later, a few days after your appointment with the doctor, who to your knowledge was the best obstetrician in the state, you had all the proof they would need. Blood tests and ultrasound images confirmed you were just under twelve weeks along. So, at the weekly family dinner, it was time to share the ‘joyous’ news.  Titus cleared his throat. “We have some news.” He said slowly as he gestured for you to hand him the ultrasounds that were carefully tucked in the small clutch purse you had carried with you to dinner. You reached into your clutch under the table, pulling them out before you slowly slid them across the table to him. He lifted the strip of images up and presented them as he smirked. “We are expecting.” 

There was no happy chatter that filled the room. No smiles. In fact, his sister looked almost annoyed at the announcement. “Oh, so you finally managed to get her pregnant. After four years.” Ursula quipped as she brought her wine glass to her lips. “I was starting to worry that you were incapable of continuing the line.” 

As Ursula spoke, you watched Titus’s jaw tighten as his eyes narrowed on her. This teasing him about his ability to continue the line was nothing new. For years, she had dropped subtle and not-so-subtle jibes at his ability to father a child. Something that had earned Ursula little love from you because you had to console Titus’s ego each time after she had wounded it. Just as you knew you had to calm this storm before it exploded. Slowly, you reached over under the table and rested your hand on his thigh. Silently telling him to let this go. He glanced over at you for a brief moment, a half smirk flashing across his face just for you, before he chuckled. “I just wanted to enjoy my wife before I had to share her with our heir.” 

“How very sweet,” Ursula smirked.

All eyes fell on the old man sitting at the head of the table. Chester Danforth was an intimidating figure at the best of times, but as he turned to you, Titus placed his hand over yours that was still resting on his thigh under the table. “How far along are you?” He asked with very little emotion in his voice. 

“Eleven weeks, almost twelve. The baby will be born in December.” You smile softly as you turn to Titus. “We are very happy.” Which was a true enough statement. You were very pleased to be carrying Titus’s child, and Titus had actually smiled what you believed to be a genuine smile when he heard the baby’s heartbeat for the first time. He lifted your hand to his lips, placing a tender kiss on your knuckles as he smiled at you. The moment was brief, but a real moment of genuine affection before you both collected yourselves. Faces went back to a stony, cold expression as you both looked towards his father for any sign of approval. He only gives a solemn nod. It was not the response either of you had hoped for, but you took what you could get. 

Ursula was barely able to hide her disdain for the whole matter. “Oh, you will be pregnant all wedding season. You won’t be able to participate in the hunts I know you love so much.” Her words were meaningless to you, but Titus shot her a sharp glare. You enjoyed the hunts, true enough. However, you enjoyed them because you were at Titus’s side, in the element of your world that you both understood and excelled at. That was why you had delighted in the hunts over the years, not just for the pure sport as she assumed.

There was a pause as Titus’s jaw clenched again. You knew he hated it when anyone slighted you in the smallest way. You were his wife, a reflection of him and his power. Showing you disrespect was showing him disrespect. He shifted, leaning slightly forward as an insincere smile flashed across his face. “You will finally have a chance to prove you can still hunt, dear sister,” Titius says sharply. “My sweet wife has outshone you at every event since we married. It is only fair she give you a chance to impress one of the other families so you mayhaps might find a husband yourself.” Ursula sneered as she took another swing of her wine. 

Ursula, however, never missed a beat. “You two are quite a force. The wedding season will lack your particular brutal brand of spectacle.” She made a flippant gesture before leaning forward slightly, spotting an opportunity to twist the proverbial knife. “Will you be sitting out the hunts as well? To keep your sweet wife company.” She asked mockingly as she pursed her lips. 

He let out a low grumble, a signal to you that this was going past a place of simple back-and-forth jabs. It was rare you stepped in, but in this moment, it felt called for. You leaned forward, you hand never moved from it’s place on his thigh. A subtle reminder to him that he was not alone and, more importantly, that you were always on his side. Not his family’s - his.“I would never dare ask him to do such a thing. The hunts bring Titus such joy.” You reach up and rest your hand on the back of his neck as a devious little smirk plays on your lips. “I want to see my husband happy.” Titus leaned towards you and pressed his lips against yours, as your fingers threaded through the back of his hair, pulling him deeper into the kiss. You two rarely openly showed affection in front of his family, but you knew he was making a point. So you played along. He leaned back, breaking this kiss with a self-satisfied smirk, watching as Ursula’s face twisted with disgust. 

“You two are disgusting.” She spat. 

You smirked, emboldened by the fact that you had managed to get a reaction from her, as you shifted in your chair to be a little nearer to Titus. “Are you jealous of what we have?” Of course she was, how could she not be? What had started as a simple arrangement orchestrated by their father had grown and blossomed, and now was about to usher forth a whole new generation of their family. You knew deep down, as much as Ursula may have stated otherwise. She dreamed of finding her match like Titus had with you. 

“You are such a stuck-up bitch.” She snaps as she stands up. 

You knew that was a line too far. Titus stands matching her as he leans forward, resting his hands on the table. “Don’t you dare speak to her like that. That is my wife and the mother of my child.” You knew the look on his face all too well. He was going to rip her throat out. In the back of your mind, you believed she deserved it. You were Mrs.Danforth, which meant that you were the one person in this family who had to earn your place. You had sent five souls to hell for that title with your own two hands for it. To be disrespected by the woman who just happened to be lucky enough to be born into this family could not be tolerated.  

“What are you gonna do, Titus? Kill me?” She laughed. 

Foolish girl has no idea. You silently mused as a brief snarl replaced your otherwise emotionless expression. 

You remained in your seat watching the exchange. Titus would handle this. He always did. Just as Titus was about to unleash on his sister, Chester slammed his hand on the table. “Enough.” He bellowed as he stood up. “Ursula, let your brother have his moment.” He turned to Titus and you, “Congratulations on the child, but neither of you forget that as of this moment, Ursula is still my heir. While I am pleased that the Danforth line will continue, you both must remember your place.”

Our place, you thought as you glanced over at Titus. Your gazes met for a moment, and you both felt it. The pang of humiliation of being lower back down into your places as the brutes, the enforcers. Not where either of you felt you deserved. It should be him, he should be the one to get all this. She is too soft, too petty. She will ruin us all. You fumed.

Titus’s jaw twitched as he stood up and offered you his hand. Taking it, you stood giving Chester a silent bow. “Let’s go.” He growled, not even acknowledging what his father had just said. You knew better than to fully get into the middle of the fight between the twins. This was a dance they had been doing since childhood. While you had married into the family, you were a Danforth by name. This was not your fight unless Titus told you it was.

You and Titus silently walk out of the dining room and start the short walk back to your home on the compound. As soon as you both were outside the main house doors, Titus leaned in and whispered. “I am going to kill her, and the high seat will be mine. I will not settle for less for you and our children.” You knew he meant every single syllable he had just spoken to you. 

“That is almost romantic, my love,” you laugh as you slip your arm around his waist. “However, since when are we having more than one child?” 

“This one is just the first.” He smirked deviously as he looked down at you. “This is the first in what I suspect will be several in the next generation of Danforths. We can not let my fucking idiot cousins try to usurp the family. We need several in case the first does not meet expectations.” 

You shake your head as you let out a low chuckle. “This is our child, Titus,” you begin softly. “They will be a ruthless killer by the time they can walk. Some things are taught, others are purely instinct.” 

He let out a low hum of a laugh as he smiled down at you. “I picked the right wife, not that I ever doubted you. Even I didn’t get into double digits on my first hunt.” 

“Call me a prodigy.” You beam up at him. “Just like our children will be.” 

[yiiiikesmish]

YASSSS THEY MATCH EACH OTHER's FREAK i cant wait to see where you take this story!!!

[shoniebalognie]

Girl I got this fic idea from insta and RAN to share it with you bc I loved The Bet and I think you can execute it so well!!! SO, Reader has a threesome with Abbot and Robby BUT one is praising her, the other degrading her!!! 🥴 You can pick who's who. Someone in the comments under the reel said "Good Top, Bad Top" 🤣 it sent me 🤣😂🤣 I think that could also be the title but you can change that, if you decide to write it. Im in desperate need.. If you don't want to do it, it's ok, but I hope someone does 🥵🥵🥵

Good Top, Bad Top

Rabbot x Resident!reader

CW: 18+ MDNI, smut, threesome, age gap (nonspecified), Oral (m/f), fingering, anal, unprotected PIV, Power dynamics, Pervy old men, and a teensy little breeding kink

Note: Thank you for the ask, it was so fun to write! I absolutely kept that title, it made me giggle out loud hehe. This was supposed to be out sooner, so sorry about that, but I have a curse that is the inability to write a short blurb and it ended up kinda long. But I hope this is okay and you enjoy !

You weren’t entirely sure how you ended up in this situation, but currently you were in the back seat of an uber squished between the bodies of your two attendings. It started out as a normal coworker get together for Javadi’s twenty-first birthday. Such a celebration meant that everyone who was not on the schedule to work was in attendance and those who were scheduled came before or after their shift.

Thankfully you were one of the ones who had it scheduled off, and so did Trinity and Dennis. Both of which were also subsequently your roommates and fellow doctors. You had been a year above Trinity in school but the two of you passed each other a few times in the halls. It wasn’t until your original roommate moved out at the same time you had heard she was looking for a place to live that the two of you truly connected. 

And it wasn’t much later when you and Trinity had brought home Dennis like a stray dog after finding him in the abandoned area of the hospital after the Pittfest shooting. Which was also the day that you had walked in on your two very attractive attendings seemingly having a very intense conversation on the roof. You didn’t mean to interrupt, simply looking for a place to breathe after feeling the start of a panic attack after everything just happened.

Barging through the door with sharp breaths and red rimmed eyes you got about two steps past the threshold before you were colliding with a brick wall you swore shouldn’t be there. And you would be correct. Because it wasn’t a brick wall, it was Dr. Jack Abbot and Dr. Michael Robinavitch. The last two people that you wanted to be in front of at this moment. However, that quickly changed as large hands were soon gripping you in a grounding hold as soft words carried across the gusts of wind.

“Sweetheart you need to breathe okay,”

“Im gonna need you to look at us honey” 

Never once in your few years of working within the PTMC had Robby called you sweetheart, nor Abbot calling you honey. It was enough of a shock to pull your focus slightly mid panic attack. Eyes finally gazing upward to meet deep brown and shadowed hazel. Warmth filled your cheeks as you did your best to suppress the familiar butterflies that had begun to creep up at their touch.

“I-I’m so sorry Dr. Abbot, Dr. Robby-” you did your best to separate yourself from their grip. But with Robby’s settled on your shoulders and Abbots on your cheeks, it was proving to become difficult. Instead their hands tightened just enough to stop your efforts of distancing yourself. 

“None of that doctor nonsense right now sweetheart, okay? It’s Michael and Jack” Robby was the first to interrupt you with a soft tone caressing his words. The offers of their first names were so casual it had your mind going blank. Only their voices and the feeling of their hands were rattling around in your skull. 

“Need an answer with words honey” Abbot’s tone was stiffer than Robby’s had been. And his words were followed by a slight tap-tap of his palm to the side of your cheek. The push and pull of both attendings had that slight fuzz in your brain still struggling to clear, but the need to have their approval won out. Allowing you to let out a small ‘y-yes.’ 

From day one as an MS4 on your emergency rotation at the PTMC you had been smitten with them at first sight. Their competence that they displayed within their jobs and the casual dominance they seemed to hold over their relationships had your knees buckling in need. But in hindsight maybe it was just you that they held such a dynamic with. You were too infatuated with the two older men to truly see it. Everyone else did though. And they did their damndest to get you to see it, but you refused to give into their teasing. 

Refusing to believe they would want to waste their time with someone as young and inexperienced as you. Something you had continuously repeated to Trinity and Dennis over too much cheap wine and cheese plates on your weekly movie nights. Lamenting about how you were doomed to ogle but never touch, a statement that had them giggling how untrue it was. And they were right, because while you may not be touching them and reaching out at every opportunity they sure were.

When working with one or both of them, there was never a time you were in their presence and a hand wasn’t on your body. On your hip, an arm, lower back, a pat on the knee, and you could’ve sworn a graze to your ass a few times. They were also always making sure that you were doing what you needed to take care of yourself. ‘Go take a break’ or ‘go eat something’, sentiments that you found sweet and kind of them looking out for you. And like a good little resident who only wanted to please her attendings you never told them no, always nodding your head and saying a yes Dr. Abbott or Dr. Robby. Which then evolved to yes Jack or Michael after the trip to the roof. 

All of which has landed you here, way too tipsy way too soon at Victoria's birthday gathering at the bar you all frequented. Absolutely raving to the birthday girl herself along with your two roommates how you’ll never know what their lips feel like, or how it would feel to be smushed between them.

“I just want to be suffocated between them you know” your words were slightly slower than normal and just a little bit slurred as you spilled your heat out to the small group.

“I don’t know w-why you don’t say anything s’how I got Garcia” Trinity giggled as she sipped on her drink.

“B-but Yoyo wanted you, they don’t want me” sticking the bottom of your lip out in a pout, you didn’t pay attention to the time or the fact that it was the end of the day shift and they could be seen trickling in. You also didn’t notice the way that a mischievous smirk made its way onto Victoria and Trinity's face while Dennis hid his amusement. 

“And who are we talking about again?” Victoria’s question was interrupted by a hiccup, meanwhile you looked at her like she was stupid.

“Fucking Dr. hotties that’s who” a dreamy sigh left your lips while placing your chin into your hand, “Jackie and Mikey” 

“A-And w-what” Trinity barely got through her sentence as her giggles mutated into almost full blown cackles, “what do you w-want them to do to you?”

Dennis tried to help you, he really did. Or at least that's what he would try to tell you if this all went bad. He would point out how he tried to get your attention and motion for you to ‘be quiet’ with a finger over his lips. But you couldn’t be stopped, the words were too busy flowing out of your mouth. 

“I want them to literally use me like a ragdoll babes” and because you just couldn’t help yourself, you started using your hands to depict movements. “I want ‘em to stuff me so full I'll probably be worried about repercussions later. A-and I just know their cocks are huuuge!”

Those same hands that had been demonstrating all the positions that you wanted those men to pretzel you into began to lengthen into what constituted your imagination of their sizes. The entire time you spoke, laughter had weaved their way into your words. However, when a familiar gruff voice sounded behind you, any and all sounds that you were making died down immediately. 

“Come on honey, is that what you think is huge?”

“Don’t tease her brother,” Robby’s own voice came in on your other side, “ the poor thing didn’t even know we were listening” 

Within seconds the table had cleared before you could form the word ‘traitors’. After a painful half hour of you apologizing profusely and rambling to the two men they managed to down a few drinks without speaking one word. Staying silent until they had pulled you up and out of your chair and paid the tab. All before you found yourself crowded by their large figures against the side of the brick wall as you three waited for your uber. Robby was the first to capture your lips in a soft kiss, his beard hairs tickling your nose as your lips moved in sync. Only having a few moments to yourselves before Jack's rough scruff was dragging over your neck as his lips all but attacked your throat. 

It was almost overwhelming having both of them on you. A feeling that was exacerbated when a sharp pinch had you gasping into Robby’s mouth, one that he swallowed without pause. He only pulled back when you let out a slight whimper as Jack sucked on that same spot he had just bitten into. The rush of pain was quickly paired with pleasure as Robby rubbed you through your underwear that had been peeking out under your short denim skirt. It had the cotton gusset soaked within seconds.

“I would say go easy on her but I think our sweet girl likes it,” he pushed the fabric to the side as he dips his middle finger between your folds, “She is absolutely dripping”

Robby's forehead rested against yours, watching how your expressions changed with each brush of his finger against your clit. Soon another large hand wrapped around the front of your throat, cutting off just enough air supply that it had your brain buzzing. 

“Of course she likes it Mike, our little slut was just begging for us to fuck her dumb two seconds ago” His hand releases the pressure just a smidge allowing you to get a half breath in before he tilted your face away from Robbys and towards his. 

Jack's kiss was notably different. Where Robby’s had been soft and exploring, Jacks was rough and dominating. His tongue instantly claimed the space of your mouth as Robby finally pushed his finger into your pulsing cunt, causing you to moan around Jack's tongue. All too soon they were pulling away at the notification chime that the driver was less than a minute away. The loss of warmth and friction had you pouting and chasing their bodies. 

“Ah ah ah sweetheart, gonna need you to be good for us on the way back to ours.” Robby set your underwear back into place before sticking his finger into his mouth, letting the taste of you fill his senses. 

“Don’t want the driver to know how desperate you are for two old men’s cocks do you, honey?” Jack’s sentence had you shaking your head as he took his thumbs to collect the spit glistening on your lips and shoving it back into your mouth. 

The taste of whiskey, cheap beer, and tequila filled your mouth. Seconds after he pulled his finger from your lips the car pulled up. And this was exactly how you found yourself in the back of this car with a hand from each man resting just slightly too high on the inside of your thigh. The ride wasn’t long thankfully as you couldn't help yourself from grinding your hips just slightly so the seam of your still slightly askew underwear could rub against your clit. Words between the driver and your attendings had been exchanged but you were in no position to retain the conversation, nor participate. 

“Its just so nice to know that parents still care about their kids getting home safely” The uber driver was oblivious to the the sick fantasies he had just played into with one simple sentence. 

“Oh yeah, we just wanna make sure the kiddo gets home safe from the bars” Robby was the first to play into the role, emphasizing his words with a small pinch to your chin.

“Gotta make sure she stays safe from all the creeps and weirdos out on the streets, back in our day there was a lot more manners” Jack as usual was never far behind. 

With a kind parting to the driver they handed him another 100$ tip before pulling you out of the car. Barely getting two steps into the large sleek house before they were on you once more. Jack began all but ripping your clothes off as Robby brought you into a slow measured kiss as his hands wandered the newly uncovered skin. The need to deepen the kiss was replaced with a gasp of surprise as your body was bent over a strong shoulder, and a sting of a sharp slap was delivered to your ass. 

“Ouch! Put me down, I can walk you know!” 

That had earned you another bruising hit to your bottom on the same spot.

“Oh ho ho, looks like the kid has a little brat in her” Robby’s surprised chuckle was released at your sharp words. 

“Need your old men to fuck that new found attitude out of you don’t you?” Jack wasn’t even out of breath as he threw you onto the bed of the room the three of you had entered at the top of the stairs. 

A squeak left your lips as you bounced on the bed, ending up at an angle that had your head hanging off the side and your legs halfway on the bed and part ways hanging off. You had begun to move and straighten your body out seeing as the weird position wasn’t making any sense. Elbows moving to prop your upper body, another smack sounded out. But this time it was a direct hit to your soaked cunt. Your clit was buzzing with the sensation, dropping your elbows while your hips writhed to ride out the shooting nerves.

“Aw Jack you’re being so mean to her,” Robby kneeled down at the end of the bed where your legs were positioned, hooking your legs over his shoulders as he gave feather light kisses to the inside of your thighs. “She’s been good so far, haven't you?” 

“Y-yes s’good, I’ll b-be s’good!” The last word was drawn out as Robby’s warm tongue licked a thick stripe from the entrance of your cunt all the way to the top where he flicked the bundle of nerves before doing it twice more. Collecting as much of your arousal as he could before swallowing. 

“Taste so fucking good sweetheart, could live off you for the rest of my life” 

“Give me a little taste Mike” 

You had thought that meant they were already switching positions, something you weren’t ready for as Robby’s motions had your cunt fluttering already. Except before you could express your opposition, you watched as Jack grabbed Robby’s face and bent down. Giving the man a kiss just as aggressive as the one he had given you downstairs, you could see their tongues fighting for dominance. The sight had you biting your lip as your hand moved to circle your clit, but not before Robby caught your hand in a loose grip without even looking. Effectively stopping your attempt to relieve your ache. 

“Did I speak too soon about you being good for us kid?” Robby pulled away from Jack to scold you gently.

“Well you weren’t doing it and I needed it!” the pitch coming across whinier than you had meant for it to.

“Oh I told you she needed to be put in her place,” Jack moved himself to crowd where your head was hanging off the edge as you leaned it back to watch him. Eyes tracking his hands as they unzipped his jeans, his boxer briefs doing very little to hide his obvious bulge. An asset of his that you had definitely ogled before but it looked much larger close up. 

Your attention was dragged back to Robby as the man decided to dive back into your sopping wet cunt. Tongue continuing its movements and carving new patterns into your flesh. One that you swore was his and Jack's name. His confident pace had a steady build of pressure growing in your lower stomach. Robby liked to move as if he had all the time in the world before guiding his middle finger into you. Your neck strained to try and look down your body to catch a glimpse of the man who was eating you out with such care. 

However, the view was obstructed as a fairly loud and solid thud hit your face. Doing your best to look between your brows you couldn’t see much. And that was due to the fact that Jack had become impatient at your lack of attention on him and chose to drop the heavy weight of his balls onto your lower chin. 

“Put em in your mouth kid, c’mon open wide” 

And you did. Your tongue guiding one side into your open mouth covering it with spit as you did your best to massage his balls. Once more you move your hands, this time to assist your jaw as it began to ache. But similarly to before they were prevented from your intention. As calloused hands gripped your biceps, pressing them into the mattress. 

“No touching” 

You began to buck your hips into Robby's face and fingers, signalling the start of your protest. You also started tilting your head back in an attempt to release his balls from your own mouth. Taking a deep breath in, you weren’t even able to get one singular word out.

“Bu- mmph!” 

Sparing you no adjustment time or a moment to truly admire just how large his cock was, Jack decided to stuff as much as he could into your open mouth. Barely giving you a second before he started thrusting, pulling back until just his tip was left and shoving himself until he felt the back of your throat. Gargles and moans were all that your vocal cords could manage at the extremely large intrusion. Sounds that had Robby looking up from where he was below, the sight that met his eyes as he looked over your body had his cock stiff and leaking. That also had him realizing that he needed to hurry things up, but he wasn’t about to let his sweet girl go without at least one orgasm. No, he was going to take care of you. 

So as Jack was all but ramming himself into your throat gagging you as each thrust had him hitting the back of your hard palette, spit mixed with Jack’s leaking arousal had dripped from the corners of your mouth covering your lips and chin. Your cunt began to burn with a foreign amount of stretch. That stretch came from Robby adding a third finger into your swollen and puffy cunt. Crooking them into the soft spot that had your thighs tightening around his shoulders and gripping the comforter.. The small vibrations of your moans had gone straight to Jack's cock, just as Robby’s had gone to your clit. 

With no way to grab Robby’s hair or warn them with your mouth full of Jack, the only indication of your impending orgasm was the tears leaking from the corners of your eyes and the vicious clench of your walls. White knuckles gripped the comforter as Robby slowed down the movements of his fingers letting your orgasm taper off gently. But it seemed like Jack wasn’t about to let you off as easily. Instead of pulling back and allowing you to breathe through your peak he decided to push himself deep into your throat and holding it still. His spit slick balls rested against your forehead, and every breath was flooded with the scent of him. 

“Let her have a breath Jack c’mon” Robby chided him, as he stood up and gripped the base of Jack’s cock. Giving it a little squeeze of warning and not letting go until he pulled out of your mouth. The wet plop was followed by your deep gasp and slight coughs.

“Always taking it easy on her Mike, but she can take it. In fact I think she likes being our little, what was it you said, ragdoll?” Jack patted the side of your wet cheek, so that your eyes that had drooped closed opened back up to answer him. 

“Y-yes p-please” your voice was strained and raspy from the use. 

Your body was hauled up into warm arms and a leg was thrown over the lap of Robby, who held you securely into his chest. Arms wrapped lazily around his neck as your head rested against your shoulder. HIs large hands gripped your hips, moving them forward and back grinding you against his hardened cock as if you were nothing but a body to be used. 

“Look at you sweetheart, so gorgeous” he placed a small peck to your lips as he bucked his hips up into you, the friction of his jeans on your sensitive cunt had you whining at the overstimulation. “Being such a good girl for us, do you think you can do it again?” 

His words were dripping in honey, sweet praises had your mind once again empty. Barely managing a nod of your head, your world began moving as you were lifted up once more and set onto a bare and freckled chest. Placing lazy kisses up his sternum, that soft headspace you fell into was interrupted as his hand gripped your throat.

“Im not getting any younger down here, gonna need you to fuck your old man like the cock drunk slut I know you are” The push and pull of the praising and debasing words had your mind spinning. Using his grip he moved you into a sitting position so that you could finally appreciate the sight of him.

The ache in your jaw was making more sense as you wrapped your hand around his length, the girth had your thumb and pointer unable to touch. The red leaking tip was still glistening with your saliva, and around his base was neatly trimmed silver curls. His prosthetic was long forgotten at the side of the bed, lifting up just enough for you to swipe his tip through your folds twice before notching it at your entrance. Slowly you sank down the first inch yourself, but Jack wasn’t interested in soft and slow. 

With a bruising grip on the junction between your thigh and hip, a simple push of his strength your pelvis met his. The pressure of being so full so suddenly had you wailing out in both pleasure and pain, the head of his cock was pressed tightly against your cervix. Slight thrusts of his hips had the air pushed from you as fresh tears filled your water line. 

“Aw I thought you said you could take it? Were you lying to Mikey?” the condescending tone he held as he used your nickname for Robby had your walls fluttering, “don’t exactly have much of a choice now honey, if you can barely survive me how are you gonna be able to take both of us hmm?”

A hand lifted off your hip as he began to thrust up into you rough and hard, his fingers squished your cheeks together and forced your gaze to the side. 

“You don’t want to disappoint him do you?” your eyes were met with the sight of Robby bare of his clothing and his palm running up and down his length as he watched the show you and Jack were putting on. He wasn’t as thick as Jack was, but he had a few more inches than the man stuffing you full and bullying his cock through your cunt. The dense unruly curls that connected to the trail of dark hair on the curve of his stomach had you desperate to run your hands through it.

“I need your words, or are you already fucked so dumb that you cant answer a simple queston?” 

“N-no f-fuc-k” those were the only words that you could form as he purposefully interrupted your sentence with extra rough thrusts. 

“I don't think I believe you, do you Mike?” 

The feel of another body came behind you, as warmth dragged up and down your spine which was contrasted harshly with cold liquid that ran down your ass. 

“Now, now Jack, why don’t you take it easy on our sweet girl?” His thumb followed the trail of liquid before pressing into the tight ring of muscles until he slid in, “Poor thing just needs to be taken care of” 

Your body fell forward barely catching yourself with hands beside Jack's head. This position had your breasts shoved right up against his face, a position that he took full advantage of by wrapping his lips around your nipples. Lathering his tongue around the area before biting down just a little too hard. Squeaking at the discomfort, you were about to move back until Robby’s body pressed tight behind you preventing you from running. 

“Shhh, is Jack being mean to you?” soft kisses trailed your spine as his thumb moved in and out of your ass at the same pace Jack was moving inside your cunt. “I'm sorry sweetheart, you’re doing so good though. But I gotta get in there okay?” 

“I-I don’t th-hink-” 

“Yes you can kid, gotta relax f’me”

The press of his cockhead quickly replaced the empty feeling left by the vacancy of his thumb as he took it out. Jack had graciously slowed his pace for Robby to enter. But refusing to pull out, stating you were going to have to get used to the tight fit anyway. It took a minute for you to fully relax, allowing him to fit the first half of him in. Curses flew from all three of you, you for the feeling of being fuller than you ever thought possible, and the two men as the warmth of you encompassed them and the press of each other through that thin wall drove them crazy. 

“Fuck Jack shes tensing too much” his teeth were clenched in strain 

“Nah, come on you can do it Mike be a little mean she likes it” He was content to just grind his length in you as he waited, which consequently had him rubbing against where part of Robby was. 

“Jack I swear to god, just move a little” 

“Okay, okay geeze. But just remember you asked” 

Neither you nor Robby caught his words. Just small sighs of relief as he dropped his hips down just a bit, and then with a brace of his good foot he slammed right back up into you. A movement that had forced your body back, where your ass ended up flush with Robby's pelvis. A sound you had never made before was ripped from your throat at the feeling of being split in two. 

“There you go, look at you. Stuck between two men old enough to be mistaken as your parents.” Jack wasted no time in continuing the pace he held before. Robby not far behind. 

“Fuck, feel so good kid. Always so good for me, for us” Robby's pace was softer, more languid and deep than harsh and quick.  

The juxtaposition between one of Robby's thrusts being the same tempo as two of Jacks didn’t last long. Especially as the clench of your body that signaled your impending second orgasm had both men chasing their own ends. Robby soon forgot the rhythm he started with and began matching Jacks, the alternating push and pull became synchronized. Becoming a sensation of being so dreadfully empty to intense pressure as they both thrusted into you at the same time. 

“Gonna let your old men cum inside you? You were begging for it earlier, what was it you said hmm?” the sound skin hitting filled the room alongside his words, “want us to fill you up so much that you’re worried about it in a few weeks right” 

Babbles were all that left you, too overwhelmed by emotions and your nerves lighting up. And because yeah he was right, that is what you wanted you wanted them to use you. And Jack saw that, but Robby also saw how you wanted them to care for you as well. 

“You just want to know we’ll stay afterwards. Don't worry we won't leave you. Especially when you’re all round and swollen with our children and everyone is asking where the father is even with us right beside you” Robby's soft words had you reeling. 

“Oh and the disgusted looks they'll have when we tell them we’re the fathers. Not only twice your age but both of us? What a dirty little thing you are” Jack just had to get that last word, which seemed to do the trick for all of you. Because as soon as it left his lips your second orgasm locked up your whole body. 

Walls clenching the two of them so tightly they had no choice but to fully sheath themselves and revert to grinding their lengths into you. Triggering their own peaks as you felt the hot ropes of cum fill you. And true to your imagination from earlier, the amount that they had stuffed you full of was concerning for two men in their fifties. 

After a few gentle thrusts of their softening cocks they pulled out of your body that was still twitching with aftershocks. But with the loss of them came the loss of your support that had been holding your limp body up. With the same amount of grace as a newborn calf you ended up falling face first into Jack's hard chest. Robby left the room for a moment but not a long one, as he came back with two warm wet rags. Tossing one to Jack before flipping you over onto your back and wiping off your brow and then your spent cunt. A hiss left your lips as he dragged the rough fabric over your swollen groin. 

“I’m sorry sweetheart I guess we got carried away” placing a few kisses to your stomach before he tossed the used rag into a laundry bin. Laying on the bed behind you, he scooped you into his arms. His hand gently smoothing your hair out of your face as Jack moved his own body closer to the two of you. 

“Did so good honey, earned yourself a rest before we talk about how this won't just be a one time thing.” Jack had found a particularly deep mark he made at your neck and gave a slight press when he saw those damn eyes closing in exhaustion again. A pained moan sounded from your throat, but your eyes still refused to open.

“Mmhmmm” And that's as good as it was going to get. But the sound of your phone chiming on the nightstand had your arm patting around to find it.

After approximately 30 seconds of trying soft snores were heard as your body stilled. Jack took it upon himself to grab your phone and check the message. A message that was from none other than Trinity Santos, asking if they should wait up for you. Followed by another that had a screenshot of your location and a ‘WHERE ARE YOU?” Figuring they should put your roommate's mind at ease they unblocked your phone (thanks face ID) and responded. Nothing too graphic of course, just a small picture of your sleeping figure between theirs and a message that said you were very much safe and to be returned at a later date. 

While the two men finally tucked in for bed beside your slumbering figure, 20 minutes east of them a whole floor was woken up by a loud scream. Trinity, who received that photo, took two seconds to absorb the information before sending it to about half of the employees in the emergency department. All of which then tried blowing up your phones, but the three of you were too far into sleep to be bothered. This was a problem to address in the morning. 

[yiiiikesmish]

oh you absolutely ate with this one. the reactions my body had when reading this are not fit for public knowledge holy fuck that was HOT congrats

[raven-dor]

about you

three time that jack abbot proves he is your friend, the one conversation that has you questioning everything, and the moment he tells you he wants more

PAIRINGS: jack abbot x fem!reader, night shift x platonic!reader

WARNINGS: oblivious reader, smitten abbot, 'i'll pay for it' mentality, they're so cute istg, observant abbot, cursing, reader is described as shorter than abbot, john shen (in an endearing way), trinity santos (also in an endearing way), confession in a storage closet

WORD COUNT: 4.08k

🎶 : about you - the 1975

AN: 🩵💗 - i am obsessed with this man. it's bad. also i think this is one of my favorite fics i've ever written. ENJOY!!

one: the coffee

“I seriously think I’m going through withdrawals.” The urge to scoff has never hit you harder than now as you shake your head at Shen’s whines. “If I don’t have a coffee in my hand in the next ten minutes I’ll pass out.” 

“You big baby.” You tease, speaking with as much faux pity as you can muster. “Life is just so hard for you, isn’t it?” 

“And to think-” Shen smirks. “I was gonna offer to buy you one too.” 

“How chivalrous.” You grin, nudging him in the side playfully. “I take back everything I’ve ever said about you.” 

Lena sighed. “Do I need to separate the two of you, or are you finished?”

“Finished.” You smiled. “What do you have for us?” 

“Sunburn victim.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “You’ll love it.” 

“Oh goody.” Shen laughs, walking away as you follow after. “Thanks Lena!” 

“But seriously though,” You smile at your coworkers as you skirt through the halls. “If someone-” Shen groans. “Were to buy me a coffee, I would have no choice but to love them forever.” 

“Good thing I know your heart already belongs to me.” 

You scoff, muttering under your breath as you pull back the curtain. “You wish.”

Your eyes doth deceive you.

Sitting before you, in all its glory, is what you can only describe as a Dunkin buffet. “Shen, I love you.” 

“Wish I could take credit, but this wasn’t me.” He stared in awe. “You’ve literally been with me this entire time. When would I have had time to get my phone out?” 

“Well who was it then?” You raise a brow as you peruse through the contents of the afro-mentioned buffet. “God?” 

“Don’t know if I like that nickname.” 

You swear that man’s voice could make your insides turn to mush if you let it. Arguably the hottest man you’d ever seen, Jack Abbot has been haunting your thoughts since you’d started working here four years ago. Even when you worked the day shift, you’d find yourself lingering after under the ruse of ‘finishing your charting’ just to catch a glimpse of the night shift attending. 

He was now unfortunately your boss. And friend, you guess. It was complicated. 

“Haha.” You stuck your tongue out. “That was a pretty good joke for someone of your ripe age.” 

His hand clutched his heart. “That hurts.” 

Behind you, Shen was rolling his eyes. Both of you had been flirting since the day you started, according to Shen and Ellis (the timeline was messy). Even Lena called you out on it, going so far as to call you ‘a pair of lovestruck fools’. It happened so often you found yourself replying automatically: we’re just friends, that’s just the way Dr. Abbot is. Because, unfortunately for you and your hopes for more, that is how he was. Caring, and kind to a fault. 

Shen was eager, his eyes glowing at the Dunkin similarly to that of Smeagol and his ring. “What’d you get?” 

“Your usual.” Abbot gestured to the large latte. “And there’s a bacon egg and cheese somewhere in there. Some munchkins too.”  

You watched with mild fascination as the (almost forty year old) man dug through the bag like a dog. That was one of your best friends, you realized. A laugh escaped your lips, knowing that while he was one of the goofiest people you knew, he was also one of the most competent doctors in this ER. “You’re a lifesaver.” 

“How’d you know I wanted coffee?” You leaned against the counter. “Was I that obnoxious about it?”

“You’re not obnoxious.” He frowned. “I heard through the grapevine that Shen was getting cranky. Thought I’d save you from his wrath.” 

“My hero.” You dramatically batted your eyelashes. “Good thing you acted fast.” Your stomach grumbled as your gaze fell towards the buffet. “Did you happen to get a-” 

“Iced vanilla latte with oat milk and an extra shot of espresso?” His eyes sparkled (maybe you were imagining it) as he spoke. “Yes I did.” 

“You know my order.” Your voice was soft. “How-” Reminding yourself that publicly lusting after your boss was widely frowned upon, you pulled yourself together, muttering under your breath. “Thank you.” 

“Of course.” 

There was something so horribly handsome about a man so casual about acts of service. Your back was turned to him as you grabbed your drink. “How much do I owe you?” 

“Nothing.” 

The butterflies were back. “Dr. Abbot-” 

“My treat.” He insisted, his voice never wavering. Was there anything he did that didn’t make you a bundle of nerves? Answer: no. 

You hid your smile behind your straw. “If you insist.”

“I do.” 

A look of pure adoration adorned your face. “What a gentleman.”

two: the parking garage

When you first started your night shift rotations, a man had followed you into the hospital, always two steps behind you. Every time you sped up, he sped up. Every time you slowed down or took a turn, he did the same. 

It got to the point that you decided sprinting the rest of the way to work would be smarter than waiting to see if this man was going to try anything. 

You looked so shaken when you got into the building, that Abbot swore then and there to walk you to and from your car for every shift the two of you shared. An act of a boss who cares about his employees, you told yourself. An act of a man who’s obsessed with you, said Trinity.

Now you were a resident, lucky enough to stay at The Pitt, and lucky enough to work almost exclusively night shifts.

Jack Abbot stayed good on his promise, not that you were shocked by it. He tended to be a man of his word, yet another quality you admired about him. 

So here you were, walking from your car to your shared shift with the object of your affections. “How was your day?” 

You smiled. “Fine. Slept like the dead, had some ramen for lunch, and watched tv.” 

“Sounds busy.” He teased. “Fancy ramen, or cup of noodles?” 

“Fancy.” You replied. “Fried an egg, cut up some chives, and put some pork, carrots, and bok choy on top.” 

“Are you sure you didn’t miss your calling of becoming a chef?” Jack laughs, holding the door open for you. 

You ignore the way heat rises to your cheeks, smiling gratefully. “If only I knew how to make anything but fancy ramen. I’d be like Gordon Ramsay.” 

“Or maybe Wolfgang Puck.”

“Maybe.” You fought the urge to tease him about ‘showing his age.’ 

“What are you doing tonight?” 

“Tonight?” Honestly, you had no idea. Princess and Perlah wanted to take you out for breakfast, but you hadn’t set a date on it yet. You had a sneaking suspicion they asked you to hang out because of your ‘relationship’ with Dr. Abbot. They were horrible gossips, those two. You loved it. “I don’t think I’m doing anything.” Admitting out loud that you had nothing to do was more depressing than you thought it would be. “Kind of always doing nothing, to be honest.” 

“Well if you want a break from doing nothing, you could give me a call.” 

“Yeah?” You felt much too vulnerable as you looked up at him.

He nodded, a soft smile etched on his lips. “Yeah. There’s this jazz festival happening downtown I was thinking of going to.” He shrugged like he wasn’t short circuiting at all the horrible ways you could turn him down. “Could be fun.” 

“I love live music.” His heart clenched as you smiled so gently he felt what could only be described as cuteness aggression. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you, Jack.” 

“So nice of you to join us.” Shen spun around in his chair, shaking his head like a disappointed father who’d been waiting for his daughter to show up before curfew. “Where have you been?”

“Your mom’s house.” You giggled, eyes subconsciously drifting over to Abbot to see his reaction. The attending huffed, a small smile on his lips. Your laughter only grew as a result. “Sorry, that was cheap.”

“Very, and disgusting.” 

“See, it’s funny because that’s exactly how your mother likes it-”  

“Go put your things away, you animal.” John pushed you toward the lockers, watching Abbot stare at your disappearing frame. “When are you gonna tell her?”

“Tell her what?” Jack’s usual air of nonchalance dared to crack. 

“I’ll protect you, kid.” Shen’s voice grew gruff as he tried to imitate his fellow attending. “I was in the military, and was a bodyguard in a past life-” 

“I don’t sound like that.” Jack almost sounded offended. Almost. He had a small smile on his lips, like he was enjoying watching his friend make a fool of himself. 

“Oh, big strong Abbot-” Shen’s voice now grew high, pitchy as he tried, and miserably failed, to imitate you. “What would I do without you?” 

“Alright.” Jack glared. “When you’re done with whatever this is, come find me.”

three: the cookout

You had a rare day off, a day you’d only dreamt about. Your plans were to literally do nothing, to lay on your abnormally comfortable couch and mindlessly stare at whatever sitcom was trending. Or go on a walk, you honestly didn’t know. That was the beauty of your day off, you could do anything you wanted, which included getting away from work and your coworkers.

But then Jack Abbot gave you his signature smile, and your knees buckled as he invited you to a cookout at his house, his voice all gruff and sincere, and, dare you say, eager. 

All of the sudden, you had plans. 

His house was perfect, there was no other way to put it. The neighborhood was cute, not boring, but not loud. Close to the hustle of the city, but far enough away that it felt secluded. His grass was perfectly green, everything just as it should be, but not sterile. It was lived in, and it was homey. 

It was Jack Abbot.

You nervously sat beside Victoria on one of his many lawn chairs, watching him grill from afar. “He’s gonna look up and see that you’re staring at him.” 

“I’m sure he already knows.” Whittaker mumbles. “You’re not exactly subtle about it- ow!” He glared at Victoria. “What was that for?” 

“Is Trin coming?” Your voice sounded far away, distracted and detached from reality. 

“No.” Whittaker smirked. “She’s too busy taking an extra shift just so she can possibly see Garcia.” 

“Oh that poor girl.” You frowned, as you tore your eyes away from the older man. “Hot take: I don’t like the way Garcia is treating her.”

“Santos isn’t exactly setting any clear boundaries about how she wants the relationship to go-” 

“Right.” You nodded. “But still, I know what it’s like to have feelings for someone who most definitely does not return them in the same way. It’s rough.”  

“I feel like we’re moving on too quickly from the whole ‘I know what it’s like’ thing.” Vic mumbled.

“You know what I mean.” Your eyes fell to your hands. “It’s not like my pining will result in anything, and-” 

“Not trying to ruin this beautiful moment of delusion or freak you out-” Vic whispered. “But he’s staring at you.” 

You stood up, straightening out your sundress. “I’m hungry.” 

“Oh really?” Whittaker scoffed. “How convenient.” 

“Shut it, you.” You hissed, turning around. “How do I look?” 

“You look great.” He smiled, pushing you towards the table of food. “Good luck.” 

Ellis stood beside Jack, waving at you as you approached. “Hey.” Jack nodded. “Having a good time?” 

“The best.” You smiled. “Thanks for having me. Your house is beautiful.” 

“Thank you.” His cheeks were pink. Probably from the sun, you told yourself. “You know you’re welcome anytime.” 

Ellis crossed her arms. “Long time no see.”

“Tell me about it. Eight hours is far too long.” 

“Want something to eat?” Ellis gestured to the array in front of you. “I made fruit salad.” 

“Ooh.” You wiggled your eyebrows. “What kind of fruit are we working with here?” 

“Mango, pineapple, kiwi-” Oh, shit. You frowned. 

“Actually Ellis, I’m-” 

“She’s allergic to kiwis.” Jack muttered.

Ellis turned around, tilting her head. “Sorry?” 

“She’s allergic to kiwis.” 

You were staring, you could feel yourself doing it. “How did you-” 

“Remembered.” 

“From when?” Curiosity killed the cat, or in this instance, curiosity killed your composure. 

“Shen’s birthday cake.” 

“The-” Your lungs emptied. “The cake you got him two years ago?” 

“Yeah.” He nodded like it was no big deal. 

And then, the most horrifying, disgusting sound left your lips. It could only be described as a sort of shrill screech, something that your body did when you were either laughing so hard you couldn’t breath, or, apparently, when Jack Abbot remembered things about you and caught you off guard. You slapped a hand over your mouth, eyes wide. 

Ellis was cackling, clutching her stomach with tears in her eyes. “What is wrong with you?” 

You spun on your heel, stalking back towards safety - towards a place without Jack Abbot’s presence looming over you. “Holy shit, I’m a freak.” 

“Explain.” Whittaker leaned forward. 

“Did you not just hear that witch’s cackle I let out?” Your voice was muffled as you hid your face in your hands. “That was humiliating.” 

“What happened?” Vic laughed. “It can’t be that bad.” 

“He knew I was allergic to kiwis.” 

“And that’s significant because-”

“He remembered something I said in passing two years ago.” You pulled your hands away, your expression crazed. “Who remembers things from that long ago?” 

“Dr. Abbot does, apparently.” Vic muttered under her breath. “This is like something out of a fanfiction, I swear.”

“Alright, miss retired fanfiction writer.” You hissed. “Hold your horses-” Your eyes widened as she darted for her phone, most definitely writing down this interaction in her notes app for future inspiration.  

“You are so lucky Santos isn’t here. She would never let you forget this.” 

“It gets so much worse. I was so caught off guard by him remembering that I screeched, like a fucking hawk.” 

“Oh no.” Vic sounded almost as worried as you did. “Do you want to leave? We can totally-” 

“You forgot to get your food.” Catching a break was not in the cards for today. Curse Jack Abbot and his kind nature. “So I made you a plate. No fruit salad, I promise.” You turned around, hoping your body would refrain from combusting until after he left. 

“Not trying to get rid of me?” 

“Nah.” He shook his head. “Too valuable. Who would keep Shen entertained with all your TikTak-” 

“TikTok.” You corrected. 

“TikTok lingo?” He finished, holding out the plate toward you. “Night shift would be lost without you.” 

“Well-” Your fingers grazed his as you took the peace offer. “I don’t know about that.” 

“Whittaker, Javadi.” Jack looked over your shoulders, smirking. “You two look like you’ve seen a ghost.” 

“No ghosts here.” Whittaker replied, equal parts amused and horrified at the situation you’d found yourself in. 

“Uh huh.” He nodded slowly. “I’ll leave you kids to it.” 

“Oh my god.” Victoria murmured as he walked away. “That was-” 

“Something.” Whittaker agreed. “Santos is gonna be so mad she missed this.” 

the conversation…

The coffee shop was bustling, full of hungover college students, finance bros, and tired mothers desperate for something to put some pep in their step. You, Victoria, Whittaker, and Santos sat in the corner by the window, huddled as you told them everything Abbot had done recently. 

“Last month-” You almost whispered, fearful that someone you knew would walk in and overhear. “Shen and I were complaining about not having any coffee, and thirty minutes later, Abbot had bought an entire Dunkin buffet for us.” 

“Okay.” Santos laughed. “That’s sort of a stretch.” 

“But then-” You continued, desperate for them to fuel your delusions. “A week after that, when he was walking me into our shift-” 

“Still not over that whole arrangement.” Santos muttered under her breath. 

“He asked me what I was doing that night.” 

Vic choked on her coffee, eyes wide as she coughed. Whittaker patted her back comfortingly. “Breathe, Vic.”

“I said that I wasn’t doing anything. And then-” Your cheeks felt like they were about to explode. “He may or may not have invited me to a jazz festival.” 

“And did you go?” 

You shrunk into your seat. “No?” 

“Oh my god.” Santos groaned. “That was so obviously him asking you out.” 

“Not necessarily.” You weakly defended your actions, because deep down, you knew she was right. That had been your chance, and you’d missed it. Completely and utterly missed it. 

“Tell her what happened at the cookout.” 

“Huckleberry told me the gist.” Santos laughed. “I heard you completely embarrassed yourself.” 

“Dennis!” You gasped. “What the hell-” 

“I didn’t say that!” He glared at Trinity. “I did not say that! I told you what happened. You came to that opinion all by yourself.” 

“I screeched like a hawk.” You groaned. “I screeched because he remembered that I’m allergic to kiwis.” 

“He’s a doctor.” 

“I told him I was allergic two years ago.” 

“Ah.” She nodded slowly.

“And-” Victoria added. “He told her that the night shift wouldn’t survive without her.” 

“So let me get this straight.” Trinity sat forward in her seat. “Abbot has bought you a coffee, walks you to and from all of your shifts, knows your allergic to kiwis, told you how the night shift can’t live without you, and you think that it’s-” 

“What any friend would do?” You nodded. “I would do the same for you, or Vic, or even Whittaker.” 

“I’m sorry.” Dennis sounded highly offended. “Even me? Why so hesitant?”

“If I assume that all of these actions are because of something else-” 

“Which they definitely are.” 

“He’s just being nice. What if I say something and I’m so drastically off that he ignores me and then asks for me to be taken off the night shift and it’s awkward forever-” 

“Alright.” Trinity interrupted. “I’m confused. At the beginning of this conversation, it was like you were trying to convince me he was doing things because he likes you, and now-” She scoffed. “You wanna know what I think your issue is?” 

“Please.” You took a sip of your coffee. “Diagnose me, doctor.” 

“I think you’re scared of admitting that you actually want something to happen. I think-” She sounded much too pleased with herself. “You would rather stay in ‘what if’ land than actually try and do something about all of this. Because what you’re describing to me is Abbot being obvious about his feelings, and you avoiding something serious by blaming it on his kind nature.” Trinity sat back. “Am I wrong?” 

“I hate you.” You whined. “I’m actually fucked.”

“You could be.” Victoria teased. “If you let yourself confess your feelings for a certain salt and pepper haired attending.” 

“Javadi!” Trinity gasped, looking at her friend proudly as she nodded in agreement. “That man does not want to be your friend, I promise.”

the moment that changes everything…

One second, you were walking through the halls, the next, you were being pulled into the storage closet. 

Life was odd. 

Jack Abbot stood in front of the door, arms crossed, his biceps stretching the sleeves of his shirt dangerously. “You’ve been avoiding me.” He says. It’s a statement, not a question, like he’s been watching you long enough that he knows when something is wrong and when something is right.  

“Avoiding you?” You laughed. “We were just treating a patient together not even thirty minutes ago-” 

“You know what I mean.” He took a step forward, and suddenly the rather large storage closet felt much too small. “What’s going on?” 

Perhaps this hadn’t been your smartest move. Your conversation with Trinity, Victoria, and Whittaker had made you realize things, things that you were much too scared to face. So instead of taking Trinity’s advice and addressing it, you thought the best course of action would be to cut off all casual conversation with Dr. Abbot. 

A strictly professional relationship.

That proved harder than you thought. 

“Nothing’s going on.”

“For the past two weeks, every time I try to talk to you, there’s something else of more importance.” 

Well shit. This is not how you wanted this to go. Your heart clenched at the thought of your actions causing him distress. “That is how an ER works.” 

“Yeah?” He tilted his head. “I didn’t know.” 

“Okay, Mr. Sarcastic.” Your body was freaking out, fighting your thoughts of jumping up and kissing him, and your more logical thoughts of staying professional. “I’m sorry that I’m busy.” 

“Did I do something?” 

Fuck. He looked like a kicked puppy. “No, you didn’t do anything.” You took a step back, holding yourself back from reaching out to put a comforting hand on his arm. “You never do anything wrong.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I just-” God, you weren’t helping yourself at all. “You're a good person, that's all I meant.” 

“Are you sure I didn’t do anything?” 

“Yes.” Another step back, followed by another step towards you by Jack. 

“Really?” Now he looked smug. “Because earlier, Santos and Javadi were giggling when they were leaving.” 

“They giggle all the time.” You reasoned. 

“Santos was pointing at us.” He raised a brow, like he was daring you to fight back again. 

“Ah.” You nodded slowly. “That’s my fault.” He didn’t reply, he simply stared, like he was waiting for you to explain. “They’ve been making fun of me because-” You took a deep breath, mentally preparing yourself for rejection. “Because I told them that we’re just friends.” 

“Friends?” He was frowning. Shit. 

“Don’t worry. I’ll tell them to stop.” He took another step towards you, the distance between you now too close to remain entirely professional. “Rather inappropriate of them.” 

“You think we’re just friends.” 

“Do you not think so?” 

He nodded. “I’m gonna have to disagree with you on this one.” 

“Oh.” Your throat began to close up, and you suddenly wished you could look anywhere other than his dreamy brown eyes. “Okay.” 

“You sound upset.” 

“Well yeah.” Tears began to build at your waterline, and you squeezed your fist, willing yourself not to cry. No need for further embarrassment. “You just told me that we aren’t friends, Dr. Abbot. I think I’m allowed to be upset.” 

“I didn’t say that.” 

“What?” Your back was now against the storage closet shelves. 

“I said we weren’t just friends.” 

 “I’m not following.” Your mind was on red alert, all of your senses running on overdrive as you tried to decipher what he was saying. There was no way in hell that he-

“What would you say if I-” His voice was just above a whisper, his breath intertwining with yours. “If I said that I want to be more?” 

Your breath caught. “More than friends?”

He nodded, the very picture of patience as he waited for you to realize what he thought had been obvious all along. 

“I-” Your eyes fell to his lips, stomach flipping at the mere thought of his lips on yours. “I would say that I agree.” 

“Yeah?” His eyes twinkled as he looked you up and down. This was not real.

“Yeah.” Holy shit, was he about to- 

“Good.” He stepped back, smiling brightly. “Glad we cleared that up.” 

He started to walk away, something that confused you greatly. What the hell? “Hold on.” He stopped, turning back towards you. “You’re not gonna kiss me?” Your voice bordered on a whine. “After all of that, you’re just gonna walk away?” 

“Do you want me to kiss you?” 

“Obviously.” You raised an eyebrow, as if you were saying ‘what’s taking you so long.’ He immediately rose to the challenge, closing the space between you in two steps. His lips slammed against yours, groaning. You grinned, clutching his scrubs. His hands pawed at your hips, pulling you flush against him. “Jack-” 

“Holy shit.” Your heart stopped as your eyes peaked over Jack’s shoulder at the foreign voice. There Ellis stood, her own eyes wide. “I fucking knew it.” 

“Ellis-” Jack tried his best to sound stern. “Don’t-” 

“You two just won me a bet.” She grinned, grabbed what she needed, and walked away. “Thank you!” 

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[yiiiikesmish]

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i can't find this fic series i loved reading a few months ago and i need help. it was batfam x reader and she's a vet and it started with jason falling onto her fire escape or smth and she patches him up and then the rest of them meet her and adopt her. esp damien bc she's a vet and he keeps bringing her pets maybe? there's a bunch of stories her apartment gets blown up and she lives at the manor and at some point she also starts dating clark. please let me know if you know which fic im talking abt i can't stop thinking abt it!!!

[sapiensecrets]

The Doctor and His Valentine - Until Death, I Do, I Do, I Do (Michael Robinavitch x f!popstar!reader)

summary: on your wedding day, robby sends you down memory lane.

pairings: romantic!michael robinavitch x reader, platonic!trinity santos x reader, platonic!victoria javadi x reader, platonic!dennis whitaker x reader, various other platonic ptmc staff members x reader :) this is part of the The Doctor and His Valentine universe. hypothetically, it can be read as a standalone, but it references many previous instalments of this series (like, basically all of them except for murphy's law and thinking of you). please see the info for warnings/tags that apply to this series. cw: you wear a dress multiple times (obviously one of which is a wedding dress), this is so unbelievably cheesy, your dad is Not in the picture, fluff, smut, piv, oral (m!receiving), thigh riding, handjob, again no condom use but no risk of pregnancy (whatever that means lmao). start and end of the smut is marked with a ✿ so you can skip it if you want :) mentions of drinking! someone gets a minor burn but there's no description of it word count: 14.7k songs used/mentioned: 'fearless' - taylor swift, 'dancing under red skies' - dermot kennedy, 'north star' - searows, the song that robby sees you sing in the june 2022 flashback is 'mess it up' - gracie abrams (canonically the second verse does not exist in this universe lol okay)

yall let's get these two freaks MARRIED OKAYYY!

November 29th, 2025 - 10:00am

Your dressing room can be best described as organized chaos. 

You do have a wedding planner, but Isabel’s also there, and despite you making sure she knew that you were inviting her as a guest, she can’t help but keep people in line as everyone gets their hair and makeup done. 

Your bridal party isn’t huge, and you decided to not have a maid of honour, since it would’ve been impossible to pick just one person to fill that role. It’s a mix of childhood friends, industry friends, and of course—Trinity and Victoria. Your mom is around somewhere, probably off making sure that the venue is exactly how you want it. Those who aren’t sitting in the makeup chairs are mingling, picking at the brunch display and sipping on mimosas. You’re laying on one of the couches, phone in hand, adding a few last minute songs to the playlist for the reception. Victoria sits on the floor beside you, nodding approvingly or shaking her head each time you show her a new song. 

“There aren’t any of your songs on there,” She says, squinting to make sure that it’s true. 

“Ew, yeah, wouldn’t that be weird?” You ask, turning to face her. 

She shrugs. “I mean, they’re about you and Robby, are they not? Isn’t your wedding like…the perfect place to play them?”

You think about that for a second, humming. It does feel weird to play your own music at your wedding, but you wonder if she’s right. Some of your best songs are about Mike, and what better time to show them off?

“What about just…one of them?” She asks. “One that really means something, or marked a specific point in your relationship.”

You click on your profile, bringing up your discography, scrolling down, reading the names of your albums and songs that pass by. Victoria gasps, making you stop, and she reaches over to click on one. 

“This one,” She says. “It’s perfect.”

You smile, nodding. “Yeah, alright.”

You add it to the playlist, your stagename staring back at you, the sight feeling odd. Today isn’t remotely about being Valentine, and you feel like nothing regarding Robby has ever been about that. Every song you wrote about him, for him, was written by you—not Valentine. 

Victoria sits back on her heels, her eyes wide and curious. “Are you nervous?”

You laugh lightly. “Uh, I don’t know, honestly. A little?”

“That’s totally normal,” She says, the reassurance making you grin. “You look super chill.”

“Thanks, Vic,” You say. “Is Trinity almost done?”

Victoria stands up, looking over to where Trinity sits in a chair, the stylist pinning half her hair back with fancy pins. Her makeup is minimal, but finished. 

“Yeah, I think so,” She answers. “Then it’s your turn?”

“Yep,” You say, sitting up, tossing your phone onto the couch. Despite your mind feeling completely calm, your body is having a hard time staying on the same page. Your hands shake, and your legs are a touch wobbly—it feels like you’re about to go on stage. 

Your dress is in a plastic bag, hung up on one of the closet doors, looking as stunning as it did the first day you tried it on. You reach a hand out, gripping it, grounding yourself in the moment. 

There’s no doubt in your head, but it still feels overwhelming. This day has been coming for almost two years, and despite your best efforts, that comes with a lot of pressure. Even with your mom’s constant reminders that something always goes wrong on your wedding day, you’re hoping that yours will be an exception to that rule. 

And, as if the universe is listening, the first problem arises right then and there. 

“Ow, fuck!”

You drop your dress, spinning on your heel, eyes landing on one of your friends. She’s sitting on the floor, curling iron haphazardly beside her, a very obvious burn mark on the top of her thigh. You’re on the floor a second later, and so are Trinity and Vic. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine, sorry,” She says, but her hands are shaking. “I dropped it, it was only on there for a second.”

Trinity’s movements are deliberately cautious as she moves your friend’s shorts up, revealing the wound in it’s entirety. It’s actually not that bad, but it’ll definitely be sore for a few days. 

“Is there a first aid kit?” Vic asks, and Isabel thrusts it into her hands, having already grabbed it as soon as the commotion started. She unzips it, sifting through the contents and occasionally pulling something out, setting it beside her.

“They’re pretty handy in an emergency, hey?” You say, taking your friend’s hand in yours, giving her a reassuring smile. She laughs, hanging her head. 

“Yeah, must be nice to constantly have someone with an MD around,” She agrees. Trinity sanitizes her hands, then turns the flashlight on on her phone, admiring her leg. 

“Superficial,” She says to Victoria, who nods. “Any numbness?”

You friend shakes her head. “No.”

Then, they move in tandem. Victoria passes Trinity different things without her even having to ask, and within a few minutes the burn is cleaned and dressed. 

“If it starts feeling weird let us know,” Victoria says, and your friend nods. 

“Thank you.”

“Okay, popstar, you’re up,” Trinity says, making you look up, finally taking in her finished look as you both stand. 

“Wow, you look fancy,” You say, and she rolls her eyes, fighting back a smile. “Yolanda’s gonna’ love it.”

You almost miss the way her cheeks heat up, the faintest blush creeping up her neck. 

“Just, go get your makeup done,” She says, pulling out of your grip, covering the blushing with her hand. 

You sit in the chair, looking at yourself in the mirror. Your stylist gives you a comforting smile, nodding. 

“You know I’ve got you,” She says, and you nod. 

“Of course,” You say. “I’m just…it’s a lot.”

It’s big for you to say that out loud. She knows that, so does Isabel, who’s hovering nearby, making sure that everyone still has everything they need. She takes the empty seat beside you, putting a hand on your shoulder. 

“You okay, babe?” She asks, watching you play with the ring on your left hand, sliding it off and putting it back on, over and over. “Cold feet?”

“No,” You deny, instantly. “No. Just…thinking, I guess.”

“About what?” 

“Everything,” You say. “We’ve had a lot of years together. Lots to think about.”

Isabel raises an eyebrow, squeezing your shoulder, getting you to look at her. “Talk to me.”

“Okay,” You breathe. “I want today to be perfect, but I know it won’t be. I’m worried-”

You cut yourself off, clenching your jaw. Your stylist brushes through your hair, giving Isabel a concerned glance, which she reciprocates. 

“I know that we’re good,” You continue. “I want to marry him, more than anything. I have this…stupid idea in my head that he’ll take anything going wrong as a sign.”

“A sign of what?” Isabel questions. “That he shouldn’t be with you?”

You nod, looking up at her again. “I know, it’s dumb.”

“It is dumb,” She agrees, making you laugh. “Mike wants nothing more than to be with you, hon. That is so unbelievably obvious. I know you’ve had your issues, but he turned his entire life around for you. He’s done everything you’ve ever asked of him and more.”

You shrug, eyes falling back to your hands, where you’re still messing with your ring. “What if I asked for too much?”

Isabel frowns, shaking her head. “You didn’t. The path he was on before you wasn’t sustainable, and he knows that just as much as you do. All you did was walk away when you couldn’t take any more, he chose to do the work to get you back.”

“Yeah,” You say, but she can tell that you don’t believe it—not enough. “I didn’t have to ask, he did it anyways.”

“Exactly,” She says. 

You exhale, shoving your ring back on, spinning it until it faces the right direction. “Okay.”

Your stylist continues with your hair, you continue with the playlist, going through every single song you’ve ever remotely enjoyed to make sure you haven’t missed anything. There’s a knock on the door a few minutes later, and Isabel stands up as Trinity pulls it open. You look through the mirror, seeing Dennis standing there, his backpack on her shoulders and suit bag in hand. 

You jump up, narrowly avoiding getting your eye taken out with a comb as you do, grinning as you make it to him. 

“You made it!” You exclaim, and he lets out a breathy laugh. 

“Of course I did,” He says, stepping inside. “It’s your wedding day.”

Trinity shuts the door behind him, and he barely has a second to put his things down before you’re hugging him. He hugs you back, then makes a noise, pulling away and reaching over to open his bag. He pulls out a red envelope.

“Uhm, this is for you,” He says. 

“What is it?” Trinity questions. 

Dennis shrugs. “Not sure. Robby gave it to me last night, told me to give it to her when I got here.”

You hesitate before opening it. “He wouldn’t…this isn’t me getting left at the alter, is it?”

Trinity laughs at that, thinking that you must be kidding. Her face switches to exasperation when she realizes that you’re not. 

“You can’t get left at the alter if you don’t even make it down the aisle,” She says, still smiling. “Come on, you really think Robby would send Huckleberry to deliver his ‘runaway groom’ note? If anything it’d be Jack.”

Dennis only looks mildly offended. 

“Maybe!” You exclaim, and Trinity takes the envelope back, tearing it open. You watch as she slides the piece of paper out of it, scanning the words. Then, she gives it to you. 

“Not you getting left at the alter,” She confirms. “Relax.”

You look down, eyes finding the words. It’s not much, just a date scrawled in Robby’s messy handwriting—a date that you already know. 

January 18th, 2020

It’s the date of your cousin’s wedding, the day you met him. 

You weave through the dance floor, phone in hand, trying not to get bumped as people move around you. Your cousin texted you a few minutes ago, telling you to meet her at the bar, probably to flaunt the fact that you were related to more people. 

You had only come to this wedding because your mom wanted you there, and you actually liked your other cousins on this side of the family—except the one who was getting married. She had spent the past fourty-eight hours bragging to people that she knew Valentine, everyone’s favourite new popstar. 

You reach the bar thirty seconds later, scanning the length of it for her. It shouldn’t be that hard to spot her, since she’s the only person in the room wearing a wedding dress, so you quickly determine that she’s not there anymore. You frown, turning to the person beside you. 

“Sorry to bother you, have you seen the bride?” You ask, not using her name, since you have no idea who this man is, so you assume he was probably invited by the groom, Miles. He nods. 

“She just left,” He answers. “Maybe a minute ago?”

You sigh, looking around the room, trying to figure out where she went. “Great. Thanks.”

He watches you scan, noticing the way you pull your lip between your teeth. He takes you in—the stunning dress that you’re wearing, the way your hair sits perfectly, the diamond necklace with matching earrings. Your makeup is flawless, too, and he can’t help but think that you’ve managed to outshine the bride on her literal wedding day. 

You give up after a few seconds, unlocking your phone and sending her a text. He’s still watching. 

“You look like you could use a drink,” He suggests, and then he wants to take it back. You’re young, at most in your mid-twenties. He’s not even sure that you’re old enough to drink. 

You laugh, locking your phone and slipping it into the clutch you’re holding. “Only if you’re buying.”

He smiles, and you swear you feel your heart stop for a moment. “What’re you drinking?”

“A penicillin,” You answer, and the odds of you being older than eighteen skyrocket. “But they can’t make one, I already asked. I’ll just take a glass of white.”

Robby nods, ordering for you while you take the seat beside him, setting your clutch on the bar counter. The glass is in front of you a moment later, and you give the bartender a grateful smile. Robby forces himself to look away, toying with his own drink to avoid thinking about you in anything other than an innocent light. 

“So, how do you know the bride?” He asks, looking back up as you take a sip. 

“She’s my cousin,” You answer, swirling the glass. “How do you know the happy couple?”

“I went to med school with Miles,” He says. “I used to use his notes in pharmacology, I’m pretty sure this is his way of getting revenge.”

You bite back a smirk. “Not having fun?”

He glances towards the dance floor, which is packed with absolutely wasted twenty and thirty somethings, before answering. “Not really my scene.”

You hum. “You don’t like to dance?”

“Can’t exactly dance like I used to,” He counters. “I can appreciate a slow dance every once in a while. What about you? You look like you can dance.”

Robby almost winces at how bad he is at flirting. 

“Thank you,” You say, accepting the compliment with ease. “I’m not drunk enough to dance right now, I need a blood alcohol of like…”

You trail off. 

“Point-oh-eight?” Robby suggests. 

“Is that high?” You question. He shrugs. 

“I’ve seen higher.”

“Right!” You exclaim. “You went to medical school, you’re a doctor. What kind of medicine do you practice?”

“Emergency,” He says, watching as your eyes go wide. 

“Oh,” You say. “Impressive, wow. You must be pretty used to chaos, then.”

He laughs this time, missing the way your chest heats up as you stare at him. “You could say that.”

You’re interrupted by a woman sitting on the opposite side of him, casual, comfortable. You can already tell that they’ve known each other for a very, very long time, and you realize that she must be his wide. To top it off, she’s absolutely beautiful. 

“Hi,” You say, reaching a hand across the bar, which she takes. You say your name, then add “nice to meet you.”

She’s on the verge of saying her own name when your cousin appears at your side, scoffing. 

“There you are!” She exclaims, grabbing your arm and pulling you off of your seat in an instant. You frown, stumbling with the sudden movement, and Robby has to stop himself from reaching out to steady you. “My friends are waiting, autographs, remember?”

“Can’t I finish-”

“No, I promised them they could meet you,” She says, and Robby feels himself getting angry. Her tone is abrasive, and you look like you’d rather go anywhere else than with her. You wave goodbye to Robby, an apology tumbling from your lips as you’re dragged away, leaving your glass behind, but managing to grab your clutch at the last second. 

“I didn’t get your name,” You say, leaning away from your cousin, who still holds you tightly. 

Robby smiles. “Michael.”

You nod, smiling back. “Nice to meet you.”

Once you’re away from the bar your cousin lets go of you, leading you down a staircase that goes outside. 

“He’s like, more than twice your age,” She says, not even looking back at you. “And married.”

You had already assumed, but the confirmation hits harder than you want it to. 

“You’re younger than Miles,” You counter, following closely behind her, just wanting to get this over with. “By what, fifteen years?”

“I’m thirty,” She counters. “You’re like…a baby. He would’ve already been in med school when you were born.”

“So what?” You ask. “We were just talking.”

“You were so not ‘just talking,’” She protests. “I know you, and I know that you have a type, okay? But he’s too old for you. And, again, very obviously married.”

“Very obviously?” You ask. “You don’t know for sure?”

“You’re ridiculous,” She says, pushing a door open, holding it for you as you step through it, revealing a large group of her friends. “Found her!”

Meanwhile, Heather gives Robby a very pointed look. 

“What?” He asks, feigning innocence. 

“She’s what, twenty?” Heather asks. “That is too young, even for you, Robby.”

“Nothing was happening!” He defends, but it’s too late. She saw how he was looking at you, she knows exactly what he was thinking and feeling. She’s been on the other side of that look before, but not like that. 

“You introduced yourself as ‘Michael,’” She says, incredulous. “I’ve never seen you do that.”

He can’t argue. 

You had tried to find him again, once you had finally made all the rounds with your cousin, letting her parade you like a circus animal while making you take photos and sign autographs—but it was no use. He was gone. 

There’s something else in the envelope that you shake out. It’s another piece of paper, with a drawing of a (very simple) eye beside the words. 

When you sat beside me at that bar, I felt like I could finally _ _ _ clearly.

“What?” You mumble, mostly to yourself, eyeing the three-letter blank at the end of the sentence. Your first instinct is ‘breathe,’ but that’s far too long, and doesn’t make sense with ‘clearly.’ You flip the card over, seeing more on the back. 

(verb: perceive with the eyes)

You blink, looking up, trying to find a pen. Trinity watches, amused, having no idea what you’re trying to do. 

“What do you need?” She asks. 

“A pen, or something,” You say, and she turns around, grabbing one off a nearby table that had been used to label name tags earlier, while everyone was still getting to know eachother. She hands it to you, and you scribble the answer down in the blank spaces. 

See.

When you sat beside me at that bar, I felt like I could finally see clearly.

All the unwarranted panic disappears.

“Trini, can you introduce him to everyone, please?” You ask, and she nods, patting Dennis on the back as she leads him further into the massive room. You vaguely hear him mumble ‘you never let me call you that’ as they walk away. 

You sit back in the chair, giving your stylist an apologetic smile. “Sorry.”

“Hey, it’s your eye, not mine,” She says, her tone teasing. She’s been doing your hair and makeup for god knows how long, she’s used to you jumping up or moving around as she works by now. 

Chatter fills the room again. 

“I’m really proud of you, kid,” Your stylist says, quietly, almost as though she’s telling you a secret. 

“Thanks,” You say, matching her volume. 

“Hey, text from Samira,” Isabel says, dropping your phone onto lap as she walks by, carrying trays of coffee for everyone. She places your order on the vanity before moving right along. 

You pick up your phone, turning it over and unlocking it. It’s a photo of a ring box, Robby’s ring box, sitting on the entryway table beside her and Jack’s front door. You can picture Jack putting it there so he ‘wouldn’t forget it,’ ignoring Samira’s advice to just put it in his bag. 

I have no idea why you trusted him with this.

You laugh, partially in disbelief, texting her back.

Robby’s choice, not mine.

You’re a lifesaver, thank you. 

November 29th, 2025 - 12:00pm

Lunch arrives, replacing the mostly empty breakfast boxes on the table. Your hair is done, pinned back so it’ll hold the shape once you’re ready to go. You’re wearing a robe, your dress still sitting on the closet door, waiting for it’s moment. Your photographer dances around, snapping pictures of you and your bridesmaids. Victoria sits in the makeup chair, taking bites inbetween steps. You watch as your friends chat amongst themselves, getting along even better than you could’ve ever anticipated. 

“Did you finish the playlist?” One of them asks, and you look up, nodding. 

“Yeah, I think so,” You say. Trinity groans. 

“Please do not get her started on that again,” She says. “It’s all I’ve been hearing about for the past month.”

Your jaw drops in fake offense. “Two weeks, tops.”

Trinity shakes her head. “Definitely a month, minimum.”

You smile, and so does she. If someone had told her a year ago that she’d be here, a bridesmaid at the wedding of one of the biggest pop sensations in the world, she never would’ve believed them. She can’t even articulate how grateful she’s been for you and your friendship over the past ten months, even if it means hearing about her boss’ sex life far more than she ever thought she would. 

“I can’t believe you’re getting married,” Someone else says, giddy. “It feels like just yesterday we were backstage at award shows playing ‘fuck, marry, kill’ with whoever walked by.”

You laugh, nodding. “That was fun.”

“Ever get to do it for real?” Trinity asks, wiggling her eyebrows at you. 

You open your mouth, then close it. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” Your friend echoes. “You slept with like, at least-”

“Shhhh!” You exclaim, putting your hand over her mouth. “Do not.”

She holds her hands up in surrender, but everyone’s giggling, including you. You switch the conversation to Trinity, wanting to have a moment without all the attention on you for as long as you can before the ceremony. 

“When’s Yolanda getting here?” You ask, and she checks her phone. 

“In a few hours,” She answers. 

“You didn’t want pictures?” You question, frowning. She shakes her head. 

“Nah, we’re not like that,” She says, but you can tell that she doesn’t mean it. “We’ll get some later.”

“Okay,” You say. “She’s welcome to come early, you can get some portraits.”

“Like we’re at prom?” Trinity asks. You shrug. “She’d never want to do that.”

“I bet if you asked she would,” You say, sing-songy. 

Trinity purses her lips, then picks up her phone, typing. You smile. 

Another knock on the door makes you glance over, standing up before someone else can get it for you, making sure your robe is tied up as you stride over. You don’t bother to look through the peephole before tugging it open, smiling when you see Jake standing there. 

“Hey,” You say, looking him up and down. He’s wearing his suit pants and shirt, no jacket or tie just yet. “You look great!”

“Thanks,” He says, fighting back a smile. Then, he reveals an envelope. “This is for you.”

“How many of these are there?” You ask, but he just shrugs. 

“Good luck,” He says, then he walks away. You close the door, not wasting a second before opening the envelope, pulling out the contents. It’s the same as the last—one piece with a date, the other with a ‘fill in the blank’ sentence. 

February 29th, 2024

It’s not too hot, but it’s definitely warmer than it would ever be in Pittsburgh in February. You and Robby sit on a blanket on the beach, the remnants of a picnic surrounding you as waves lap onto the sand, the sun inching closer to the horizon. You’re sitting between his legs, back to his chest, his arms around your stomach with his chin resting on your shoulder. 

“Thank you,” You say, looking down at the picnic basket. “This was a nice surprise.”

“Of course,” He says, kissing your temple. 

When you had opened his anniversary gift for you in January, you hadn’t expected to see two plane tickets to Santorini inside, along with details of your hotel stay and a perfectly planned itinerary of the two weeks you’d be spending there with plenty of time for resting and lounging on the beach. To be honest, you had thought that he might’ve been planning on proposing while on the trip, but as it came closer and closer to an end, you started doubting that. 

The picnic had caught you offguard, and you felt your nerves begin to buzz, anxiously awaiting the moment where he pulled out a ring box, or you found it in the bouquet of flowers he had gotten you, or you saw it sitting at the bottom of your champagne glass that he had insisted on pouring with his back to you. You couldn’t help the disappointment that flooded you when it hadn’t happened. 

“Should we get back inside?” You ask. “The sun’s about to go down.”

Robby smiles, but you can’t see it. Leave it to you to set this up perfectly without even knowing. 

“Let’s dip our feet in, just for a second,” He says. “One last time.”

“Okay,” You say, smiling as you stand up, reaching your hand out to him. He takes it, matching your grin as you race towards the water, yelping at the cold once it hits your bare feet. Robby watches as you hold your arms out, spinning as waves crash against your calves. He stands behind you, still on the dry sand, while you stare at the ocean. 

He says your name as he pulls the box out of his pocket. You turn, catching the moment he lowers himself onto one knee. Your breath catches in your throat, your hand coming up to your chest, clutching your necklace. 

“Yeah?” You say, a smile ghosting your face as you take a step towards him, not comprehending that this is really happening. 

Robby takes a deep breath, hoping he can get this out without stuttering. “You’re the love of my life, sweetheart.”

You’re grinning now, standing in front of him, eyes completely ignoring the ring that he’s holding. You’re looking right at him. 

“I have no idea what I would’ve done if we hadn’t met,” He continues. “And I have no desire to ever find out what my life looks like without you. Everything I do is for you, and because of you—you made me into the person I am today.”

Tears pool in your eyes, and your legs are shaking. 

“You are my best friend, my soulmate, my home,” He adds. “Will you marry me?”

You can’t speak, so you just nod, barely giving him a second to stand before your arms are around him. 

“Yes,” You whisper. “A million times, yes.”

The paper reads ‘The most important question I’ll ever _ _ _.’

You don’t need to check the back, you already know the answer. 

Ask. The most important question I’ll ever ask.  

You flip it over anyway. 

(verb: request (someone) to do or give something)

Then, right below it:

Check your bouquet.

You toss the items aside, moving to the bouquet of daisies that sit on one of the side tables, shifting a few of them to the side. Everyone watches you closely, but they don’t dare interrupt, staying completely silent as you do whatever it is that you’re doing. You reach your hand into the bundle when you spot a piece of paper, pulling it out and looking at it. 

June 22nd, 2022

The date makes you falter for a second, remembering it like it was only a few months ago. The day you decided to give him another chance. 

He had called you after seeing your Instagram story, a video of you singing a song you had been working on for the past few weeks while you played guitar. You were already asleep by the time he had seen it, so his call went to voicemail, a notification that practically gave you a heart attack the next morning. It wasn’t just one voicemail, but two. He had called you twice. 

The two of you had been talking on and off since New Years, but he had never called you. You had certainly called him, a choice that you grew to regret as time marched on. That was what you had written the song about, coincidentally. 

You clicked on the voicemail, still in bed, mind and heart racing. 

“Hey, uh, it’s Mike. I don’t…I hope this is okay, that I’m calling. You don’t have to call me back, not if you don’t want to. I guess I just wanted to tell you that…fuck, this is-”

It ended, clearly cutting him off once he reached the limit. Your phone automatically played the next one. 

“Sorry, I just, I heard your song. I don’t know if it’s about me or not but if it is…I heard it. And you didn’t fall out of line, not ever. I…I’d really like to talk, if you’d want to.”

You had wanted to, more than anything.

So you called him back. 

It rang so many times before he picked up that you thought he might not answer. But then he did. And you told him you wanted to talk, too. 

The day we agreed to _ _ _. 

Another three letter word. You flip the piece over. 

(noun: an effort to accomplish something; an attempt)

Try.

You put it with the small pile that’s starting to form on the vanity, smiling to yourself. Victoria cranes her neck to look at what you’re doing. 

“From Robby?” She asks, and you nod. 

“Yeah, I don’t know if they’re going somewhere, but they’re sweet,” You say. 

“What are they?”

“Dates from our relationship,” You answer. “And little fill in the blanks.”

Victoria smiles. “That’s cute.”

“Who’s phone is connected to the speaker?” Trinity asks.

You don’t look over as you respond, still adjusting the pile. “Mine.”

“Can I play something?”

You pass her your phone, not thinking twice about the action. Victoria finishes her makeup, turning to you for approval, fluttering her lashes and pursing her lips. You snort, but then you nod. 

“Yeah, you look hot,” You say, moving a piece of her hair out of her face to get a closer look. “Upstage me on my wedding day, that’s fine.”

She rolls her eyes. “Please be serious right now.”

You hear Trinity start to sing along to whatever song she’s put on, softly. Your other friends perk up, but you don’t notice, flitting over to Dennis, who’s sitting on one of the couches. You sit beside him. 

“You don’t mind being here, right?” You ask. “You could go hangout with Robby and everyone if you’d prefer.”

Dennis shakes his head. “No, I’m good here, just trying to stay out of the way.”

The volume of the music increases exponentially in that moment, and you whip around, shaking your head. 

“Oh my god, no, turn it off!” You exclaim, clambering over the back of the couch, almost tripping over your robe. “Trinity!”

It’s too late—all your friends are dancing, screaming the lyrics to your song, a myriad of different objects being used as fake microphones. Your mom and Isabel watch, amused smiles on their faces. 

“But you’re just so cool, run your hands through your hair,” Trinity sings, just as someone else grabs your hand, twirling you around. “Absentmindedly making me want you.”

She pushes a makeup brush into your hand, and you give in, singing along with her. 

“And I don’t know how it gets better than this, you take my hand and drag me head first, fearless,” You sing, reaching for Dennis, pulling him to his feet and dancing with him. “And I don’t know why, but with you I’d dance, in a storm in my best dress, fearless.”

You gesture to Trinity for the second verse, barely able to hear a thing over the music. She takes the lead, and you back her up, pretending to play the guitar once it kicks in. 

“Well you stood there with me in the doorway, my hands shake, I’m not usually this way, but,” You sing. “You pull me in and I’m a little more brave, it’s a first kiss, it’s flawless, really something…”

You trail off, pointing the brush in Dennis’ direction. 

“It’s fearless,” He finishes, and your jaw drops. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you could sing?” You shout, forcing him to jump with you. He shrugs, shaking his head as the two of you move. 

Everyone wraps their arms around you when the song comes to an end, squishing you in the middle. They’re shouting out various things, making exaggerated noises, cheeks pressed against yours. You can’t help but grin, giving in to the hug, despite how badly they’re compressing your ribcage. 

Time marches on quicker than you want it to. By two, your makeup is finished, hair perfected, and your mom helps Trinity lace up your dress. You watch in the mirror, hands hovering over the fabric, trying to ignore the urge you have to touch it, worried that it might wrinkle. Trinity pats your back once it’s done, poking her head up, admiring you in the mirror. 

“Holy, popstar,” She says, nodding. “You look fucking amazing.”

You laugh. Your mom has tears in her eyes, looking at you with a small smile on her face. 

“Are you ready?” Trinity asks, and you nod. 

“Yeah, let’s do it.”

She guides you through the halls, turning at all the right places until you make it to one of the main rooms within the manor. It’s technically a living room, with a massive fireplace and stunning orange brick that goes to the ceiling. The paintings are mesmorizing, and it’s just off of a corner, which is where Trinity stops, keeping you few feet behind her. 

“Stay,” She says, and you smile. She pokes her head around the corner, your photographer stands a few feet away, camera raised as she snaps a few preliminary pictures. You play with your engagement ring, again, grinning to yourself. 

“Okay,” Trinity says, gesturing to the corner. “Whenever you’re ready.”

You nod, watching as she walks off, knowing that you didn’t want anyone else present for this moment. Your photographer had even been a stretch, but you decided that she’d take a handful of photos and then disappear, leaving the two of you alone. You shake your limbs out, just like you do before you go on stage, taking a deep breath. 

Then, you round the corner. 

“Oh.”

That’s all Robby can manage before tears take over, spilling down his cheeks as he moves closer, hands reaching for you. He pulls you in for a hug, and you feel yourself start to cry, too. 

“You look beautiful,” He murmurs, sniffling. “Wow.”

He pulls back, and the look in his eyes makes your knees weak. He’s looking at you like you’re the entire universe, because to him, you are. 

You take him in as well, still smiling, holding onto his arms. “You look so handsome, Mike.”

He kisses you, gently, taking care to not ruin any of your makeup. Then, he pulls you back into his arms, and the two of you sway back and forth for a few minutes, relishing in eachother’s touch. 

“I have something for you,” He says, tucking his hand into his suit pocket, pulling out another envelope. You laugh, holding your hand out for it. 

“Is this like, a scavenger hunt?” You ask. 

“You’ll see,” He says, kissing your forehead, softly. “Open it.”

You nod, tearing it open, pulling out the piece of paper. 

November 23rd, 2023

It’s the day he seriously decided he was going to propose, you know that. 

“Do you want to stay here?” You ask, seemingly mindless, your hand stretched above your head as you touch up some paint by the ceiling. You’re balanced precariously on a ladder, wearing an old pair of overalls that were covered in paint, your other hand pressed against the wall to keep you upright. Robby’s hovering, hands half-raised in case he had to catch you. 

“Stay where?” He asks, confusion in his tone. 

“Here,” You say, gesturing around you. “In this house.”

“Like…forever?” He questions, putting a hand against the back of your thigh, keeping you in place. 

“Yeah,” You say, stretching even further, sliding the paintbrush along the trim. 

He hums, considering the question. “I wouldn’t be against it.”

You nod, bringing your hand down, looking at him over your shoulder before climbing down the ladder. “Can we change the flooring, then? It’s chipping everywhere.”

The comment is simple, but the subtext is huge. 

As if to prove your point, you bend down, scratching at a spot that Robby’s pretty sure has been chipped since him and Janey moved in all those years ago. He watches you, carefully, thinking about how easily you suggested that if he stayed there forever then you would, too. 

“Yeah, of course,” He says, shrugging. “Whatever you want.”

“Do you think there’s real hardwood under this?” You ask, standing back up. 

“I have no idea, sweetheart,” He admits. “It was like this when we moved in.”

It was the first comment you made after you moved back in that sounded like something you would’ve said before the break-up. It made him feel like he was actually getting somewhere, like the work he was putting in was actually paying off. 

He already had a ring at that point, but that was the day that he knew that you were ready, too. 

The day that I knew that you’d always _ _ _ _ _ _ me.

Something else is in this envelope besides the typical clues. You pull out a polaroid, covering your face with your hand, fresh tears threatening to spill. It’s a picture of you, in Greece, standing out on the balcony. You’re looking towards the horizon, completely oblivious to the fact that Robby’s holding your engagement ring behind you, the object in the centre of the picture. 

The thought of you not noticing something so obvious makes you laugh. Robby smiles, his hands resting on your arms.  

The definition of the word is on the back of the picture. 

(verb: to select freely and after consideration)

“The day I knew you’d always choose me,” You say, looking up at him for confirmation. He nods, still smiling.  

You hold the picture against your chest, just for a second, then you take his hand in your own. 

“Ready?” You ask. 

“More than,” He says. “Lead the way.”

Photos are a blur of hugs, laughter, and tears. Victoria, Trinity, and Dennis insist on posing like they’re your and Robby’s children, standing awkwardly in front of the two of you, faces blank. Jack adjusts his hair a million times before each picture, making you laugh each time, and you’re pretty sure he starts playing it up just for you. Robby poses with your mom, the sight making you cry again, seeing the way he carefully puts an arm around her while she puts her hand against his chest, the pair grinning into the camera. 

There’s a wide variety of group pictures, and then it’s just you and Robby for a bit, switching poses at the direction of the photographer and Isabel, of course. She knows exactly what to say to get you to do what’ll look best, and you move in front of the camera with an ease that Robby will never understand. His movements are a touch less natural, but he keeps up pretty well, mind flashing back to shooting your most recent album cover. 

Two hours later you’re in your room, sitting on the couch, Robby at your side. It’s just the two of you, as everyone else has gone to get ready for the impending ceremony. Isabel stands outside, ready to let you know when it’s time to get going. 

“You like the dress?” You ask, toying with his hand that sits on your thigh. 

“It’s perfect,” He says. “You could’ve worn anything and it would’ve been perfect, but the dress is stunning. I can’t believe you’re even real.”

You lace your fingers with his. “I’m very real, I promise.”

Robby huffs, smiling. “Thank god.”

A moment. 

“You’ve been staying hydrated?” He asks. “Eating enough?”

You smile, because of course he’s asking you that ten minutes before you’re supposed to walk down the aisle. 

“Yeah,” You say. “Lots of water, lots of food. I’m not gonna’ faint on you on our wedding day, don’t worry.”

That gets a small laugh out of him. 

“Any last minute objections?” He asks, his tone teasing, but you know that a part of him is really asking. 

You shake your head, confidence radiating from you. “Absolutely none.”

“Good,” He says. “I don’t have any, either.”

“Glad to hear it,” You say, then you take a second. “We were always gonna’ get here.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t always feel like it.”

“I know,” You agree. “But I knew it. Deep down.”

He nods. “Yeah, me too.”

You lean into him, basking in these final moments, the last ones you’ll spend together before you’re husband and wife. It’s surreal. 

“I was gonna’ give you the next envelope after the vows,” He says. “But I think I should be here when you open it.”

“Okay.”

You don’t move as you take it from him, opening it just like you have all the rest, fingers easily finding the papers. 

September 13th, 2024

Robby analyzes you, making sure that you’re alright. He knows how much that date means to both of you, one of the most recent moments where the two of you were cemented in space and time, bound to one another. He could feel that same cosmic pull that he had felt since the day he met you keeping him on that rooftop, keeping him here. With you. 

Your breath catches, but you move to the next piece quickly. 

When you reminded me why I should _ _ _ _. 

(verb: remain in a specified state or position)

“Stay,” You whisper. “Right?”

He nods, kissing the top of your head, the spot where your veil will soon sit. Isabel knocks on the door, her voice interrupting the moment. 

“Time to go, guys.”

You don’t move, not right away. He cradles your face in his hands, turning you to look at him, kissing you. He rests his forehead against yours, still holding your cheeks. 

“I love you,” He says. 

“I love you,” You repeat, bringing your hand up, intertwining your pinky with his. You kiss his knuckles, he kisses yours, and then you’re ready. You stand with him, walking him over to the door, still gripping his hand like your life depends on it. He kisses it again, giving you a teary smile. 

“I’ll see you soon,” He promises. You nod, finally letting go, letting him leave. Isabel steps into the room, your veil in her hands. 

“Ready to do this?” She asks. 

You nod, again. “Very.”

You hadn’t thought twice about it when you made the choice, thinking it was no big deal to walk down the aisle by yourself. But now, as you stand outside the door, bouquet in hand and no one beside you, you start to panic. 

Robby’s already gone. People start to file out in the pairs that you and Robby had created so meticulously, and you can’t help but wish that you were walking with someone, anyone. Even your own father would be better than this. 

Your throat constricts when you hear your cue, the music lowering and your officiant saying ‘please rise’ from inside. 

Now or never.

Fuck.

The double doors open, revealing you. Robby stands at the end of the aisle, Jack, Jake, Frank, and Dana beside him. Trinity, Victoria, Dennis, and your other friends stand on the other side, a spot waiting just for you. 

“Okay,” You whisper, taking your first step. 

It’s shaky, but you’ll make it. Your knuckles turn white with how tightly you grip your bouquet, swallowing back tears as you cross the threshold. You’re used to capturing all eyes in a room, but this feels so much more vulnerable than you could’ve imagined. You try to just focus on Robby, who’s waiting for you, adoration obvious on his face even from this far away. 

Your eyes sweep over the crowd, spotting so many familiar faces, people who have been with you at your lowest, people you just met last year. You release a shaky exhale, putting one foot in front of the other, just like you practiced. You try to time each step with the music, but the panic is too overwhelming.

Robby notices first, but Jack is the one who moves. You hear his footsteps come down the aisle, taking your attention off of the crowd for a second. His hand is outstretched towards you, the other tucked into his pocket. 

“Come on, Candy Bar,” He says, just for you. “We got this.”

You take his hand, nodding as the tears begin to fall. 

He presses a kiss to your temple once you reach the front, then he passes you off to Robby, who’s already reaching for you. Trinity takes your bouquet, and he gently takes your hands in his. 

“Please be seated,” Your officiant says. 

This is really happening. 

“Today, we gather here to celebrate two people who, despite everything, continued to show up for eachother time and time again,” He continues. “Two people who know that true love is not something you find, but instead, something you make.”

You squeeze Robby’s hands, trying to get your legs to stop shaking. He moves, subtly, gripping your forearms, steadying you. You hold onto his, too. 

“You’ve overcome obstacles that most couples will never know.”

Robby nods, and you can’t help the small laugh that escapes you. 

“You’ve lived two versions of your love, one public, one private. You faced the scrutiny that came with that and lived to tell the tale.”

It’s cheesy, but you wanted it to be. Robby did too, but he’d never admit it. 

“When the entire world saw a version of you that didn’t feel true, this person saw the real you.”

Late nights at the hospital, running traumas, trying to keep it together for those around him—you always made it better when he got home, seeing right through his tough exterior. 

When you come offstage, buzzing from adrenaline, still hearing the cheers of your fans—he’s there to remind you where you truly belong. 

“These are two souls that have found each other time and time again, in every past life, that promise to continue to do so.”

You’re both crying. There’s not many people who aren’t crying, at this point. 

“Today has been a long time coming, and they’re so happy they get to share it with all of you.”

You look out to the audience, just for a moment, nodding. 

Just like you practiced, Robby pulls out his vows, and Jack passes him his readers. 

“Don’t send her into SVT again, please,” Trinity says, quietly, making you laugh. Robby gives her a glare, but he’s smiling. 

“I’ll do my best,” He says, looking at you again, then down at his papers. 

He starts with your name. You reach back towards Trinity, and she takes your hand, keeping you upright. 

“You have made my life into something worth living,” He starts, and you clench your jaw, not wanting to cry over his first sentence. “Every day that I wake up next to you reminds me that I am the luckiest man alive, because I have you.”

Your breath hitches. 

“I used to believe that love was something that came naturally,” He says, his voice steady. “But you showed me that it’s something you learn, and that it’s constantly changing.”

He pauses. 

“I promise to never stop learning how to love you,” He says, and you swallow, your throat tight. “I promise to face everything together, to not shut you out when things get hard.”

Trinity squeezes your hand. 

“I promise to support you, to be the person there to pick you up when you need it,” He continues. “To love the person on and offstage, always. No matter where you are or what it looks like.”

You wipe some of your tears away, carefully. Robby hands you his pocket square. 

“I promise to keep giving you song-writing material,” He says, and everyone laughs. You grin. “I promise to always dance with you when you ask, even if I look like a fool.”

“Lastly,” He says, taking a deep breath. “I promise to speak when silence feels safer, to be vulnerable, because you’ve shown me over and over that I’m always safe when I’m with you.”

He folds the paper back up, tucking it into his pocket. You dab at your eyes, trying to get yourself together. Trinity lets go of you when Victoria hands you your own vows. 

“Mike,” You say, looking up, giving him a smile. “You were never loud about loving me, and somehow, that felt bigger than anything else you could’ve done.”

You take a deep breath, your hands shaking. 

“When the entire world thought they knew who I was, you loved a version that no one else knew,” You add. “You didn’t brag, you didn’t perform, you just did it—like loving me was second nature.”

He pulls his pocket square out of your hand, making the audience laugh as he dabs his eyes. 

“I promise to tell you the truth, even when it’s uncomfortable,” You say, voice breaking. “I promise to say what I need instead of pretending that I can do it all on my own.”

The room is silent, anxiously awaiting your words. 

“I promise to come home to you, no matter how long I’ve been gone for,” You continue. “To protect what’s ours, not just from the world, but from us. From the bad days, from the silence, from the misunderstandings.”

You can’t look up at him, not until you’re done. Otherwise you won’t be able to finish. 

“I promise to stop pretending that I don’t need help carrying things,” You say, getting a laugh from the room. Robby chuckles. “And I promise to always ask you to dance, even if it’s just us in our living room after a long day.”

Almost done. 

“I promise to love you with everything I have, in public and in private, until the day that I die,” You finish. “You have all my love, forever.”

The officiant signals for the rings. Tanner approaches, wearing a tiny suit, passing the rings over. You give him a bright smile and a wave, watching as he walks back over to his mom. Frank gives him two thumbs up. 

“Do you-” 

The officiant says your name, then continues. “Take Michael Robinavitch to be your lawfully wedded husband? Promise to love and to cherish him, in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer? To honour him, comfort him, and respect him, until death do you part?”

You look into Robby’s eyes. “I do.”

“And do you, Michael Robinavitch, take-”

He says your name, pausing for a moment. “To be your lawfully wedded wife? Promise to love and to cherish her, in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer? To honour her, comfort her, and respect her, until death do you part?”

Robby nods. “I do.”

He slides your ring onto your finger, settling it against your engagement ring. You do the same to him, then you look back up, fighting a smile. 

“I know pronounce you husband and wife,” Your officiant says, and you can feel the room starting to buzz with excitement. “You may now kiss the bride.”

And boy does he.

He pulls you against him, lips finding yours quickly, hands landing on your lower back as yours wrap around his neck. He leans forward, dipping you back, his grip never faltering. Your friends and family all clap, cheering and whooping for the two of you. The music starts back up, and you finally come apart, breathing heavily and grinning at eachother. 

He lifts you back up, then takes your hand in his, leading you down the aisle as people continue to clap. The doors are opened for you, and his lips are back on yours the second you’re across the threshold, not caring about the fact that your wedding party is coming in behind you. You melt into him, holding his suit jacket tightly, eyes closed as you memorize this moment. 

“We did it,” You whisper, your face an inch away from his. 

“We did,” He whispers back. “You okay?”

You nod. “I’m perfect.”

The doors click shut, and your friends start to cheer. You look away from Robby, letting yourself be swept up in the congratulations, and he does the same. 

You have an hour before the reception to just be. 

Robby helps you out of your dress, massaging your shoulders and running his fingers over the marks it left. He kisses beneath your ear, then your jaw, then along your neck. Your breathing stutters, hands curling into fists, eyes fluttering closed. You gasp when he bites you, lightly, just enough to get your attention. 

“You think we have enough time?” He asks, not wanting to stress you out, but wanting all of you—right here, right now. 

You spin around, facing him. “I don’t need long.”

✿ It’s not rushed. It’s intimate, passionate, charged. Lingering touches as he takes his suit off, eye contact that says a thousand words. You have Robby laying on the bed within a few minutes, his shirt off, leaning down to press your lips to his. 

The kiss is messy, noses smushed against eachother, heavy exhales coming from both of you as it deepens. He bends one of his knees, bringing it up, bumping against you. You push back, grinding down on his thigh, breaking the kiss with a whine. 

Robby slides his hands down to your hips, pressing you against him. The friction makes you gasp, and you start to slowly move back and forth. Robby flexes his thigh muscle, making it rock solid, and heat pools in your stomach. 

“That’s it, sweetheart,” He murmurs, guiding you up and down. “Fuck, you’re incredible.”

You whimper, fingers curling into the sheets on either side of his ribs. You can feel his dick through his dress pants, hard, hitting your clit each time you move down. The skin on your chest and face burn, and you’re sure that you’ll have to redo your makeup after this. 

“Mike,” You say, his name catching on a moan, the sound making him grunt. “Fuck, I-”

He slams his thigh against you, cutting you off, a gasp spilling from your mouth. You start to move faster, desperate for more with each passing second, feeling yourself getting closer and closer to coming. Each shift of your hips sends sparks through you, pressure coiling in your cunt and thighs. There’s a wet spot on his pants, and the idea of him having to change because you’re all over him makes his eyes roll back. 

“Come on, baby,” He says. “Can feel how close you are.”

You give a desperate ‘mhm’ in response, clenching your thighs, ignoring the way they tremble. 

“Gonna’ fuck you so good after this,” He murmurs, unable to look away from you. Your breathing stutters, and you quicken the pace again, head dropping against his neck. God, he could get off just listening to your soft whines, which you know. 

“I’m gonna’—fuck, I’m gonna’ come,” You whimper, and Robby keeps you pressed against him as you do, watching you come on his leg. Your hips jerk, hands clawing at him, crying out against his neck. He’s certain that if any guests have wandered away from the reception hall that they definitely hear you. 

You slump against him, hot and sweaty, panting. He’s still holding your hips, carefully lowering them until you’re flush with him. He kisses your hairline, fingertips ghosting along the exposed skin of your back. 

You slide your hand down to his waistband, then a little farther, palming his dick through his pants. He jumps. 

“Jesus-”

You sit back up, shifting so both your legs are on the same side of him, propping your head up with your hand. The other undoes his button, then his fly, then slips beneath the waistband of his boxers. It lands exactly where he wants it to. 

Your thumb grazes the tip, movements slow and taunting as you run a finger along the length. He groans, pushing his hips up, craving more. You wrap your hand around him, pumping up and down, reveling in the way he starts to twitch. He bites his lip, stifling a moan, which makes you stop immediately. 

“Don’t fucking do that,” You say, and his eyes snap to you as he lets go of it.

You continue with the movements, picking up speed, passing your thumb over the top each time you slide your hand up. Robby can’t help himself from bucking into you, breathing fast. 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” He moans, tangling one of his hands into your hair, bringing you into his chest. You kiss the bare skin, sucking gently, smirking at the way goosebumps perk up at the sensation. You continue down, shuffling so you’re inbetween his legs, still stroking him. 

He fully whimpers when you pull his dick out of his underwear, gripping his thighs as you take him in your mouth. 

“Baby, baby, oh my god,” He grunts, panting, his hand still in your hair. He helps you as you bob up and down, his mind going hazy, darkness creeping in at the edge of his vision. 

You tighten your grip on his legs, leaving nail marks in his skin, hollowing your cheeks and moving further down his length, ignoring the way he hits the back of your throat. You only let him get so close before you stop, running your tongue along the side and over the tip, swiping a thumb over your bottom lip. You peel your underwear off, tossing them onto the floor, and Robby does the same with his own. You’re seconds away from climbing onto him when he sits up, grabbing you and swapping your spots, all in one motion. 

“Fuck,” You say, letting out a breathy laugh. Robby lines himself up with you, and then he slides in, painfully slow. Your head lolls against the headboard, back arching. You want all of him. “Please, baby—”

He listens, bottoming out inside of you, making your face twist in discomfort for a second. 

“You’ve got it,” He says, softly, watching as you relax again, sighing in relief. He leans towards you, one hand pressing against the wall, the other grabbing your jaw. He moves your head so you’re looking right at him, just as he thrusts. Your mouth drops open. 

“Oh my-”

The words are punctuated with a sharp inhale. You reach for him, dragging red lines down his shoulders and back, closing your eyes. He presses his thumb to your clit, making you moan. He thrusts into you while rubbing small circles against it, and you feel the thrum of your second orgasm. Your eyes are glazed over when you open them again, and Robby grunts at the sight, moving faster. 

“I’m close,” He says. “Fuck.”

You can’t say anything in response, but your whining is enough to get the idea across. It only takes a few more thrusts before Robby comes inside of you, his dick twitching against your tight walls as he does. He doesn’t pull out, but he pushes harder against your clit, keeping you on the edge of your orgasm. 

You clench around him, hands slipping down his chest. The muscles in your stomach and thighs tighten, and the sensations finally snaps, the orgasm coming with another loud cry. Sweat drips down your neck while you catch your breath, wiping your forehead with the back of your hand. 

“Holy shit,” You say, panting. Robby smirks, pulling out of you, slumping beside you on the mattress. ✿

You get dressed slowly. He pokes your side, making you squeal, turning around to push him lightly. You steal his shirt, dangling it off one finger, moving each time he goes to grab it. You’re laughing, and he can’t stop smiling. 

You’re his fucking wife.

Once you’re in your reception dress, which is far more party-appropriate than your wedding dress, he gives you another envelope. You gasp, taking it quickly. 

“I almost forgot about these,” You admit, fingers already tearing the paper. Robby chuckles, his hands in his pockets 

January  25th, 2020

“Our first real date,” You say, eyes going soft at the memory. 

You’re stunning. That’s all he can think as he walks over. 

You’re standing just outside your hotel, wearing a beautiful dress, an umbrella held above your head to protect you from the rain. You have a simple coat on over it, keeping you from freezing in the winter weather. You said that you would meet him at the restaurant, but he had insisted on picking you up. 

You look up when he says your name, and the world stills around him. It’s like you move in slow motion, butterflies erupt in his stomach, and he feels dizzy for a second. Then, you smile at him, and he swears that he’s about to end up in the emergency room. 

“Hi,” You greet, closing the gap between you. “You look very dashing, Michael.”

He forgets how to talk, mouth opening, no words coming out. He finds his voice after a few seconds. 

“Wow,” He breathes. “You look incredible.”

“Thank you,” You say. “Shall we?”

The drive is quick, you ask him about his taste in music on the way over, admiring his CD collection. He almost runs a red because he can’t take his eyes off of you. Twice. 

One of the first things he notices is how kind you are. 

You greet everyone with a smile, ask how their day is going, make small talk with the hostess as she walks you over to your table. It’s the same with your server, the conversation easy as you ask a few questions about the wine, then about the menu. You crack a few jokes, getting genuine laughs, not the sympathetic ones that most get when they try to joke with hospitality workers. Robby realizes very quickly that he’s absolutely done for. 

“What drew you to medicine?” You ask, taking a sip of your drink after, leaning towards him. 

He thinks before answering. “My mom was an ER nurse, so I grew up around it. I got to see how big of a difference she made at work, and I wanted to do the same.”

“So, why not nursing?” You question, not judging, just curious. Intrigued. 

He laughs. “She made me promise not to be a nurse. Told me it was too much work for not enough payout.”

You smile, nodding as you sit back, crossing your legs. The slit in the dress you’re wearing doesn’t leave much to the imagination. 

“It’s a pretty thankless job,” You agree. “But I have to imagine medicine can be, too.”

He shrugs. “Sometimes.”

Then, he pivots to you.

“What do you do for work?”

He misses the way you tense momentarily, eyes flitting around the room. “I work in entertainment. Music, mostly.”

He takes a sip of his own drink. “Do you like it?”

You smile. That’s not usually what people ask next. 

“I do,” You say. “Very much so.”

“You’ll have to give me some recommendations,” He says. “I never know what’s ‘in’ these days.”

You laugh, he stops breathing. 

“Happy to,” You agree. “But you seemed to have a pretty solid rotation, in my opinion.”

Robby shakes his head. “All those CDs are from the nineties.”

“And?” You ask. “What’s wrong with the nineties?”

“Were you even alive in the nineties?” 

You’re about to counter, but you stop, biting your tongue, holding back a smile. “I…yes. Barely. But I know the music. Madonna, Mariah Carey, Janet Jackson—they’re all icons.”

“Fair enough,” He says, resigning himself to his fate of being absolutely, completely, hopelessly head over heels for you. 

Courses come and go, drinks are refilled, conversation never stops. You counter all of his quips without hesitation, entertain all his hypothetical questions, and you don’t fall behind when he starts talking about a recent patient of his. Usually, that’s when eyes start to gloss over, faces twisting with ‘when will this be over?’

You, however, stay interested the whole time, genuinely enthralled with his story. 

He watches you when you get up to use the restroom, hips dipping with each step, each motion exuding confidence in a way he’s not sure he’s ever seen. You’re truly magnificent. 

You stay at the restaurant until close, and Robby reaches for his wallet when the waiter drops off the cheque, but his actions are stopped. 

“Everythings been taken care of,” The server says, looking right at you when he says it. “Thank you for dining with us.”

You smile at him, tighter than before, but still genuine. “Thank you, have a great night.”

Robby frowns, putting his wallet away. You had told him that you’d be paying, but he thought he might have a fighting chance to convince you otherwise once you actually got there. He stands, coming around to your side of the table, picking your jacket up before sliding your chair out. 

You stand, and he holds your coat up, letting you slip your arms into it. 

“Sneaky,” He says, and you turn, confusion obvious. “Paying before they could even bring the cheque.”

“Oh,” You sigh, face returning to normal. “Right, yeah, I knew you’d fight me on it—you’re obviously a gentleman.”

He doesn’t need to know that you didn’t pay. Not right now, not yet.

Robby puts a hand on your lower back as you leave the restaurant, holding your umbrella over both of you as you walk back to his car. You feel disappointment build in your chest as he starts the car, not wanting the night to be over. 

Luckily, he doesn’t want that either. 

“I, uhm, I know this great twenty-four hour diner,” He says. “I’d love to buy you a hot chocolate, if you’d be interested.”

You nod immediately. “Yes. Please.”

You flip the card over. 

I never stopped _ _ _ _ ing for you. 

“There’s no definition,” You say, pouting, making Robby laugh. 

“It would be too easy,” He counters. “You can figure it out.”

You look back at it, then grab a pen, taking the cap off. “Fall?”

“Exactly,” He says, watching you fill it in, holding it up to admire it after. You stand, walking over to the vanity, shuffling through the pile of cards that sits on it. 

“See, ask, try, choose, stay, fall,” You read, trying to figure out what they all mean. “The suspense is killing me, baby.”

He hums, coming up behind you. “Just a little longer, sweet thing.”

The reaction is huge when you walk into the reception hall, hands intertwined, rings on full display when you raise your left hand for everyone to see. Robby’s too busy watching you to see how anyone else reacts, only looking away to pull your chair out for you, pushing you close to the table before taking his own seat beside you. 

Trinity sits on your left, Jack sits on his right. The rest of your wedding party is at the table, too, dragging the two of you into conversation right away. His hand finds yours under the table. 

Dinner is amazing, dessert is even better. Yor server drops yours off with a seventh envelope, and you scoff, smiling. 

“Am I close?” You ask, and Robby mimes zipping his lips shut. 

November 29th, 2025

It’s today. 

The day we committed to _ _ _ _ _ _ _. 

That one’s easy. Forever. 

You try to get more information out of Robby, but he just confirms you’re right, and then starts talking to Jake as if nothing happened. 

Frank handles emceeing, which is a pretty easy task, since you decided to just have an open mic instead of set speeches. 

“If you do want to make a speech, please keep it short,” Frank says, reading off the script you had made for him. “After three minutes the band will start playing over you. The bride’s words, not mine.”

The room laughs, Robby pats your thigh, a silent ‘thank you’ for making sure that he won’t have to hear half-drunk people go on and on about whatever nonsense comes to mind. 

Your mom takes the microphone first, giving a short and sweet tribute to you and Robby, but mostly Robby. Then Jack stands, and Robby groans from beside you. You’re grinning ear to ear. 

“Hi everyone,” He starts, no paper, no notes, no nothing. You’re delighted. “For those who don’t know me, I’m Jack, I work with uh, Robby here.”

He scratches his upper lip, eyes landing on someone else before they reach Robby. You glance over, seeing Samira, looking radiant at her table. 

“I’ve known him for far too long now,” He continues, getting a small laugh, but you don’t think it’s supposed to be funny. “He’s the most dependable guy I know—always early, always planning ahead, always there to lend a hand if you need it. So, you can imagine how mad he was when I left his wedding ring at home this morning.”

The crowd gasps, some people ‘oooh’ in response. Jack raises his hand. 

“I know, I know,” He says. “He didn’t exactly say it, but I know he was mad.”

He looks towards Robby, who gives him a teasing shake of his head. 

“He’s never really been the kind of person who tells you what’s going on with them,” Jack says, getting back into the swing of things. “He keeps his personal life close to his chest.”

It’s quiet now. 

“So when he called me, at four in the morning, mind you, telling me that he might’ve lost the best thing that ever happened to him, I knew he meant it,” He says, eyes landing on you. “Within five minutes I knew that this girl was something special.”

You feel more tears prick your eyes, and you look at the ceiling for a second in an attempt to quell them. 

“I watched as this relationship slowly but surely changed him,” He adds. “He carried himself differently, handled conflict differently, showed up for people differently. She taught him how to be the best version of himself, even when he didn’t necessarily deserve to learn from her.”

Robby squeezes your leg. 

“He once told me that she just ‘makes things make sense,’” He says, leaning against the podium in front of him. “And, in the year that I’ve known her, I can say that that’s exactly what she does—for everyone around her.”

You can feel eyes on you, but you don’t look away from Jack. 

“I’m sure almost everyone in this room has turned to her for help at some point,” He continues. “And I’m sure she’s solved your problem without a moment of hesitation.”

People are nodding, you feel your face heat up. 

“So, Candy Bar, thank you for loving this…grumpy old man in a way that I didn’t think possible,” He finishes, and everyone laughs, including Robby. “And Robby, man, thank you for not screwing this up. Cheers.”

You lean into Mike, grinning. He wraps an arm around you, kissing your temple as people clap. Jack passes the microphone back to Frank, who thanks him, then asks if anyone else would like to speak before they move on. 

It’s silent for a moment, but you notice the way Trinity and Victoria are staring at eachother, eyes locked in a silent battle. They both stand, at the same time, and Frank grins. 

“Looks like we’ve got a few more takers,” He says, waving the microphone towards them as they make their way over to him. “Some of Robby’s subordinates, this should be good.”

Trinity pushes him when she makes it to the front, taking the microphone and stepping behind the podium. Victoria stands beside her, leaning forward so they can both use it. Dennis looks nervous, and Robby’s already rubbing the bridge of his nose, inhaling deeply. 

“Hi,” Trinity says. “I’m Trinity, this is Victoria.”

Vic gives a tiny wave. 

“As Frank said, Robby is technically our boss,” She says. “But we’re not here for him, we’re here for Popstar.”

You smile at the nickname. 

“I don’t know if you guys know how these two revealed that they were dating to all of us,” She continues. “But it caused absolute mayhem. Pandemonium, even.”

Victoria nods. “I’ve never seen a groupchat that active before.”

“Seriously,” Trinity agrees. “I must’ve gotten, like, a thousand texts that night.”

“Which is nothing for some people,” Victoria adds, and you snort, thinking about the thousands of unread texts that sit on your phone. 

“That was the same night that Popstar and I got close,” Trinity says. “I had no idea that I’d be meeting my future best friend that night.”

You’re still leaning on Robby, making eye contact with her when she looks over at you. 

“I genuinely feel terrible for anyone who isn’t friends with you,” She says, completely serious. “Because they’re missing out on having the coolest friend imaginable.”

Victoria clearly wants to add something, but Trinity doesn’t notice. 

“And, despite how much I make fun of you for exclusively dating people at least a decade older than you, I’m so fucking glad you do, because otherwise we never would’ve met,” She adds. You laugh, shaking your head at her. “And I’d have no one to text at all hours of the night, or share a bottle of tequila with while we bake cookies. I also wouldn’t be able to get away with half the shit that I do at work.”

Everyone laughs, especially her coworkers. 

“Seriously, you guys better not break up, because I really like the level of job security that I have now,” She says, and people start laughing harder. She smiles to herself. Garcia is watching her, a fond look on her face. “Anyway, I love you, everyone at PTMC loves you, you’re incredible.”

Victoria chimes in now. “Please start warning me before you add your husband to groupchats, though.”

You cover your mouth with your hand, and Robby closes his eyes, remembering the text she’s talking about too well. 

“Anyone have anything else to add?” Trinity asks. “Huckleberry?”

Dennis goes pink, shrinking into himself. You lean over, putting a hand on his shoulder, letting him know that he does not have to go up there. Trinity gives the microphone to Frank again, and you give her and Victoria hugs when they come sit back down. 

“Alright, if anyone else wants to talk, you’re gonna’ have to wait a minute,” Frank says. “Because it’s time for something very special. Can I get the bride up here, please?”

You grin, giving Robby a quick kiss before standing, walking away before he even has the chance to speak. Frank gives you a smirk before passing you the mic, which you handle with ease, considering that’s your entire job. You’re seconds away from saying ‘how’re we feeling?’ into it, but you stop yourself. 

“Sorry,” You say, laughing a bit. “I just almost addressed you like a concert crowd. Pittsburgh, how are we doing tonight?”

You wait for the laughter to die down before continuing, walking over to the stage where your band has been all night, playing the songs you requested months ago. 

“Uhm, this is something that I was on the fence about doing,” You admit, popping the microphone onto the stand, adjusting it so it sits at the right height. “But I decided to do it, obviously.”

You pick up your acoustic guitar, slinging it over your shoulder. “I wrote this song a couple years ago, before we got engaged.”

Robby’s full attention is on you. 

You start to strum, but Robby knows what song it’s going to be before your fingers hit the strings. You don’t start at the beginning, obviously wanting to shorten it a bit for your guests. 

“Stay on the line, I just want you to be here

I still see the light through the window

Wait for the tide to come in, and my feet hurt

We walked all the way on the same road

I promise it won’t be too long, though

And I want you to have it all

All you ever needed, the minute that you fall

And I, wanna’ be your saviour

I don’t wanna’ need anything, when you’re all that I’ve got to lose”

His chest tightens with tears, and he can see others crying again, too. Your eyes are closed as you play, losing yourself in the song. 

“But don’t you ever tire of all that, picking up the pieces?

You don’t have to be alone, when you’re the place I wanna’ go

And if you wanna’ fall back, I’ll let you go

But when it’s said and done

I’ll be the North Star that takes you home”

You hum into the microphone, playing a few more notes, then trailing off, finishing it. People start to clap, cheers filling the space. Robby wipes a few tears away before clapping too, watching as you give a tiny bow, putting your guitar back on the stand. You practically skip to the centre of the dancefloor, waving Robby over as your first dance song starts to play. 

Jack claps him on the back as he stands, and he can’t help but smile when he takes your hand, falling into the frame that he had spent the last three months learning. It came easily to you, of course, the choreography much easier than what you usually do on stage. 

“Sitting out in warm winds, flecks of sun painted on the sea

You smiled and looked down when I told you ‘it ain’t bad to be me’

Give me moonlight, and a smile from you that I can

That I can barely believe

“Baby, those plans are grand

But you don’t mean to say

When they ask you who you’re living for, you’ll drop my name

And then, I found a new courage, that kills cowards I’ve been holding in”

He holds you up gracefully, moving around the floor with you. He lifts you up just as the chorus starts, spinning. 

“Let me tell you no one ever got my soul right like she could, yeah

Amongst artists in heartlessness, dealing in darknesses

I know, I know

One time, nobody ever got my soul right like she could

Now I’m close to what I’m needing”

The second verse isn’t choreographed, and he just holds you close, swaying with you in his arms. People start to join you, making him feel slightly less vulnerable. Victoria and Mateo, Samira and Jack, some of your other friends and their partners. Dana and Benji, Sophia and Ellie, Cassie drags Dennis over as well. 

You make eye contact with Trinity, raising your eyebrows encouragingly. You nod when she stands up, reaching her hand out to Garcia, who accepts it immediately. 

“This doesn’t feel real,” You admit. “I don’t want it to end.”

“Me either,” Robby agrees. “But we can slow dance in the kitchen any time, just say the word.”

“You’re my husband,” You say, the word sounding foreign, but right. 

Robby hums, smiling. “You’re my wife.”

“Yeah, I am,” You say, leaning against his chest. “I love you, so much.”

“I love you, honey,” He promises, just as the song comes to an end. He spins you around one last time, dipping you, like he has a million times before. Applause rings out, making your face burn as you straighten, wrapping your arms around your husband, breathing him in for a second. 

He kisses you. You kiss him back. 

Then, someone taps your leg, and you turn, looking down. You see Penny there, Frank a few feet away, watching her. 

“Hi, Penny,” You say, crouching down so you’re on her level. 

“Daddy said to give this to you,” She says, giving you a piece of paper. You smile, taking it from her. 

“Thank you,” You say. “And hey, nice work with the flower petals, you crushed it.”

A blush creeps onto her cheeks and she turns back around, throwing herself towards Frank. You stand back up, unfolding the paper that she gave you, reading it. There’s seven lines, but eight blank spaces. You look back at Robby, slightly confused. 

“There’s eight blanks,” You say. “I only got seven words.”

He hums, taking it from you, tucking it away in his pocket so you don’t have to hold onto it. “Weird.”

You shake your head at his antics, laughing as he spins you around again, catching you against his chest. 

As the night starts to wind down, you pick up the microphone, switching it back on and tapping on it to gain everyone’s attention. You want to say one last thing before people start to turn in for the night. 

“Hi, sorry, just quickly,” You start. “I really just wanted to thank all of you for being here with us, this has been the best day of my life, and I’ll never forget a single moment. I can’t say the same for Mike, his memory definitely isn’t what it used to be.”

The room loses it, jaws dropping and laughter echoing around. You hear a few ‘oh my god’s as you try to hold back a laugh, looking at Mike, who’s standing with Jack and Dana. His face is disapproving, but you know that he’s enjoying this. 

“To all my friends—please go easy on him if he doesn’t remember your name, he barely remembers mine on a good day,” You continue. The reaction from everyone is the same, and you see Jack pat Robby on the arm, saying something into his ear, an amused look on his face. 

“In all seriousness, though, we love you guys,” You say, wanting to get back to dancing and drinking with your friends. “If you’re sticking around for the rest of the weekend, then we’ll see you tomorrow. If you’re not, and you don’t get the chance to come say goodbye, we’ll see you soon.”

You turn the microphone back off as people clap, the music coming back on and the dance floor filling back up. You skip over to Mike, trying to look innocent. 

“Is it too late for an annulment?” He asks. 

“Already filed,” You say, no hesitation. 

“Fuck, you’re so hot.”

“Tell me about it.”

You find a single polaroid on your vanity the next morning, beside a pastry and a bouquet of flowers. 

It’s you and him, your hand covering close to half of your face, engagement ring glinting in the setting sun. His chin rests on your shoulder, and you can’t see it, but you know that his arms are around your waist. The word always sits at the bottom, and your eyes widen. You find Robby’s suit jacket, digging into the pockets until you find the paper that Penny gave you. 

You fill in the blanks, hand shaking from how fast you’re moving. 

I promise to SEE you for you.

To ASK when I’m unsure. 

To TRY my best.

To CHOOSE us. Every time.

To STAY, even when things get hard. 

To FALL in love with you, over and over. 

FOREVER and ALWAYS.

Mike xx

A/N - okay, i initially planned for this to be more engagement focused but it turned into this lol, i promise that i'll give some more stuff regarding the proposal and your trip to greece soon :) thank u for reading as always!

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[yiiiikesmish]

oh i SOBBED during those vows. omg THEYRE MARRIEDDDDD FUCK YEAH incredible writing xx

[space-cowboys-and-aliens]

Robby, the entire shift: “I’m gonna do it I’m gonna do it I’m gonna do it I’m gonna do it-”

Every straight, childless woman over 35 in a fifteen-block radius and Dennis Whitaker: “wow I’ve never felt so horny in my life need that now.”

[yiiiikesmish]

the and Dennis Whitaker really sells it 😭😭

[yiiiikesmish]

yall i fucking got into med school. holy fucking shit i actually did it what the actual fuck. i've read the email like 4 times and it doesn't feel real omg im actually speechless

[kcrlfs]

i keep seeing posts from people about how they’re shocked robby pulls all these hot women, and like… guys. he's a tall, bearded, enormously competent doctor with big steady hands, sad eyes, and a motorcycle. if you don't get it i fear you may just not be old enough yet.

[thoracique]

victoria girl STAY STRONG

[mariasont]

feedback facial loops

you have a filthy dream about dr. robby and spend the next shift acting so weird he starts to wonder if you’re on drugs

bet u wanna read my masterlist! ── .✦ °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

pairing: michael robinavitch x intern!reader warnings: fem!reader, sunshine!reader, intern!reader, inappropriate workplace thoughts, dirty dream mention (not too explicit in the content but def suggestive), power imbalance always, authority figure (father figure same diff), secondhand embarrassment i'm sorry yall, manhandling!!!! (supposed to be the whole premise but i got distracted :,)), being perceived against your will, dr robby accuses u of being high, mild robby angst bc he's def getting flashbacks of his ol buddy pal langdon, physical proximity, invasive concern framed as care, reader is sooooo bad at acting normal prompt: here! wc: 2.4k

The facial feedback hypothesis was one of those theories you never thought would matter outside of a multiple-choice exam, existing only in the realm of academia, like most things in college.

Strack, Martin, Stepper. 1988. One of the few studies you remembered not for its findings, but for the visual: undergrads holding pens in their teeth to stimulate a smile. Voluntary muscles co-opted for involuntary feelings.

The idea that a smile could summon happiness, not the other way around. Muscular activation leading to dopaminergic release, the limbic system tugged into alignment by force. Blah blah blah.

You tucked it away in your mental toolbox, right between how to escape zip tie handcuffs and Aristotle’s three mods of persuasion, assuming it was the kind of fact you’d maybe pull out during  a psych lecture, or maybe at a bar to impress someone.

You had no true faith in either scenarios.

You certainly did not have faith in it being designed for psychological triage after your subconscious decided to run a very X-rated, wildly unsupervised dream of your boss, Dr. Michael Robinavitch, taking off your scrubs, tugging you into his office chair, and murmuring sit on my lap and tell me what you learned today. 

Super inappropriate. You take no blame for your sleep self.

And now you can’t even rinse a damn mug without blushing, let alone look at him without imagining how it felt when dream-him said good girl with one hand on your hip and the other under your bra.

So now you’re smiling. Beaming. Trying your absolute best to radiate unearned joy, to have sunshine practically sweat out of your pores, praying your facial muscles can hijack your neurochemistry before your libido gives the whole game away.

“Deep pressure can stimulate a better response.”

Horrible timing.

And objectively, clinically, anatomically, you know what he’s saying.

He’s referring to sternal rubs, central pain stimuli, assessing consciousness using Glasgow Coma Scale metrics. A sentence that belongs in a textbook and is perfectly innocent in its nature.

He is not whispering seductive phrases into your ear on purpose.

But try telling your body that.

It reacts as if you’ve been dropped into boiling water. Skin prickling with fire, molten lava purging into your cells and through your bloodstream until it reaches your heart through the vena cava.

A mortifying, yes, but also… not shocking. Not after weeks of working under him (alongside him? near him? beneath him, your brain unhelpfully supplies).

You’ve built an entire defense system made of deep breaths and posture corrections and obsessively reapply chapstick just to keep your hands busy. 

You push all this aside and move without second thought. Because that’s just the trick, isn’t it? To not allow yourself enough time to do anything otherwise.

You press your knuckles to sternum, listening for the practiced grind of bone to bone, calibrated just right to trigger a response without causing damage.

Done. Easy.

A medical student could do it in their sleep, so you’re not sure it qualifies as a win for the day.

You barely step back before Dr. Robby deadpans, “Well, at least he didn’t punch you. Progress.”

It’s not even that funny, you think. Not in a regular sense. It’s just Dr. Robby doing that thing he does where dry sarcasm slinks out of his mouth like smoke from a half-lit match. He lets it fall at your feet.

But you laugh anyway. Loudly, at that. It ricochets off the tile, bouncing back at you with awful clarity.

You try to stifle it, to blend it into a cough, but the damage is done before the dust settles.

Whitaker turns his head slowly from the spot he’d careened in the corner, his face practically a subtitle that reads, You good, champ?

And instead of doing the smart thing (the socially appropriate, silence-is-your-friend-not-your-enemy thing) and nodding to Whitaker and shutting your mouth, you double down.

The need to explain yourself is just too strong.

“Oh, I, uh, that was funny!” you blurt, smiling, trying to compensate for a lack of context with sheer wattage.  “Because, um, the last guy actually did try to punch me. During a neuro exam. Swinging fists and everything. So, yeah. Progress.”

Whitaker’s face does not scream belief. If anything, it sort of mutters doubt under its breath and crosses its arms.

Dr. Robby throws you what you’d call a life raft.

“It’s true,” Dr. Robby says without looking up from the chart. “Guy had surprisingly fast hands for some post-ictal. Nearly caught her jaw.” His tone is perfectly flat, but the corner of his mouth twitches, a micro-expression, maybe, or maybe you’re hallucinating at this point. Could’ve been wind. “Good reflexes.”

You laugh again, this time more breathy, shoulders lifting for no reason.

“That was, um, a fun shift.” Your voice spikes on the word fun, sails a little too high like a balloon escaping a child’s fist, and you hear it, feel it, loathe it the second it’s out of your mouth. But you’re already speaking, so you keep going, because silence feels like death.  “It actually makes sense, though. Aggression post-ictally isn’t unheard of, it’s a disinhibition response, sometimes frontal involvement, especially with temporal lobe epilepsies. I read this case study once where —”

“Hey.” Dana’s voice cuts through your babble like divine intervention. Her head appears around the corner. “They need you in the hallway.”

You nearly cry. If they need you to mop blood off a wall, you’ll do it with your bare hands. Anything to flee this conversation and your own sentient anxiety.

You trail after Dana with slightly too much urgency.

“Who needs me?” you ask, scanning the hall.

Dana snorts. Apparently that was a dumb question.

“No one.” She’s already leaning against the wall, arms crossed, expression fondly exasperated. “I pulled you before you talked yourself into a hole. Which, by the way, you were mid-excavation.”

You groan, dragging a hand over your face.

“Okay, but technically I was citing a real study. I wasn’t even in full tangent mode yet.” You pause, grimace. “I mean. I was approaching tangent. I had the shovel. I was hovering over the dirt.”

She presses a hand to her chest.

“You’re right. I spoke too soon. My deepest apologies to the shovel.” Then her tone eases up as she gives you a once-over, eyes narrowing just slightly. “But seriously, kid. You want me to switch up your rotation? I can move you to Dr. Al Hashimi if you need a breather?”

“What? No. Why would I — need that? I don’t need that.” You laugh, sharp and awkward. “I mean, not that I wouldn’t want to work with her. She’s amazing. But I don’t need to switch. Do I seem like I need to switch?”

“You’re just… on edge. That’s all. Doesn’t take a CT scan to pick it up. If this is about Robby, you don’t have to explain, just say the word.”

“I don’t want to switch.” You shake your head. It’s sounds too defensive and you hate it. “It’s not him. Not really. I just… I get weird sometimes. And then I know I’m being weird, and then it makes me more weird, and it just kind of loops. But I’m okay. I promise.”

Dana’s face softens like she’s watching a baby deer try to use stairs. She pats your shoulder. “Okay, sweetheart.”

She vanishes before your brain can summon a single coherent sentence, let alone anything witty, which is probably for the best, considering you’re experiencing a neurological event akin to full-system reboot. 

So you breathe. In through your nose, out through your nose. No mouth-breathing. You do all the grounding tricks you read about in that psych article. Five things you can see (ceiling tile, hallway light, floor scuff, exit sign, your own tennis shoes), four things you can touch (ID badge, shirt hem, hair tie, your wrist), three you can hear (distant voices, a phone ringing, your own heartbeat), two you can smell (whatever soap they use in the ER and something vaguely like floor wax), one —

Impact. You meet it hard, bumping into it at full speed like a human freight train. 

A very firm chest.

One that does not belong to Dana or God or a random intern, but to Dr. Robby, whose clavicle you now have intimate knowledge of because your face is basically pressed against it, and he does not move, does not stumble, just sort of absorbs the impact like a particularly judgmental brick wall.

So you smile. Of course you do. It’s the only tool you have left in your arsenal, stretched tight and bright across your face like a bandaid over a bullet wound. If you smile, your brain will believe you’re fine. That’s the rule. That’s the science. 

He glances down at you, eyes flicking from your smile to your proximity, and says flatly, “If that’s how you walk hallways, I’m ordering you a helmet.”

“I don’t usually — this isn’t — like, I swear this isn’t how I walk in hallways. I’m normally super aware of my surroundings. Peripheral vision fully engaged.”

He narrows his eyes, not lazily or idly, scalpel-precise focus of someone dissecting you. It’s not with malice, at least you don’t think, but with a feverish curiosity that feels just as invasive. A kind of intellectual quint that makes your stomach pancake on a caffeine bender.

Then, with no more warning than a shift in the air, he moves. One step, then two. All in your space.

You don’t just back into the wall; you feel it, the drywall biting cold through your scrubs, your shoulders squared and pinned before your brain can catch up. He follows, crowding in, his body heat wrapping around you. 

One hand lands beside your head with a solid, no-nonsense thunk, the other under your chin, not gently cradling it but guiding it up, firm and focused. As if you’re just something to be adjusted, examined, getting a better angle for dissection. 

Or kissing. Or dissection then kissing? Focus. Focus. 

The overhead lights slant across his face, catching in the textured patch of his beard like moonlight on moss, and for one wild second, you think: this is it. This is the start of your dream.

It takes everything in you not to lean in, not to surrender, not to say please.

Just as the moment tilts into something unbearable, he flips the switch.

A penlight appears, snatched from his coat, slicing a blade of sterile white into your retinas. You flinch.

“Pupils are reactive,” he says, mostly to himself. “No sluggishness. No construction.” Another pause. “Did you take something?”

You recoil on instinct, but his hand is still there and you’re still pinned between his body and the wall. “What? Are you — no! I’m not on anything!”

He steps back. Just a little. Half a foot, if that, but the sudden draft feels like a slap, like someone opened the vacuum seal on your body and now your skin’s too aware of itself, your nerves fizzing like soda, your breath catching on its own sharp corners.

“I don’t have the luxury of assuming people are fine when they’re not.”

You wonder if he’s talking about Langdon. You remember the rumors. Everyone does. The miscounted doses and vanishing Ativan. However, his words all but confirms it. You wonder if this right here was born from guilt he’s still trying to cauterize.

“No,” you say evenly. “I wouldn’t do that.” Your shoulders square despite yourself. “If you want to check vitals, labs, or have someone else evaluate me, that’s fine. But I’m sober. Completely.”

“Then what the hell is wrong with you today?”

“Wrong with me? Nothing! Nothing is wrong with me! I mean — I’m maybe a little… tense?”

“Then start untensing,” he says, scrubbing a hand down his face. “I need you sharp. Whatever this is, it can’t follow you into rounds.”

“Yep! Untensing! Untensing is happening. Right now. Actively. You just can’t tell because I have one of those deceptively anxious resting faces.”

His jaw tightens. “Are you sure you didn’t take something?”

“Yes! I’m sure. Why do you keep asking that?”

“Because you’re fidgety, all over the place, and you’re sweating like you just sprinted up twelve flights of stairs.”

“I always sweat under pressure!”

“You say you’re fine, but your body language is screaming otherwise. And I’ve learned — the hard way — that people who insist they’re fine are usually the ones falling apart. So forgive me if I don’t take your word for it —”

“I had a dream about you, okay?” 

It’s as if you just lobbed a live grenade into the middle of the hospital. You immediately regret every decision that’s led you here, including (but not limited to): sleeping, speaking, existing. 

You watch his expression flicker, surprise first, genuine, and then something dangerously close to satisfaction. 

“A dream,” he echoes. 

You want to explain. To walk it back, say it was a weird metaphor, or a joke, or a misfire in your frontal lobe. You want to disappear. Melt into the linoleum. Turn into static and drift out through the vents. Anything to avoid standing here under the weight of his gaze while your whole body burns with implication.

“Well, you know, the average person has over five dreams per night and most of them are nonsense. Your brain’s just filing away fragmented impressions from the day, or week, or sometimes totally unrelated stimuli.”

His eyes don’t leave yours.

“If your dream’s affecting your ability to focus, then it becomes my responsibility to manage it.” A pause. “So let me help. Tell me what it was.”

You glance down the hallway like a lifeline might appear. Or a black hole. Either would be fine. No one’s there, but the knowledge that this conversation is occurring within a ten-yard radius of a nurse’s station makes your skin crawl.

“It was nothing worth, um, discussing.”

“You really know how to crush a man’s ego.”

Was that… was that sarcasm again? Sincere disappointment? Observation? You wish he’d just say just kidding or raise an eyebrow or gesture in some identifiable human way. 

“That’s not —” you start. “That’s not what I meant. It wasn’t a bad dream or anything. It was… fine. A fine dream. Good, even. I mean, not good like that. Just, neutral good.”

He hums. “So now it was a good dream?”

“Not good-good! Just — ugh, no. This is coming out all wrong.” You cross your arms. “I just didn’t want to share it, not because it was bad, but because it was… vivid. And mortifying. And you’re doing that thing with your face again.”

“What thing?”

“Don’t play dumb,” you mutter. “The face. The I-know-I’m-making-you-squirm-and-I-love-it face. You’re doing it right now. It’s infuriating. And frankly unethical.” You point accusingly. “And now you’re doing it harder. Stop that.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, deep in his chest. Then his hand settles between your shoulder blades, guiding you forward with a gentle but unmistakable pressure that makes your knees rethink existing.

“Jesus, you’re reading way too much into my face,” he says, steering you forward. “Occupational hazard. Comes with the job. Besides. If I was actually enjoying this, you’d know.” Another half-step down the hall. “Favorite intern privilege. Don’t let it go to your head.”

You do. It goes straight to your head. Strack, Martin, Strepper, 1988. They were onto something. Smile long enough, and your brain will catch up.

And your brain, well, your brain is writing a second dissertation on the ethics of fantasizing about your attending while he’s guiding you down the hallway with his surgeon hands and calling you favorite like he doesn’t know exactly what that does to a girl raised on positive reinforcement.

[oldermenfucker]

Glass Bridge / M. Robinavitch

Summary: Robby’s in need of a girlfriend, and you, the intern who he was flirting with for a year but didn’t act on his feelings, decide it’s a win win situation if you step up and help, and in return, he writes you a letter of recommendation.

Warnings: 18+ mdni! Smut! P in v, unprotected sex, breeding, fake dating, hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, English isn’t my first language, NO BETA!!!

Word count: 9.8k+

An: i have no idea if this will be posted, but yeah i wrote it while i had no internet connection<3 your comments and reblogs are very appreciated💕

“She needs a head CT first, then we’ll take her up to the OR,” you tell Mel as you walk out of the trauma room, stretching your arms above your head and sighing loudly, “So, how are you liking this place?”

“Oh, you mean the…”

“Yeah, The Pitt!” You nod as you both walk to one of the work stations and watch Mel start charting immediately, “Can be kinda chaotic, kinda fun. It depends on how much you let it get into you.”

“I actually quite enjoy it,” she shrugs, “It keeps me from dwelling on one specific thing for long, I can actually move on from one thing to another without it all piling up in my head.”

“That’s good,” you smile at her, “I used to feel the same. It was fun as long as you laughed and enjoyed being pulled from one spot to another.”

“Why didn’t you choose it for your residency, though?”

Her question hits hard. There were several reasons, one, you wanted to stay in a quiet place longer than dealing with the screaming and constant noises of this place. The rest doesn’t matter except for one major reason.

Robby.

You were here for your intern year before you applied for general surgery residency. A very good year academically and… emotionally, until you hit the end of it and nothing had happened yet.

Dr. Robby was everything his reputation screamed; witty, goofy, serious and full with knowledge. He seemed intimidating at first, but the closer the two of you grew, the more he let his humor take over.

At some point, there was something between you. A shift in the air when he handed you the tools to intubate, a hand pressed to your lower back as he guided you through a chest tube, a whisper of praise that lingered longer than it was supposed to.

You tiptoed around each other for months, sometimes even flirting when you thought no one would notice. But nothing happened. Nothing.

You shake your head to get rid of the memories, smiling at Mel before you take a deep breath and gather your courage to answer her.

“Well, I just… didn’t like this place that much. I like cutting people open while I blast Roar by Katy Perry in the OR.” You shrug, “And I get along with Walsh better than I did with Dr. Abbot.”

“Well, you could’ve stayed here on days, right?”

“Right, I don’t do days anymore.” You shut the subject down immediately, looking around and finding Dana talking to… oh, there he is. It was only a matter of time until you saw him.

“I’m gonna go check on other patients and tell you the results of this girl’s tests?”

“Yeah, yeah, sure, go,” you hug her briefly and send her off, looking back to where Dana and her friend are standing, kind of sneaking closer without them noticing to listen to their voices better. Not that you were eavesdropping, but… you wanted to know. Because this was your thing when you were an intern; talking about patients, gossiping about other attendings and scolding Robby together. Now, it’s been quite a long time since you had that moment together.

“It’s just a late new year’s party, Robby!” Dana says, crossing her arms over her chest as she gives him one of her signature looks that shuts him up, “You promised you’d come, and you promised you’d bring her with you.”

Her. Her. Who the fuck is HER?

No one, it’s none of your business. He has his own life, and you have never been a part of it. Maybe briefly for a few months that you thought you had a chance. Not now though, and it stings when you think about the way he used to look at you when you worked together.

And you waited for something to happen, only for your hopes to get crushed when he called you ‘kid’ and ‘good job’ the day you wanted to decide to continue Emergency Medicine. But no. No. He didn’t act on those flirts, acting oblivious and doe eyed when you tried to bring it up.

That’s how you ended up in Surgery, away from him, going on nights to avoid him even further.

“I didn’t say anything, stop assuming.” He rolls his eyes and rocks on his feet as he stares at the board with his backpack on the central counter, “I think I’m on that day–”

“You’re not, Shen made sure you’re not on shift, day or not or whenever,” Dana pokes his biceps, “It’s a party, cap. You can let loose for a night, enjoy a few drinks, talk to your girlfriend, kiss her, introduce us to her–”

“I don’t want to bring her, okay? Yes, we’ve been dating for a while, but she is not ready to see you again–”

“Again? Is she someone I know? Is she in the hospital–”

“Calm down, Ms. Holmes. And I ain’t gonna answer that.” With that he swings his backpack over his shoulder and looks at her, squeezing her arm, “I’ll come, but no promises about the girlfriend.”

“We’ll be waiting for both of you, or I’ll call Janey and tell her you’re a depressed alcoholic kitten!”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“Yes, I would. So we will meet you both.”

You watch as Robby groans and shakes his head. Weird, you know him well enough to know he won’t say anything about his love life to people, but for Dana to know he is dating, and apparently she’s already met her — or the girlfriend saw her without Dana noticing — it is kind of… odd.

He must be lying. There is no way in any universe that he has a girlfriend from this place and no one, especially Dana, hasn’t figured it out yet.

You wait for him to walk out with a quick nod, not even acknowledging her pestering about his magical girlfriend. You follow him without anyone noticing, sneaking out between bodies and from the building as he walks towards the parking lot of the hospital.

You notice the helmet and roll your eyes. You remember when he would talk about his motorcycle that was resting under a layer of dust in his garage, pouring you coffee in the staff lounge and saying one day he’d fix it.

It seems he has fulfilled that wish.

You stop when you spot his bike, crossing your arms over your chest as he straps the helmet to the back of his seat, and you have to bite down your lips so you don’t scoff at the ridiculous gaslighting he must be doing in his department about wearing it.

“Are you going to stand there all night?” He asks with his back to you, tightening the knot around the helmet and his backpack with a grunt, “Fancy seeing you here.”

You are startled a little. You have always been light on your feet, sneaking up on people without them having a clue, but you suppose ever since your intern year, Robby’s gotten to know you pretty well.

“Nope,” you swallow the lump that forms in your throat, watching him turn around and sit on the edge of the bike, “I heard your conversation with Dana.”

“Right to the point, I like this quality of you,” he nods, a bitter smile on his face, “Like how you left ED for surgery. Right to the fucking point.”

“I’m not gonna talk to you about shit that’s not your business,” you roll your eyes at him, cocking a hip as you stare at his face, “You, however, seem to be lying straight into Dana’s face. A girlfriend? You’ve been dating for a few months? Really, Robby? That is not you.”

“Once a very wise woman said ‘I’m not gonna talk to you about shit that’s not your business’ and I’m quoting that back to you, Shadow,” he gives you one of his sarcastic smiles, the one that deepens the lines on his cheek and narrows his eyes, “I’m perfectly capable of having a relationship and keeping it alive–”

“Someone from the hospital, for a few months, and you had the strength not to run up to kiss her? And the fact that Dana hasn’t talked to her yet but she has met her?”

“What are you even trying to say?” He stands up, walking closer to you until you have to let out a shaky sigh at the proximity.

“I’m saying you’re lying.”

You can feel him stop breathing for a second. He freezes, his eyebrow twitching and lips parting before he regains control of his body and masks his surprise. But you know this man like the back of your hand, you know you are right.

“Surgery’s made you delusional,” he whispers before turning his back to you again moving to his bike with a shake of his head, “I’ll see you around–”

“I can help you!” This time you sound desperate, and it shocks both of you, especially you because you end up with your chest heaving as you around his bike to stand face to face with him, “I can help.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“Yes, you do. And don’t think this is going to be one-sided, I need something from you too.”

“There it is!” He chuckles, running a hand down his face, scratching his beard before he looks at you while he licks his lips, “Spit it out, you don’t need to sugarcoat it for me–”

“I need a letter of recommendation for my fellowship, and I need you to write me one,” you take a deep breath, locking your eyes with his while intertwining your fingers together behind your back, “And in exchange, I’ll be your date for that night. Tit for tat.”

He takes a deep breath, looking away from your eyes to stare at the sunset while he thinks. The minute ticks by and you grow nervous more and more. You know there was something between you before, and when you left disappointed that nothing happened, you both grew apart.

It was inevitable, but it didn’t make it any less painful.

“I’ll make sure she’s out of your hair after that night. We can even fake a breakup so they won’t bring it up at all.”

It would be wise for him to disagree, to push you away and you would be okay with that. Not really, but at least you had tried. There is a selfish part of you that still longs for the closeness you once had, and if he agrees, you might get a taste of it again.

“Alright,” he nods, looking back at your face when you let out a shaky exhale, “But we have to… come up with a mutual story, you know? I… I’ve told Dana and everyone in the Pitt that I’ve been seeing her for a few months and… that we have so many pictures together.”

“So you’ve been raving about a fake girlfriend, awesome, Robby.”

“I didn’t plan on going! And even if I did, I’d say we broke up or I don’t know! Maybe argued?”

“Okay, well, I’m in now, so…” you hear your pager go off, making you groan, “Jesus fucking Christ, I’m off the clock— okay, listen!” You clap once, gathering your thoughts before you have to go, “We’ll meet up, your place or mine, doesn’t matter. We’ll talk about everything. Just… text me.”

“I will.”

****

“What exactly did you tell Dana?” You ask with your back to him, lounging on his couch with a blanket over your feet and one of his medical books on your lap, “So we can come up with a solid story to convince these people.”

“I didn’t tell her where we met, just that my girlfriend is in the healthcare system.” Robby walks into the living room with two glasses and a bottle of red wine, smiling when you hum in delight shut the book, “To take the edge off.”

“I like how you think,” you watch him pour the wine for you, handing you the glass before he repeats the motion and sits down with a heavy sigh, spreading his legs and making himself comfortable as he looks at you. “Not on usual occurrence, just now. Don’t let it get into your head.”

“Thanks for clarifying, Shadow,” you can spot the ghost of the smirk on his face as he rests his glass on his thigh and looks at you, “Don’t worry, my head’s big enough already.”

“Haha, very funny,” you roll your eyes, ignoring his piercing gaze as you swirl the wine in your glass then taking a large sip from it, smacking your lips at the delicious taste, “Hmm, the expensive kind.”

“The best for my girlfriend,” he scoffs and you have to bite your lip to stop the sneer forming on your face.

Not that it is a bad image to be his girlfriend, it is not. You’ve thought about it before when you were an intern, but that was a long time ago. Yes, he is hot. Yes, he is extremely attractive as he sits with spread legs and worn our sweats and a t-shirt that stretches over the pudge of his belly. No, it definitely isn’t as bad as someone might think.

But again, the feelings you have buried can’t come to the surface no, not when you are sure he doesn’t reciprocate them.

“We could tell them that I asked for a consult on a case, then we reunited and things led to more and now here we are, so we don have to lie about it all the time.”

“Good,” he nods, resting his neck on the back of the couch, watching you closely as you sit on your knees and rest your head on your hand, “We’re dating for a couple of months, nothing specific but if they annoyed you too much, then tell them it’s around six months.”

“Six months?!” You gasp, “You know that you’re basically the definition of a manwhore? There is no way you can hold a relationship strong for six fucking months, Robby!”

“I can have a long term relationship alright–”

“You’ve fucked the entire nursing staff and at least half of our residents–”

“That’s fucking exaggerated!” He throws he head back and laughs, a soft blush coating his cheeks, and that makes heat rush to your face. His laugh is so soft, so heartwarming, so him. Now you want to pull your hair out and scream. “I didn’t do any of that. Maybe a few nurses and doctors here and there, but not on that scale.”

“Have they seen you with anyone recently?” You ask, drowning the rest of your wine before you tip the glass at him, signaling him to pour another glass for you, “Because if they have, then you were cheating on me, and that would blow our cover–”

“First of all,” he reaches forward to grab the bottle, finishing his own drink before he leans back and pours the amount you’d like per request, “I don’t cheat. I’d breakup first, I’m not that shitty, alright? I don’t cheat.”

“Whatever you say, Robby,” you smirk and he turns even redder when you scoot forward a little, “Good to know you won’t cheat on your fake girlfriend at least.”

“Fuck you,” he rolls his eyes, “No one’s seen me with another girl. If they had, Dana wouldn’t let me rest for even a minute. So, no, not a girl in sight.”

“Cool, at least we have this advantage,” you shrug, watching the way his lips wrap around the edge of the glass, his throat bobbing as he swallows. Get a grip, girl. “We reunited at the hospital, we have been together for a few months — six if anyone is a bit too interested — and… what else?”

“I… told them I have lots of pictures of my girlfriend. Like… a lot,” he sighs, closing his eyes, “We’ve gone to dates, we kiss, we hug, we hold hands, we… have sex.”

“Oh, fuck, so…” you drown your wine again, feeling your head growing fuzzy and your face heating up as the alcohol settles in your bloodstream, “We gotta kiss and hug in front of everyone.”

“Sweetheart, we are in love, we have to do the basic signs, of course,” he shrugs and sips his drink, “Besides, you can lie as much as you’d like. I know Dana won’t interrogate me as much as Jack will so whatever you tell them will eventually slip out of Jack’s mouth.”

“That’s reassuring,” You scoff, changing your position so now you are resting your heels on the coffetable and lean back on the couch, “Should we take a few pictures before the party? To… show them in case we need to?”

“Yup.” He nods mindlessly, staring in front of him while he runs a hand through his hair, “What if we go out a few times and let me take a few pictures of you?”

“Really? Fake dating before our big fake date?”

“Yeah, little fake dates,” he groans and stands up, stretching his arms over his head, and you get a very delicious peek at his soft skin and happy trail on his stomach, “You get all dolled up and ready to go on dates, and I’ll take my shitty iphone pictures.”

“Will you buy me dinner and flowers?” You ask, standing up and inching closer to him, “I don’t wanna look easy.”

“Oh, trust me, shadow, you’re not easy at all.”

****

“Took you a lifetime to get…” his voice fades away slowly when you walk down the stairs of your apartment, meeting him in the alley.

You are wearing a deep burgandy turtleneck dress with a black coat on to keep you warm and dry in case weather decides to play against you. You have a black purse hanging from your shoulder and a big scarf around your neck.

“Hi,” you breathe out, stepping on the last step in front of him, glancing at his outfit and sucking a cold breath in as you notice how nice and awfully disgustingly handsome he looks. Fuck, he is holding a bouquet of roses. Chic, classic, and beautiful. Double fuck, he is wearing a black button up with one of his worn out jeans with a long black coat and navy blue scarf.

He looks straight out of a rom com movie and it makes you nearly lose your sanity before you remember that this is all fake and for the sake of helping him.

“You look good,” he nods with wide eyes, a soft undeniable blush coating his cheeks before he looks down at the bouquet and back at you, “Oh… yeah, these are for you and your acting skills.”

“Right, yeah, uh, thanks!” You take the flowers and give him an awkward smile, gently bringing the roses up to your nose to take a whiff of the scent, and boy do they smell so good. “These are amazing.”

“Yeah, big and shiny, just right for the pictures I’m about to take,” he rushes over the words as he reaches in the pocket of his coat for his phone before he stops and looks back at you with a frantic expression, “Of course if it is alright with you–”

“I’ve already agreed to everything, Robby,” you shrug, enjoying the way the bouquet from him weights in your hands. You just wished it was your favorite flower and not for a supid fake situation.

“Okaayyy,” he sighs and unlocks his phone, sucking in a sharp breath when you smile and bring the flowers upper, staring at the camera with a soft look in your eyes. First, you look into the camera, posing a few times with the bouquet before you gaze at Robby who is biting his cheek to stop a smile forming on his lips.

“Do I look good?” You ask, pulling the flowers down and stepping next to him to look at the pictures, waiting for him to say something, “May I?”

“You look beautiful,” he shrugs as if he is not breathing heavily, as if you don’t realize your scent is making him dizzy as fuck.

“Thank you,” you reply shyly, zooming on your face to look if everything is in place, “Oh, this is fine. Dana will have a field day.”

“Yup,” Robby nods, turning around to open the passenger door for you, “Does dinner sound good, Shadow?”

“Ugh, yes! I’m starving!” You make a dramatic face at him, blinking at him with your eyes wide in surprise when he holds a hand out for you when you step in front of the opened door. You want to say something, anything, but he is waiting so patiently for you to take his hand and let him help you into his Cadillac Escalade, “…Thanks.”

“No problem,” he shakes his head and helps you in, making sure your coat doesn’t get stuck in the door before he shuts it and rounds the car to join you, groaning as he stretches his leg a little more than he is supposed to. “Jesus…”

“You poor old man,” you scoff, buckling your seatbelt and lowering the flowers on the backseat gently, “Can’t even get inside your own car, can you? I’d prescribe you 10 sessions of PT and a lifetime of OT cause you certainly can’t do your ADLs without hurtin–”

“Do you wanna starve by any chance?” He fires the engine and starts driving, glancing at you occasionally, “You know I’m paying for your food, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, you are no fun!”

“I stopped being fun with you a very long time ago.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” you roll your eyes, thinking about how he is still bitter over you moving to surgery without telling him. This is the reality. Not the softness he gave you when he was taking your pictures.

“Good vision.”

“Fuck you!”

****

The dinner is fine. Not too bad but also not really good. You are nervous, so is Robby, and you can’t seem to study him well with how he talks and smiles and goes quiet when he has nothing to say. This could have gone a very different direction years ago, alas, it is what it is.

The food is amazing, you can’t believe Robby really brought you to one of the most expensive restaurants in the city and is acting like it is nothing. It is everything actually. He is doing the ‘bare minimum’ as he whispered earlier, but even his minimum is so out of this world for a fake date.

He’s been taking pictures of you whenever you are distracted, and once he managed to take one where you are laughing at a stupid thing he said, eyes crinkling and lips pulled into a grin, which you are trying to hide by looking down at your plate.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” you break the silence, blinking at your empty plate before looking at Robby, “Is there anything I need to know about your past relationships or… your life?”

“Not a lot,” he shrugs and sips on the water he pours for himself, “Just that I’m an only child, I grew up with my Grandma, parents weren’t around much and uh, I’m Jewish…”

“I didn’t know that!”

“Didn’t the whole long ass last name give it away?” He chuckles when you wince and look away for a second, “It’s okay. Not many can connect the dots.”

“I… after a while I just forget about every other name you have and go with Robby all the time! I’m pretty sure many are like me.”

“You won’t be wrong.”

“When am I ever?” You smile, bringing the steamed carrot to your mouth by the fork in your hand, dragging your teeth over the metal while you lock eyes with him.

“All the time, this was an exception.”

“You hate how brilliant I am!” You roll your eyes at him, catching the blush on his cheek rising to his forehead as well, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening as he laughs, “You’re lucky I’m not your resident, Walsh has an amazing time arguing with me every day.”

“You were a headache back then, can’t imagine how bad you are now that you are chief resident.”

You stick out your tongue for a second, and he is quick to put a piece of his steak on it and nodding at you to eat it. And you do, without taking your eyes off him, you wrap your lips around his fork and drag your head back, licking the sauce off your lips.

“Heather… is my ex.”

“What…” You sigh out in surprise, hands stilling and fingers tingling, “I didn’t… I didn’t know… when were you together, I mean, no one said anything–”

“Because no one knew,” he cuts you off gently, “We were together a million year ago, and… we were serious but… we just didn’t make it out alive. I thought you should know in case Dana says something.”

“I… thank you, for telling me I mean,” you drink your water and nod, trying not let this newfound information get into you and sour your mood. Of course, you knew he had to have an ex in the hospital, but Heather? The woman who you kept in touch with even after you moved to surgery and she left this hospital for a fellowship? The same woman who knew about your silly crush on Robby, who is now revealed to be her fucking ex? Yeah, you are done for.

“Sure thing,” he bites the inside of his cheek, “Dessert? I’ve heard this place has the best Tiramisu.”

“Yeah, sure, why the fuck not?”

****

This is a bad idea. These are the words that have been replaying in your head over the past few days. You thought about it when he drove you home, you thought about it when he took you to your favorite cafe and took more pictures of you, you thought about it when he came to your place with a bouquet of your favorite flowers — you let it slip without knowing you actually did — now, you are getting ready at his place to go to the event you have been role playing for.

This is a bad idea, you think as Robby clasps the necklace around your neck, his hot breath fanning against your shoulder while he caresses the golden string, the tip of his fingers brushing over your skin.

“I bought you this… because…” he takes a step back, looking at you in the mirror, his gaze falling down to your shoulder, “Well, you had to wear something bought by me, so you could somehow show it off to everyone and act the perfect girlfriend role.”

“Do you want it back after tonight–”

“No, no, absolutely not,” he shakes his head and closes the distance between your bodies, pressing his chest to your back, “It’s yours, I bought it for you.”

“Wait–” you grab his forearms and wrap them around your body, reaching for your phone on the desk, “I need to have a pic too, right?”

And what a picture it is; Robby’s rubbing his cheek against yours, smiling wildly when he pinches your side and makes you giggle just as you are about to take the photo, capturing a raw moment from something that is supposed to be fake.

“Thank you,” you sigh, craning you neck to look Robby in the eye, resting the back of your head on his shoulder, “For… everything.”

He still has his arms around your body, holding you flushed against his chest as he looks at you with hazy darkened eyes, his lips parting and chest heaving when his gaze drops down to your mouth for a second.

“You’re welcome,” he says and untangles himself from your body, making you heave and lean forward to hold your body upright . What were you thinking? How many times do you need to be reminded of how he does not like you? If he did, he’d have acted out on his feelings when you were his intern.

“I’m ready,” you buckle your jeans and reach for your coat and purse, walking past Robby who is flushed from head to toe to grab the wine on the counter downstairs he put away for Dana, “You coming?”

“Yup,” he strides down and grabs the remote of his car, putting on his long black coat and going to open the door for you, and you have to act quickly and pull on your boots and step out before him, thanking him quietly as he brushes past you with a hand on your waist, “Come on, car’s out already.”

“Okay,” you say quietly, hoping for the night to turn for the best.

****

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Dana gawks at you and Robby, “No fucking way!”

“Dana, I need you to keep your voice dow–”

“JACK! Get here right fucking NOW!”

“You don’t need to yell!”

“Yes, I fucking do!” She looks down at your linked fingers, blinking and sighing at the same time, “What could have possessed you to hide this from me?!”

“Maybe we should go inside…?” You squeeze Robby’s hand in stress, trying to give Dana an awkward convincing smile, “Please?”

“Yes, of course, ‘m sorry, dear,” she pulls you into a warm hug, probably glaring at Robby over your shoulder, “Come in!”

“Thank you,” you smile and hug her back before she steps between you and Robby, forcing you to stumble into Jack’s body, startling you both as he stares down at you with wide eyes, “Oh, hey, Dr. Abbot!”

“Hey, what you doing here?” He looks away from you to Robby who is looking down at the bottle of wine in his hand, cheeks on fire and sweat gathering at his hairline, “Well… that’s a start to the new year.”

“I am Robby’s girlfriend, Dana invited us both!” You grab Robby’s hand and smile at him reassuringly, your smile widening when his shoulders drop in relief. “I mean… she didn’t know I was his girlfriend, so… still! We’re here!”

“And we are very glad you both made it!” She takes the bottle from Robby with a pat on his shoulder and a look that scream we will talk about it later. “Everyone’s already arrived, and I apologize if they come off as rude or anything. This is not what we expected.”

“I didn’t expect to come either, but I thought it’d be nice to finally show up as Robby’s partner.”

“Very considerate,” Jack mumbles as he follows the three of you inside the living room, “We need an explanation though–”

“Later, fucking later…”

You are bombard with questions from the rest of the staff; how did you get together? When did you get together? Are you serious? How long? Didn’t you hate each other? Will you get married?

“Maybe let them rest for a bit–”

“Heather?!” You gasp when you notice her walking downstairs with the sweetest baby boy on her hip, “Oh my god! Ro–” you want to turn around and look at him, only to stop immediately when you remember his words. They are exes…

“Hey!” She walks towards you to engulf you in a tight hug, and you wrap your arms around her, minding the little body pressed between your bodies, “It’s so nice to see you again!”

“You too!” You look down when a tiny fist grabs your shirt and tugs on it hard, looking at you with big brown eyes, “Hello you,” reaching down, you pinch his cheek gently, making him squeal and hold both hands up, and you look at Heather and when she gives you a quick nod you grab the baby by his armpits and pick him up, “Oh, you are so freaking cute!”

“Heather…” You freeze when you hear his voice, keeping your eyes focused on the sweet giggling baby in your arms with a heart that is beating too fast for your liking, “It’s… nice to see you.”

“Likewise,” she says, smiling softly when she glances between the two of you, humming and crossing her arms over her chest, “Are you two…?”

“Yes, yeah, we are,” Robby answers for you, standing behind you to look at the baby who is now drooling on your shoulder while he plays with your necklace, “Who is this little guy?”

“Sammy,” Heather replies, her eyes shining with a mischievous glint before she is joined by Dana, the pair staring at you for a moment, “So you finally found the courage to act on your feelings.”

You can feel Robby’s breath coming out in a shuddering exhale as he runs a loving hand over little Sammy’s head, his other hand coming up to hold your hip.

“I asked her out, actually!” He grins at you when you turn around, and he can see how your pupils grow wider as you smile back and look down at the baby shyly before nodding and looking back at the women in front of you, “I asked her out when I wanted a consult on surgery a few months ago.”

“Medicine has brought quite a few people together,” Jack walks next to Robby, his eyes following Samira’s sillouhet before he glares at Robby halfheartedly, “But hiding this from us for a few months is painful, brother, especially with my favorite R5 surgery resident.”

“I asked him not to say anything,” you put Sammy on your hip, walking with Heather and Robby on your side to the couches, trying not to care about the amount of eyes that glance at you occasionally, Dana and Jack following closely, “So that’s my fault entirely! I’m sorry about that, it’s just we weren’t really sure about this! We wanted to take things slow.”

“Well, it must’ve taken a great deal of effort for Robby not to run upstairs every chance he got,” Jack snorts, shaking his head and grabbing Robby by the sleeve to pull him up, “Alright, ladies, you catch up. Me and this guy need a drink.”

“Ooookay,” Dana jumps into Robby’s spot, tickling Sammy’s belly before she turns her attention back to you, “How? When? I mean– you are right under our fucking noses, how didn’t we notice anything–”

“One question at a time!” You chuckle when the little boy giggles and falls head first into your chest. You sigh and look between the two women, “We didn’t plan on it, actually. It happened out of the blue, really! He asked for a surgery consult and came upstairs, and… one thing led to another and we went on a date.”

“How long though? ‘Cause I track that man’s mental health and he’s been doing very good lately.”

“A few months.”

“Specific.”

“Jesus, Dana, let the girl breathe,” Heather scoffs and smiles when she notices her son getting fussy and cranky, “Don’t interrogate her while I make him a bottle.”

“No promises,” Dana grins and watches her friend stand up and leave, “How long?”

“Six months, since you are insisting,” You hold Sammy up on his little feet, kissing his cheek over and over until he is not whining anymore, “And… I know it’s a bit suspicious after all this time and what we had a few years ago… but it happened, and we’ve been really, really happy.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” she chuckles, “I know, I can see it. Robby’s been feeling much better recently. Just wish I knew it was you.”

“I know, I’m sorry–”

“May I steal my girl for a moment?” Robby walks in front of you, extending his hand for you to take. He waits patiently as you kiss Sammy’s cheek one last time before handing him to Dana.

“Don’t need my permission for this.”

“Thanks,” he pulls you up gently, holding your hand as he leads you through the house between the bodies of the people, finding a quiet corner before he presses you against a wall, his hand going to your hip while his other cups your cheek, “We need to make this believable.”

“What? Did they not–”

“Jack… is suspicious. He said something about how all the pics I took were dated only a few days earlier and not from six months ago.”

“Oh, fuck, that’s baaad,” you whisper, wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, “Not gonna lie, I think Dana’s a bit… not sure about us either. I mean, yeah, she said she knows you’ve been happy and that she is happy for us, and bla bla bla but she gets this look on her–”

“Ugh, I know,” he groans, “Wanna make it believable now? They are probably looking.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you sigh, gaze dropping to his lips a second before meeting his eyes again, “What… what should we do?”

“Do you trust me?”

“Not really,” you bite your lip to stop the grin forming on your face, “Never trust an ER attending.”

“You evil evil woman,” he shakes his head and leans down a little, his nose brushing against yours, “I’m gonna kiss you now.”

“What are you waiting for then?” You push your chest into his until there isn’t any distance left between your bodies, “Let’s give the town a hot gossip.”

“Mm, gladly,” he finally closes the distance and pecks your mouth before he does it again, and again, and again until he is moving his lips with yours in sync, kissing your breath away and grabbing you by the back of your neck.

You kiss him back just as fiercely. Four years. You have wanted this for four years. Now you have it, and despite an alarm going off in your head about how this is fake and for the sake of convincing other people, you don’t care. At least not right now.

Robby presses you to the wall so tightly it draws out a whimper out of your mouth and into his. He groans a little, barely there but you feel the vibration go through your tongue and staright to your core.

You pull on the short hait at the nape of his neck, craning your neck enough for him to angle your head where he needs you, sucking the air out of your lungs as if you are the source of his oxygen.

“Get a room!”

That breaks you apart. Yolanda. Of course it’s her. The most obnoxious flirtatious person you know. The kiss mist have been so… passionate that has a woman like her rolling her eyes and saying you neet do this in private.

Robby chuckles when he lets go of your lips, his hot breath fanning over your heated face, his cheeks red and eyes shining with something foreign. You haven’t seen this side of Robby since your intern year. And boy, did you miss him.

“Alright, alright!” He pulls back but not without planting a sudden kiss on your swollen lips, nipping at your bottom lip before letting go of you completely, “You okay?”

“Yeah, sure, I mean,” you shrug, rubbing your neck to soothe yourself while your heart is beating like a fucking bird, “I need a drink though.”

“In the kitchen–”

“Thanks.” You leave with a smile — convincing enough for Jack and Dana who are still staring at you — to get some alcohol in your system to go through this party.

It sure as hell gonna be a hectic night.

****

The night ends with lingering hugs and lots of kisses for little Sammy, and also lots of congratulations from the people who apparently are already betting on you and Robby’s engagement and/or breakup.

The drive home is quiet; not the it’s so awkward we can’t even look at each other type, but more in the The kiss was so… much that you can’t shake the feeling off type. You want more, but you have to remember that you are his girlfriend for tonight, and that’s it.

“Thank you for the ride,” you say quietly when you reach your place, looking at Robby who nods and gives you one of his most sincere smiles, “I had a lot of fun, despite this whole arrangement thing, and how… you know how we usually are.”

“Don’t mention it,” he rests a hand on your thigh, squeezing it gently, “I should be the one to thank you. You helped a lot, and took them off my back. That needs an award on its own.”

“I accept paychecks and the letter of recommendation,” you grin, patting the back of his hand, not breaking the heavy and intense eye contact he is forcing on you, “In all seriousness, they want the best for you. And… well I don’t know what you wanna do after this.”

“I was thinking about a breakup.”

“Oh…?” You inhale sharply, watching him tense up and take off his hand from your thigh, “Why? I mean… we’re not on the same shifts, and… if we are, we barely see each other–”

“Because they think this is serious– I mean, my relationship. They think I’m in love and I wanna propose.”

“And that’s bad because?”

“It’s bad because they look forward to it, and we are not really together so I don’t know how that works, unless you wanna play the fake fiancée too.”

“Okay so… what’s the plan?” You swallow the lump in your throat. Of course, you were so convincing and in love that now they think he wants to marry you. The thought wouldn’t hurt at all, but his reaction does. Is the idea of you faking his fiancée’s role so loathsome?

“I have four days off, I come up with a plan to tell them we’re not together anymore.”

“You have to tell me too, in case anyone asks me,” you whisper, pursing your lips and looking away from his huge kawaii brown doe eyes that are shining with what you assume to be unshed tears.

“Yeah, I’ll text you.” He sighs, but stops you when you nod and open the car door, grabbing your wrist gently, “I’ll send the letter tomorrow. Thank you for everything.”

“Yeah, thank you too, for the letter I mean,” you nod and gently tug your hand out of his grip, stepping out of the car and looking at him one last time, “Goodnight, Robby.”

“Goodnight, Shadow.”

****

The letter worked. You got into the one year Trauma Surgery fellowship program in PTMC, top student, top grades, excellent surgeries. No one could be even more proud of you, at least that’s what Dr. Abbot said after he learned about your sudden breakup with Robby.

Robby. Right.

The text was simple: tell ‘em we didn’t work out, he isn’t ready for anything serious but you are.

That was it. A sentence and then done. No one pressed you further about it because you looked wrecked enough for everyone to believe you actually went through a breakup.

You don’t see him a lot because your shifts don’t align much. But when you do, your eyes always meet from across the floor. He doesn’t smile, nor do you, just a shared look that talks volumes for the people around you.

Dana always stays behind to talk to you, to show you a few pictures of Sammy and Heather and tell you about their life a bit more. You know she does this because she feels bad for you. Not pity, no, never, not with Dana. So when she hugs you a little tighter when he notices Robby’s presence, you just hug her back and never say anything.

****

The galas are never ending when you are now representing the Trauma Surgery department of the hospital with Yolanda. She doesn’t usually come, like tonight, but when she does, you get to have the best time of your life for a few hours.

Tonight though, your gut is in trenches, twisting and bubbling with anxiety as you walk around the hall with a champagne glass in your hand, the skirt of the dress you are wearing trailing behind you like a shadow.

You expect many things from tonight; fundraisers, speeches, drinks, a few men hitting on you — especially Ortho bros who are basically the frat boys only smart enough to get through such a difficult residency — and even more drinks. Nothing you haven’t handled before.

What you don’t expect, is to find Robby at the open bar, resting his back on the counter with his white shirt undone on the top buttons, a neat scotch in his hand as he gazes across the room until he finds you.

He straightens his back immediately, eyes sharper and curious as they take you in. Lovely, now you have to deal with your fake ex boyfriend slash ex attending who you had flirted with for a year and had feelings for him slash your crush who is definitely crushing your feelings by ignoring you.

Wonderful. Just fucking wonderful.

You want to move away, to take your eyes off him and disappear into the sea of doctors. But you can’t, god, it’s so embarrassing, but you can never get away from Robby successfully. Look at you now, in surgery because you wanted an out, only to get pulled back in by him.

“Hey,” you don’t know when he closes the distance between the two of you, too lost in your thoughts to notice anything but the overwhelming scent of his spicy and somehow bitter cologne. And he is talking to you again. “Nice to see you here.”

“Can’t say the same though, can I?” There is a bite to your words, “You don’t usually come to these things. It’s always Shen covering your ass. What’s changed? Did you fake a breakup with him too?”

“You’re on fire tonight, how many drinks have you had already?”

“Trust me, Robby, this is me being sober. You don’t wanna know how much fucking gasoline I’m pouring into the fire when I’m drunk.”

“Wow, you sure are bitter tonight.” He chuckles and sips on his drink, his eyes raking down your form, taking in the exposed skin of your shoulders and arms. Atonement was the theme you were going with tonight; long backless silky green dress that was a bit loose on the front and clinged to your breasts with two strings that held the fabric up. You hear his sharp inhale before you hear his words, “Bitter and gorgeous. So very you.”

“Emergency department has made you delusional.”

“Is it the insecurity talking or do you like me praising your beauty?”

“Fuck off before I knock you out with a right hook,” your tone drips with venom as you drown your champagne and fist the top of your skirt to walk away from him, glaring at him one last time before turning around.

“‘M sorry, that was uncalled for– Jesus fucking Christ, wait!”

You don’t stop, you bolt out of the hall and down the corridor. You don’t know where this place is, or what it is, you just ubered to this location and now you are lost with Robby following your hot trail like a dog, calling our your name like you are the only thing that anchors him to reality.

You push a door open to somewhere, slamming it shut and walking backwards inside as you keep staring at the wooden entrance. Library, wow, you sure are in that goddamn movie now, just not how you wanted it to happen.

“Shadow–”

“What do you want from me?” You groan loudly, pacing back and forth when he steps inside the room, nearly tripping over your dress when he walks closer, “Back off! Don’t you dare get closer.”

“Why are you acting like this? Why are you avoiding me?”

“What?!” You let out a laugh in disbelief, grabbing the back of your neck with both hands as you look uo at the ceiling before you glare at him, “I’m avoiding you? Me?! Robby, you won’t fucking talk to me, not about a trauma! Unless Dana’s there and then you are forced to!”

“I got you what you wanted! A letter that got you to this position! You’ll become an attending in what a few months?”

“What– Robby, do you even hear yourself? You say I’m avoiding you and then give me an excuse as to why you are avoiding me?”

“Listen–”

“No, you listen!” You take a step closer pressing your pointer finger into his sternum and pushing him back a little, “You don’t get to guilt trap me for asking you for the letter. I was your girlfriend for fuck sake, and you are treating me like shit!”

“You wanted the fellowship and you got it–”

“The fucking fellowship wasn’t the only thing I wanted!” You cry out, “Do you wanna know what I actually wanted? To be close to you. To-to feel what it’d be like to be yours for a night because I’ve been so infatuated with you since my intern year!”

“You left the emergency medicine! How was I supposed to know you actually liked me? You promised you’d stay, you promised that this was your thing, and I wanted–”

“Then why didn’t you make me stay?!” You fist his shirt in your hands, and that tempts him to drop his glass carelessly and cup your cheeks, “Why didn’t you say anything?!”

“Because I thought you didn’t like me!” He drops his forehead on yours, his eyes burning into yours, “I wanted to ask you out as soon as you started your second year, but when I heard you got into surgery, I assumed you didn’t like me, that all those months we tiptoed on fucking shredded glass was just a moment of fun for you.”

“You’re so dumb,” you peck his lips once, “You’re so fucking dumb,” you let out a watery chuckle before you press uour lips into his, “How could you even think that I didn’t want you?”

“You’re an enigma, I can’t fucking read you,” he leans down again, kissing you back, silencing your laughter with a few more kisses until the kiss turns more passionate, less breathing, more chaste and open mouthed.

His hands find their place on your hips, slowly backing you up against the ladder on the wall, his lips never leaving yours, not even for a second to breathe. Robby helps you climb the ladder until you find a good spot to sit down and spread your legs for him to make home between them.

“I need you,” you whine against his mouth as you frantically unbutton his shirt and tug it out of his pants, running your hand over the expense of his chest that is bright red and rising and falling rapidly. You look up at him; his lips are swollen, eyes insnaely dark and mouth watering at the sight of you gawking at him.

“I need you, too, Shadow,” he whispers, pushing your dress up until he has enough access to your thong, “Fuck meee, you’re not wearing anything–”

“I’m gonna scream if you don’t do something!”

“I know how to shut you up,” he grabs you by the neck, forcing you to look him in the eyes, “But that’s for another time. I need to fuck you now.”

“Fine by me,” you whimper when he swipes his fingers between your soaked folds and kisses your forehead as he keeps your head locked in place gently by his hand wrapped around your neck, “Please…”

“Okay, okay,” he groans as he keeps you secure on the ladder and lets go of your cunt for now, “Take my cock out then.”

“Bossy bos–eh…” he tightens his fingers, drawing a wantonly moan out of you.

“Now, sweetheart,” Robby tells you, grunting when you paw at his pants, unbuckling his belt and pulling his zipper down, immediately reaching under the fabric to stroke him but he stops you and leans down to bite your jaw, “I told you to take it out, not to do anything else.”

“Alright, alright,” you let out breathlessly, pushing his pants down enough for his dick to be bob free — hot, thick and throbbing against his boxers, “Holy shit, Robby!”

“Don’t–” he whines and drops his head on your shoulder, letting go of your neck to grab his dick, slowly stroking himself while he turns bright red.

“Are you getting shy because I’m surprised you have a giant dick?” You giggle and wrap one arm around his back while the other goes to the ladder, “It shouldn’t be surprising though, you are tall and broad and that nose you’ve got–”

“Don’t. Fucking. Talk.” He pushes your tongue out of his way, biting your skin while he lines up his tip with your winking hole, pushing inside with one smooth thrust, pulling out a gruttal moan out of your throat, “Jesu–h, fuck, you’re so tight.”

You don’t have the words to respond to him, you can’t even find the right letters to make coherent words let alone a sentence. Your head is foggy, every sound is fading away but Robby’s hard breathing next to your ear and the wooden ladder screeching on the floor.

He fucks you. He doesn’t wait for anything, he doesn’t ask if you’ve adjusted or not. The human button in his head is switched off, he is moving like he needs to, like if he stops, you’ll both vanish into thin air. He needs to consume you whole, to hold you as he ruins you for anyone else.

You are not much better. You’re pretty sure if the fabric of his coat wasn’t thick enough you’d be tearing through it and reach the skin of his back with how hard you’re scratching on him.

His groans mix with your moans as he kisses you hard, moving his hips in a pace that has you clinging to him and the ladder for dear life, locking your ankles and pushing on his back to pull him deeper inside you.

Your orgasm crashes over you, pleasure rushing through your veins and body quivering in Robby’s hold. You clench around him when your release slams into your body, gushing around his thick cock like your life depends on it.

“Robby, fuck–”

Your broken moan is enough to send him over the edge. He comes. Hard and deep inside you. He groans your name, wrapping a hand around your thigh to push himself deeper while the other wraps around your back to keep you closer as he shoots ropes of his warm cum in you, painting your insides white.

“Holy fuck,” he grunts one last time, dropping his cheek on your shoulder as he breathes in your perfume, his hand caressing the skin of your thigh gently, “You okay?”

“Yeah, you?” You tangle your fingers through his hair, softly scratching his scalp while you both catch your breath, snorting when he groans and straightens his back. “Maybe this was too adventurous for you, old man.”

“Like I didn’t fuck the life out of you just a minute ago,” he rolls his eyes and pulls his now soft cock out of you, whistling in delight when he watches his cum dribble out of your hole, “See? I still got it.”

“I’m not saying the opposite! I’m saying that maybe we should have sex on a bed, not a fucking ladder that’s about to break,” you chuckle and slowly step down on the floor, nearly falling on your knees if Robby didn’t catch you fast enough, “I can’t walk.”

“This old man’s got you really good, little girl.”

“Why do you have to say something that you know is gonna turn me on again? What the fuck is your problem?” You slap his chest playfully, wrapping your arm around his torso as he helps you look pleasent enough to go back outside.

“Well, I do want you turned on again so I can take you back to my place.”

“You promise?” You stop in front of the door, a teasing smirk on your lips turning into full blown giggles when he leans down to wipe it off with chaste kisses.

“On my life.”

****

“Al-Hashimi? What’s that?”

“Irish?”

“Two smart attendings who can’t figure out a Persian last name,” you stride up to them, making room between them as you look at the board, “Ahhh, men.”

“Ouch!” Shen says, holding a tablet out for you to take, “How was I supposed to know it’s Persian and not Irish? Both have got pretty crazy names and last names.”

“Well, for one, you could ask.” You grab the tablet and look down at the chart in front of you, “Or, I don’t know, educate yourself! That’d be a good one.”

“You look too fresh, are you coming off shift?” Robby asks, one hand brushing against your side to feel your warmth.

“Nope,” you shake your head, “Call Ortho, this is way above my pay grade, Shen,” you send the younger attending off before turning around to look at your boyfriend, “I’m actually starting!”

“Really? Thought you liked nights?” This time, he actually grabs you by the hip and pulls you closer, “What changed?”

“You,” it’s a simple effective answer, but it doesn’t change the fact that Robby’s heartbeat skyrockets as you tell him and rub his chest, “It wasn’t that I liked nights, I was just running away from you,” he pouts a little but you lean up a little to kiss it away, “and the fact that I wanted to spend more time with you so I changed back to days. Now we’ve both got our nights off.”

“Really?” He asks, genuinely confused, “You shouldn’t have changed your schedule because of me–”

“Look, Robby, this isn’t entirely because of you. I also have to study for my boards and I wanna become an attending as well so I need to study–”

“Ambitious,” he kisses you again, pulling back a little to look you in the eye as his hand comes up to stroke your cheek, “But you’re a smart girl, you can achieve everything you dream of.”

“Help me study?” You wrap your arms around his waist, “I promise I’ll be a good student.”

“Jesus, didn’t you two breakup or somethin’?” Dana walks to the central, leaning on the counter to look at you with disbelief, “You need therapy.”

“He is so good at begging I couldn’t say no,” you shrug and bite your lip, sneaking out of his arms to put some distance between the two of you as to not draw more attention, “Besides, who is going to keep him happy all the time? He could bite your head off with how snappy he gets.”

“Go on, talk more shit about your own boyfriend,” he sighs and shakes his head endearingly, looking at the ambulance bay as they bring in a trauma before he glances at you, “Ready for some action?”

“Yes, sir.” You pull out your gloves and jog after him, finally getting to work on a trauma together without any bitterness and sad longing glances.

[yiiiikesmish]

god i love me a fake dating trope but they're seriously in love with each other

[snoopysupe]

nobody’s son | clark kent

pairing: clark kent x receptionist!f!reader.

word count: 2.2k

content: angsty? fluff-ish. this is a jim & pam revival. reader is in a relationship w/ a BUM and clark is in love w/ u. swearing, toxic relationship for a very short time babes. not proofread, i’ll suffer the consequences.

Getting a job as a journalist at Daily Planet, was all you could’ve dreamed for if you were someone like Clark Kent. Raised by honest people, fed values that were the very core of his DNA, Clark adored being grounded amongst humanity, and providing thought-provoking pieces — in his opinion — that would serve as a palate cleanser for those who had a distaste for Superman.

He had succeeded on his columns, interviews with himself that furthered his innocence for those who doubted his intentions, and it allowed Clark to be in the thick of it.

Clark Kent loved his job.

He also loved you.

The receptionist. The first face that he truly saw in the morning when he trudged onto the floor he worked on, the face he sought after during his fifteen minute break, or perhaps during lunch time and all the time in between that.

At one point, Clark had to intervene with himself to stop loitering around the reception area just adjacent from the bullpen that he worked in, so it was less obvious that he had a fat crush on you.

The minor elephant in the room was the fact that you were in fact…not single. Any guy would be lucky to sweep you off your feet, and Clark meant that seriously.

Unfortunately, you were neither swept off your feet, nor treated as if the guy who had snagged you was the luckiest guy in the whole of Metropolis.

His name was Mike. Or, as Clark and Jimmy referred to him: Meathead.

He was the on-call guy for technical difficulties in computers or the TVs hung up on the walls to catch the latest news on politics that stretched far beyond Metropolis, Superman or the Justice League.

Head full of bologna. Could clear a room in thirty seconds flat.

Clark disliked him as a person. It just helped the notion when he watched Mike treat you like you were sidewalk gum on the bottom of his shoe.

And, as patient as Clark was…he was waiting on the day that you broke things off with that guy.

Firstly, as your friend. Secondly, as a man hopelessly devoted to you.

“Good morning, front pager.” Your voice rang through the wandering thoughts in Clark’s mind. You could just be seen over the tall desk that encased you. Hand over the top, you slid a folded Daily Planet newspaper across to Clark as he approached you, the rubber end of your pencil tapping against his name on the page. You added, “You’re a real hit with this guy.”

Clark flushed and slid a styrofoam cup to you with his ID card, “Oh…Just at the right place at the right time.”

“Uh-huh.” You eyed Clark, slotting the plastic card through the machine to clock him in. “You got me a coffee?”

“No sugar. Because—”

“I’m sweet enough.” You interjected, “I said that one time, Clark.”

Clark’s dimple showed, “And, I cannot let you forget it.” He took his ID from your fingers, “Can I take this paper?”

“Be my guest. I’ve already read through your article. Twice. One was out loud to Steve Lombard to get him away from my desk.” You drawled quietly and thumbed over to your least favourite co-worker in the building.

Deducting the part about Steve, Clark felt his body temperature raise, the vein in his neck protruding as the blood began to pump through his veins. You had always been a keen supporter of Clark and his works, and his heart could soar at the sound of your admission that you’d already read it before he even clocked in for work.

A pink tinge across his cheeks, Clark adjusted his glasses, lips pressed together to conceal his boyish grin. He simply waggled the newspaper in his hand and retreated to his desk, before the idea of kissing you within an inch of your life was justifiable.

Jimmy Olsen rolled over to Clark’s desk, his phone lazily propped on one hand, and a mug with a half drunken coffee in the other. He wore a grin that had Clark on edge.

“Morning, bro.” Jimmy peered over Clark’s shoulder at the newspaper, “Front page strikes again. Congrats.”

“Thank you, Jimmy.”

“How’s the progress?” Jimmy jerked his head softly in your direction.

Clark subtly set his sights to the reception area, where you were beaming at Lois Lane who had just arrived. Your laughter carried through like a Siren song, and it reminded Clark Kent that you were the type of face he’d like to wake up to in the morning.

Scratch that.

You were the type of face he was waking up for in the mornings. The best part of his day.

Clark shook his head and responded in a mumble, “I’m working on it, Jimmy.”

Jimmy pulled his lips into a thin line and patted Clark’s back, “Alright, buddy.” He slid back over to his desk, “Just so you know, you’re exempt from being a POS if you make any advances. Meathead doesn’t count as a human to me.”

Clark flicked the newspaper in his hand, a smirk on his face as the chair creaked beneath his weight. A small heart with exclamation points that you had drawn, circled his name on the front page.

Clark Kent: 1. Meathead: TBD.

From that moment onward, up until around noon, Clark’s schedule had been jam packed with meetings, proofreads, an additional HR test taken on his laptop, a coffee break with Jimmy, and another draft on a mundane Tuesday for Superman.

He hadn’t made it back to your desk since the morning, only stealing a couple of fleeting glances in your direction to see you chewing the lid of your pen with concentration whilst working tirelessly on your computer.

By lunch time, Clark had decided he’d bite the bullet and sit in the canteen to try steal some time with you. It was your safe haven away from your desk, most of the time you’d sit in silence — your throat ached from talking to people all day — and Clark, if he had time, would sit in silence with you. Knees knocked under the table, sometimes sharing a crossword; maybe a thumb war if Clark was particularly lucky.

Lois and Jimmy had taken refuge at another table. All offence to Clark, the canteen budget was small, and therefore, his broad shoulders almost spanned the width of the room and halved the space. Those two would prefer some leg room where it mattered.

“I’ll already fess up.” Jimmy waved his fork, “I have Meathead.”

The trio had kicked up a conversation about the latest Secret Santa happening within the office. All names tossed into a hat, everyone who wanted to participate was given a person and a twenty-dollar budget.

Steve and Mike were the two names that everyone prayed they didn’t pull out.

Clark hissed, “Oh, buddy.”

“Tell me why you two call him Meathead, again?” Lois leant back in her chair that squeaked every time she moved. Her eyes narrowed as her interest piqued.

“Head full of bologna.” Clark and Jimmy said in unison.

Lois didn’t respond. Just raised her brows and began to scroll on her phone for something more stimulating than the lunchroom conversation about Mike the Repairman.

She, as your friend and longstanding confidant, wholeheartedly agreed on the Meathead statement. In fact, she wrote in her notes to maintain the upkeep of the nickname to his face.

Jimmy outwardly groaned into his pasta bowl, “Speak of the devil.”

Blue eyes raised, Clark was mid-chew on his sandwich when Mike pushed the door open, letting it swing back and hit you without doing a double-take. You awkwardly pushed the door open again, your brows furrowed as Mike laughed and pointed at you.

Again, Clark would rejoice the day you shook that guy off your leg.

“What’s up, Smallfry.” Mike smacked Clark’s broad shoulder as he passed. You quietly reminded your boyfriend that Clark’s nickname was Smallville, only for Mike to swat that correction away. “Smallville, Smallfry. Both got small in the name.”

No one engaged as much as Mike was looking for a minor confrontation. He thrived on it, pushing buttons and seeing a reaction burst in his face. The guy always had a whole lot of something to say, and a whole bunch of mindless arguments tucked into the forefront of his brain.

You both sat at the table directly across from Clark, adjacent to Jimmy and Lois’ table too.

The air considerably thickened with palpable tension, Clark did his upmost to act accordingly by investing in the crumbs of his sandwich to avoid the heartache of watching the way you shuffled closer to Mike as he chewed his way through a conversation with minimal interest in what you had to say. Or, the moment you’d brush lint from Mike’s shoulder, a hint of a smile on your face.

His basic, homemade sandwich became as interesting as the Mona Lisa.

The TV in the corner aided some relief to distract Clark, only for his own face to be plastered across the news as they recalled his valiant efforts with the Justice League to help maintain peace within the Metropolis streets.

Mike scoffed with a mouth full of chewed up food, “That Superman guy is a dunce.”

Clark went a little white-knuckled.

“He’s not a dunce.” You feigned amusement.

“Oh yeah? How? Cause you think he’s handsome?” Mike waved his baguette at you, sounding a little wounded amongst his accusation.

You side-eyed your friends, “Just because I think he’s handsome, doesn’t detract that I think he’s a good person.”

From opposite to you, Clark had already began to eavesdrop in an obvious way. Posture straightened, he pushed at the frame of his glasses as he watched you.

Handsome. You thought — unbeknownst to you — that he was handsome. It took an immense amount of willpower to keep his glasses on.

You caught Clark’s eye momentarily, a look of ‘this is going to end badly’ and he offered a sympathetic smile in return.

As predicted. Mike took your compliment to the Metahuman rather loudly, and poorly. “You heard it here, guys. Whoever has got this one for Secret Santa, make sure it’s Superman themed.” Mike chuckled obnoxiously to himself.

The room fell silent.

You whispered, “Please don’t—”

“—Big crush on that guy, apparently.” Mike stuffed some of his sandwich into his mouth, missing the way you stiffened from his obtuse behaviour.

Clark’s line of vision went to you. Fork stabbed at the bland salad in your Tupperware, you looked mortified over Mike’s decision to air out a conversation that would undoubtedly lead to a fight later on. It was clear that it struck a nerve with him and he was openly humiliating you in front of your co-workers to prove a point, no one was aware of.

It made the insides of Clark twist with guilt.

There was a sentence forming on Clark’s tongue. He avoided the minor ego boost that it had given him to hear that you had taken a shine to Superman, and formulated a response to bite Mike’s tongue off to prevent further juvenile humour at your expense.

You sensed him staring. Clark was a good person with good morals, and he always attempted to do the right thing by everyone. There wasn’t a shadow of doubt that Clark was planning to jump to your defence amongst the slew of disguised insults your boyfriend was throwing your way.

You just didn’t feel like a fight later on. Clark was already a sore topic.

Eyes pinned on Clark, widened enough that he clocked you, you gave a subtle shake of the head as you mouthed ‘please don’t’ in his direction.

Clark hesitated.

“Fuckin’ stupid.” Mike brushed his greased hands onto his trousers and stood, “Guess I’ll see you at home.”

You didn’t bother to chase him. The screeching of the metal legs of the chair made the remaining four of you wince as Mike kicked the door to the canteen area open with his boot; cursing under his breath over Superman.

“I know he’s your boyfriend,” Lois started, “But he is such an asshole.”

You cringed, “He’s not that bad all the time. He just gets mad when I say Superman is handsome.” You waved off the comment with a roll of your eyes.

Clark coughed on the food that became lodged in his throat from the deep inhale he had taken. His eyes watered as he spoke, “Oh—Golly—So, you do…find him handsome?

“I have eyes.” You retorted.

“Right.” Clark cleared his throat once more, nervously scratching at the back of his ear as he chewed on that thought for a moment. “Handsome.”

“I’d sit and talk all day about his bone structure—” You packed up your Tupperware as you spoke in a teasing manner, “But, my break ended when Mike soured my lunch with his fragility.”

Being your friend also meant that Clark could pick up on the heightened defence you had put up in the form of sarcasm. Your feelings were hurt. It would take a lot for you to admit that though.

You left without another word.

Clark returned to his meagre sandwich, an immediate flick of a lightbulb moment in his mind.

He had just thought of the perfect Secret Santa gift for you.

[yiiiikesmish]

i mean this in the meanest way possible - meathead is a DICK oh my GOD SHUT UP. GURL PLEASE SAVE YOURSELF. i really truly hope you write more abt this story bc i NEED to see clark and his receptionist get together like omg

[thatcorporategirlie]

sometimes...

18+ account - minors do not interact

jack abbot x f!reader Rating: E

Fic Summary: sometimes…you meet a handsome doctor during an unexpected airport delay while travelling over the holidays.

Masterlist (Mini-Series)

Part 1 - Sometimes… One Day is Enough

Part 2 - Sometimes…The Distance Wins

Part 3 - TBD

Extras

TBD

dividers by @saradika-graphics

This picture was bound to be used for something... he looks so yum. My god I need him inside of me. I found this on @science-hoes profile, so I don't know where the picture is from!

[yiiiikesmish]

oh my god this is INCREDIBLE. started tearing up at the end of part 2 and unbelievably excited to read part 3 when it drops xx

[starryluvr]

god we're all such pervs. the pitt was made for the purpose of having an accurate medical drama without all the unrealistic sex and stuff and all of us HOUNDS are thirsting over filthy old men. not complaining tho. would definitely climb those men like trees and gnaw on their muscles like a dog and suck their dicks until they pass out.