guilty as sin

minors dni!!! minors and ageless blogs will be blocked this is a fic rec blog she/her 22

[kassy-djomunson]

[merrrpppp]

I would like one large order of intimacy and affection pls. With fries.

[snoopysupe]

⭑.ᐟ Expectations (Day Two): Honeybee ── Brendon ‘The Shark’ Park

summary: you take park to the farmers market for day two of your ‘to do list’ (wc: 1.4k)

pairing: brendon park / f!reader

content: corny fluff. grumpy x sunshine duo. mutual crushing. park is down BAD. you guys are touchy feely in this. it’s just pure cheese. reader likes pink.

Park hadn’t ever taken time out of his elaborate schedule of reparations to the musculoskeletal system on the poor souls of Pittsburgh, to frolic between pop-up gazebos that had local grown produce and craft beer coming out of its ears. 

His downtime was, to be quite frank, still work. Park would allocate his free time to observing online lectures, assessments, case studies and then doing it all in reverse. If he wasn’t elbow-deep in work related things, he was taking a shot of dry protein powder and spending the rest of the sunlight hours lifting heavy weights in the gym—anything to prevent his brain from switching off. 

When he had read the note you inputted in his calendar app for the closest Saturday either of you had away from the doors of the PTMC, he turned his extensive research skills toward studying the ins and outs of a regular Farmers Market. 

The Bloomfield Saturday Market on Liberty Street. To be exact. 

Now, Park was well aware that he wasn’t just emptying out some short-term knowledge on bones and ligaments to replace it for Farmers Market wisdom; for his own personal interest. No, that was far from the category of Brendon Park’s interests. It was solely because you had expressed a keen interest in keeping the local community alive. 

It almost meant that Park was quick to catch on that he was satisfied with the idea of doing, well, anything for someone like you. (This including the Pilates class that had him limping around the Orthopaedics floor for a few days.) 

You met him at the entrance to the lot that the market was being held in on Liberty Street, in an outfit that conjured up a subtle expression out of Park in the form of a harsh gulp that made his adam’s apple bob. 

Park slow blinks at you, like some docile cat. “I could have picked you up,” he says as you approach him with a windswept look from the walk, “If I had your number. Which, I still don’t.” 

“Hello to you too, Shark.” you retort sarcastically, “Plus, what would lesson be learnt if I just handed my digits over?” 

“You spend ten hours on your feet at work, and you still prefer to walk to Liberty Street?” Park asks lowly, glazing over your jab, and walks at your leisurely pace. 

You chuckle lightly, “I don’t need you to take me for a ride, Sharky.” you spare him a glance, “I’m rather independent in that aspect of my life.” 

(He didn’t doubt that. Innuendo insinuated or not.) 

The two of you walk into the lot of the Farmers Market that had already begun a handful of hours earlier, where you give a handful of facts about the Bloomfield Market in its entirety, and Park listens intently—the softness he spares for you never extending past you to the smiley attendees on the friendlier side of the spectrum. 

Even with the stark contrast, between the PTMC, where Park felt the weight of being a renowned Ortho surgeon fall upon the expanse of his broad shoulders and the Farmers Market that replaced the high-paced clinical environment for a slow-tempo, sensory enriched stroll; it was you at the core of it all, that had Park’s whole, undivided attention. 

You spoke for the both of you, which Park liked, even if he was willing to dust off the conversational skills to engage with you. Hands waving with little regard to spacial awareness, you brought a newfound radiance to the already good-weathered day as you peered at each stall in passing. 

“Did you want something in particular?” Park asks when you pause at a stall that advertised their heirloom vegetables. 

“Actually, yes.” you smile politely at the owner of the stall, “I want to get some honey.” 

“Honey?” Park repeats as he scans the visible stalls for any sign of golden coloured mason jars. 

You straighten up with a glint in your eye, “It’s a little soon to be handing out terms of endearment, Sharky.” you painfully tease, “You don’t even know my favourite colour.” 

“It’s pink.” (The pink water bottle and pink crocs at work made that obvious.) 

“Cheat.” you respond.

Park lets a short breath of a laugh escape past his—usually—tight-lipped expression. That was also part of you that Brendon Park had grown fond of over the initial months of giving you the time of day, was the fact that you were so easy to disarm that exterior made up of concrete and bad moods.

You flash a bright smile at the sound of his low chuckle, your insides fluttering. Without much thought, you smooth the palm of your hand around his veiny forearm and curl your fingers around until you’ve latched onto him. 

Park doesn’t even flinch. His head still on a swivel to locate a honey stall, he gives a small tug to bring you closer to his side as you weave through the oncoming foot traffic. 

(So, physical touch was not off the menu!) 

Eventually, you find the stall of beekeepers selling honey that you had in mind set on—you even let Park take the victory of locating it, just to stroke his attentive ego. The stall is half empty due to popular demand of the variety of unprocessed comb honey, soft set or even honey mustard. 

As you greet the vendors, Park smooths a hand across the small of your back and bends to mumble in your ear that he will be back momentarily; his sights set far off in the distance. Which is great, you think, with Brendon Park’s reputation of being a razor-sharp toothed workaholic, taking an interest in a stall within a social event that was far from where anyone within the PTMC would plant him…it made your heart swell that something captures his interest. 

He returns a couple of minutes later as you’re wrapping up the process of buying some honey from the beekeeper passionate about his trade. Park stops your purse from leaving your tote bag, “I’ve got it.” 

“Don’t be silly.” you wave him off, which earns you a deadpan glare. “Alright, fine. Pay for my honey.” 

Park does exactly that, because that was part of intentions even coming on this recreational event with you. Amidst the fun of the fully booked calendar app, and the Cat and Mouse game you were enforcing in order for Park to syringe out your phone number; he was still in the mindset to impress you at any given moment. 

Brendon Park wanted you. Bad. 

A couple of inexpensive—to him, anyway—pots of honey was no skin off his nose, and he could see from his peripheral that you were smiling.

That was what it was all about. That fucking smile. 

“Thank you for that,” you turn to Park after taking the bag of honey from the vendor. “Did you find something to buy?” 

Park nods, “Yeah. Here—” he moves the arm that had been concealing a bouquet of vibrant flowers wrapped in brown paper. He gets a little nervous, which is a rarity. “—The lady helped me pick them. She said they’re zinnias, snapdragons and celosias, if you like any of them. All of them are in season right now. Colourful.” he adds at the end to tie up his flower fact-induced word vomit.

(Oh, boy. He was seriously exceeding all expectations.)  

You blink at the pink and orange bouquet, “You picked them?” your voice wavers with endearment. 

“Of course.” Park says as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. 

Part of you almost kisses his face silly in the middle of the Bloomfield Market. You go for the latter of pressing a kiss to his cheek—which you’re almost convinced Park moved a couple of inches so it captured the corner of his lips instead. Taking the bouquet from Park, you admire the flowers up close as he guides you towards more stalls with his hand planted against your back again.

For safety purposes, incase you lose each other. Not for the personal benefit of just…being able to touch you. Obviously. 

You let out a gasp, “Oh shit!” 

“What?” Park’s head snaps down to look at you. 

“There’s a honeybee in my flowers!” you point to it excitedly with your finger, as it collects pollen. “You know they’re a sign of good fortune?”

Park hums, “That would be correct.” he draws circles in your back with his thumb as he speaks, “I’m feeling pretty fortunate right now.”

[livelovelaugh-777]

[imagines-all-day-everyday]

seeing double

summary: when your ex-boyfriend makes a surprise visit to ptmc, your boyfriend and the rest of your co-workers realise you might have a type…

pairing: jack abbot x fem!reader & ex bf!mark sloan x fem!reader

warnings/tags: established relationship, implied age gap between abbot & reader and mark & reader, flirting, fluff, swearing, mark don’t give a fuck that the reader is in a relationship, but reader is respectful of boundaries, defs a bit of jealous and insecure Jack if you squint

notes: hot hot hot hot hot give them both to me now thanks!! also massive shoutout to the anon that requested this 🙂‍↕️

likes, reblogs, comments are very much appreciated!

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masterlist

“Ew.”

The word left you before you could stop it as you sunk your teeth into a granola bar.

You grimaced as you turned over the wrapper, examining it like it might explain why you felt like you were currently eating a stick of glue.

“Are these expired?” You asked through the mouthful.

McKay barely glanced up from where she had half her body buried in the fridge, rummaging past several abandoned containers and a suspiciously wet paper bag.

“Nope, they’re just a by product of the drywall factory down the road.” She answered.

You stared at the bar for another second, trying to muster up enough willpower to finish it given you hadn’t eaten lunch.

After abandoning that mission in under 10 seconds, you leant over the bin and spat out the mouthful with as much decorum as you could before unceremoniously dumping the rest of the bar after it.

“Those things aren’t that bad.” Whitaker mused as he wandered into the breakroom with Santos hot on his heels.

“That’s because you were raised on hay.” Santos remarked dryly.

“They’re raspberry flavoured.”

“That’s not helping you Huckleberry.”

You huffed a laugh as the two of them started bickering just as your phone buzzed in your pocket. You leant against the wall, only half listening as you pulled it out of your scrubs and saw a notification from Jack.

He must have just woken up from his pre-shift nap. The corner of your mouth lifted as you read his reply.

You: Are you coming in early today?

JA ❤️: Always.

You quickly typed out another message.

You: any chance u could bring in a protein bar for me? the ones at work are inedible

The reply came almost instantly.

JA ❤️: I know. I’ve told Robby they are a serious health hazard.

You smiled at that as you watched the three dots blink back at you.

JA ❤️: I’ll be in soon. I already have some in my bag for you.

You: are you psychic?

JA ❤️: Just good at pattern recognition.

Your smile widened as his reply came through.

You: thank u 🩷

JA ❤️: 👍

“What are you smiling at?”

You looked up to find McKay watching you over the fridge door.

“What?”

“That.” She pointed vaguely at your face. “Whatever that was.”

“Nothing.”

Santos and Whitaker paused their arguing to focus on you.

Santos studied you, her face contorting into a grimace. “Gross.”

“What?”

“I just can’t get over the fact that Abott reduces you to…” She trailed off, waving vaguely at you.

“That?” Whitaker supplied.

“Yeah.” Santos nodded gravely. “That.”

You rolled your eyes, sliding your phone back into your scrub pocket.

“I think the two of you are starting to fuse into one brain cell.”

Santos’ expression went still. “….that was genuinely hurtful.”

You turned to Whitaker. “There’s your new button to press.”

Whitaker’s grin widened as he crossed his arms over his chest and turned to Santos. “Oh I cannot wait to bring this up multiple times a day.”

Santos glared at you. "You're a traitor."

You pushed off the wall, shaking your head as you made your way towards the door.

“Never give your triggers away Santos.”

“You’re still a traitor!” She called out.

You waved her off without looking back, escaping before she could start another argument.

You barely made it two steps before nearly colliding with Samira.

“Oh sorry.” She came to an abrupt halt, the usual frazzled expression etched onto her features as she looked up at you.

“You all good?”

“Yeah um- have you seen Joy?”

“Not for a little while.”

“No worries, if you see her can you tell her I need her in Room 3?”

“Sure.” You nodded, tilting your head slightly as you studied her. “Are you sure you’re ok?”

“Yeah fine.” She brushed you off as she tucked a loose curl behind her ear. “Haven’t had lunch so I’m a bit cranky.”

You nodded in understanding. “Word of warning, don’t eat the protein bars.”

Samira’s nose wrinkled as she stepped around you. “Why on earth would I do that?”

You threw your arms up dramatically. “Am I the only one who didn’t know they were inedible?”

“Apparently so.”

You huffed, pulling your hair out from under your collar as you made your way over to the status board which was currently glowing above the chaos that was the ED like a cruel little scoreboard.

Your hands settled on your stethoscope as you scanned the board. Less than an hour till your shift was over, at least officially. Which given your track record of overtime, meant close to nothing.

“Hey.”

You glanced over to see Perlah leaning against one of the desks.

“What?” You asked warily.

Her smirk widened. “Have you seen the hot visitor?”

“The what?”

Princess appeared beside her, equally delighted.

“Absolute smoke show.”

Princess nodded towards the far end of the station. “Follow the sounds of Joy giggling.”

Your brows knitted together.

“Joy? As in our intern, Joy? As in the complete antithesis of her name, Joy?” You queried.

“See for yourself.” Perlah grinned.

You followed their line of sight to the other end of the nurses station where a tall figure stood, leaning an arm on one of the benches.

At first, all you saw was the back of a leather jacket, familiar in a way that made your stomach drop before your brain had fully caught up. The man shifted slightly, turning just enough for a familiar profile to come into view. The same hair coifed to perfection, the same self-satisfied slant of his mouth.

And sure enough standing beside him, blushing furiously as she giggled, actually giggled, at whatever he had just said, was Joy.

“I didn’t even know she was capable of laughter.” Princess remarked.

You closed your eyes for one brief, pained second. “You have got to be kidding me.” You grumbled.

Before either Princess or Perlah could ask what was wrong, you were already moving, making a beeline towards them.

Princess and Perlah exchanged a look behind your back. “What just happened?” Princess asked in Tagalog.

“I don’t know." Perlah muttered. "But I think it’s going to be good.”

By the time you were close enough to hear the familiar deep drawl of his voice, Mark Sloan had inched in just enough to make Joy look like she might pass out.

“So, is that the only piercing you have or...?”

You rolled your eyes.

“Still shamelessly hitting on interns I see.”

Mark turned at the sound of your voice. For half a second, there was nothing but surprise. And then his eyes lit up in recognition.

“Well I’ll be.”

That familiar grin spread slowly across his face as his eyes travelled down your body with the same shameless appreciation he’d had years ago, like he was undressing you from memory.

“Cupid.” He said the nickname lowly, like he’d never stopped saying it. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

You shot him a fake smile. “Wish I could say the same.”

Joy looked between the two of you, blinking rapidly, as if she was trying to decipher a complex math problem. You turned your attention to her, offering her a polite smile.

“Dr Mohan's looking for you, something to do with your patient in room 3.”

“Oh right.” Joy nodded, adjusting her glasses as she glanced at Mark. “On it.”

“Bye Joy.” Mark called out lazily, watching her blush as she scurried away, nearly walking into a wall in the process.

He turned to you, looking pleased with himself as he leant forward. “Why do you always have to ruin my fun?” He pouted once she was out of earshot.

"Someone has to."

Meanwhile, McKay, Whitaker and Santos had exited the breakroom, not even bothering to conceal their ogling as they clustered around a monitor.

“Ok who on earth is that?” Santos queried.

"And why does he look like he just walked off a photoshoot?" McKay muttered.

“And how do they know eachother?” Whitaker added.

“He called her Cupid.” Joy casually commented as she walked past them.

Whitaker’s brow furrowed. "....Cupid?"

Santos froze. The faint amusement dropped away, replaced by the sharp, dawning horror of someone remembering a detail they were never supposed to need.

“Oh my god.”

“What?” McKay and Whitaker asked simultaneously.

"Do you guys remember that time at karaoke?"

"....the one where she sang No Scrubs at Abbot?"

"No. The one when she accidentally admitted she had an ex at Seattle Grace that used to call her Cupid."

McKay and Whitaker both slowly turned to stare at Mark, then at you, then back at Mark.

"No." McKay shook her head.

"Yes."

“You don’t seriously think….” Whitaker trailed off.

“Oh I do” Santos nodded. “I really do.”

Back at the nurses’ station, you folded your arms, ignoring Mark's attempts at getting under your skin.

“What are you doing here?”

“Oh some conference.” He waived his hand dismissively. “Thought I’d take the opportunity to come see Robinavitch.”

You blinked. “You know Dr Robby.” You said slowly.

“Since med school.” He answered smoothly. “Why? Hoping I was here to see you?”

You snorted. “Please.”

“Oh c’mon Cupid don’t act like you don’t miss me.” He smirked as he stepped closer. “You wouldn’t have moved across the other side of the country to forget about me if you didn’t.”

You leant in slightly, shooting him a dry smile. “I wouldn’t touch you again even if my life depended on it Sloan.”

He let out a genuine chuckle. “I’ve missed this.” He gestured between the two of you. “Us."

He placed his chin in the palm of his hand, leaning even closer. "Why did it ever end?”

You pretended to think for a moment. "Maybe because you’re physiologically incapable of staying monogamous?”

“Oh yeah right that.” He nodded. “Speaking of monogamous..."

"No."

"... I’ve heard you’ve got a new boy toy right here at PTMC.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Jesus Christ Meredith needs to learn to keep her mouth shut.”

“Well in her defence she told Derek who then told me so….” Mark trailed off, turning his body around to survey the room. “Which one is he?”

"I'm not playing this game." You answered, folding your arms over your chest.

“Wait let me guess.”

Before you could stop him, Mark placed both hands on your shoulders and gently turned you so you were both facing the floor of the pitt.

His eyes landed on Frank first. “Too pretty boy.”

He guided your shoulders slightly towards Whitaker. “Too scrawny.”

From across the room, Whitaker stiffened. “…Why is he looking at me?”

Santos didn’t look away. “Don’t wave.” She murmured.

“I wasn’t going to.”

“You were thinking about it.”

Then the ambulance bay doors opened. Jack walked in with a thermos in one hand, his bicep bulging as he shifted the backpack slung over his other shoulder on full display under his dark fitted shirt.

Your stomach dropped as his eyes scanned the room, no doubt looking for you. It didn't take long for his eyes to find yours. You watched as they shifted to Mark, then dropped to Mark's hands resting on your shoulders.

For a moment, his expression barely changed, only the faintest tightening around his jaw gave him away. Then he kept walking.

Mark smiled slowly. “….bingo.”

Your body stiffened as Mark glanced sideways at you.

“I’m right."

You didn't answer.

"I am."

“I’m not talking about my love life with you of all people.”

“Cupid, don’t be like that.” He nudged your shoulder. "Come on, what’s he like?”

“Well for starters, he volunteers as a medic for the SWAT team.” You said sweetly. “So he’s got at least one gun on him at all times.”

Mark nodded slowly, dropping his hands from your shoulders. "Noted."

"He also has excellent aim."

"Message received." Mark held his hands up. "I'll behave."

And then, for the first time since he had appeared, the teasing faded.

"But seriously..." His face softened slightly as his eyes settled on your face properly, no longer performing for the room.

“You’re happy?”

You exhaled slowly, your defences lowering slightly by the unexpected tone of his voice.

“I am.”

“He good to you?"

You smiled softly despite yourself. “He is.”

Something flickered across Mark’s face then, softening the usual sharp lines of his smirk, scarily close to being something sincere. “Good.”

For a moment, the years between you settled there. It didn’t feel painful or bitter or even sad. In fact, it seemed absurd to think that you'd cried over him once upon a time. Now he was just a story you told after one too many drinks, something you reflected on and shook your head, chalking it up to the foolishness of youth.

You cleared your throat, looking away first. “How’s work?”

“Busy, chaotic, dramatic.” Mark shrugged.

"So the usual then?"

“The usual.”

He glanced around the emergency department, frowing slightly as he took in the noise, the movement, the organised disaster of it all. “How’s the ED?”

“Busy, chaotic.” You echoed. “Somehow still much less dramatic than Seattle Grace."

Mark barked out a laugh. “Yeah that checks out.”

“Sloan.”

The two of you turned to see Robby making his way towards you, Jack beside him.

Mark's grin returned instantly.

“Robinavitch.” He broke away from you and pulled Robby into a hug with the force of someone who had never respected personal space in his life.

"A lot less hair since I last saw you."

Robby snorted, clapping him on the back. "The Pitt will do that to you.”

Jack caught your eye over Robby’s shoulder, his expression running a fine line between faint amusement and annoyance.

Robby stepped back, shaking his head before gesturing to Jack.

“This is Jack Abbot, night attending.”

“Nice to meet you. Mark Sloan.” Mark stuck his hand out. “Head of Plastic Surgery at Seattle Grace.”

“Plastic surgery?” Jack's brow lifted slightly as he shook Mark’s hand. “Explains the soft hands.”

Mark laughed loudly enough that several people looked over.

“Oh my god.” Whitaker mumbled as he watched Jack and Mark shake hands. “It’s like I’m seeing double.”

Santos shook her head. “She’s got some serious issues.”

McKay folded her arms over her chest as she studied the two men. “Or just good taste.”

“I second the good taste thing.” Princess murmured as she appeared beside McKay.

Perlah took a sip of her drink and nodded. “I third that.”

The handshake lasted just a fraction longer than necessary as Mark glanced over at you. “I get it."

Robby’s eyes narrowed as he gestured between you and Mark.

“You two know eachother?”

“I was an intern at Seattle Grace." You supplied quickly.

“Oh yes, Cupid and I go wayyy back.” Mark smirked.

Robby's confusion only deepened. “Cupid…?”

You shot Mark a warning glare, which he very intentionally ignored.

“Yeah Cupid.” He answered smoothly. “'cause you know she’s got these little angel wings tattooed right above her-“

“Okayyy you know what.” Robby clapped his hands letting out a bark of awkward laughter. “I think a hospital tour sounds like a great idea right about now."

Mark's eyes gleamed as he shoved his hands into his pockets. "I was going to say shoulder blade."

“You are going to walk with me." Robby said, already steering him away, “And tell me absolutely none of the rest of that story.”

Mark let himself be guided down the hall, still grinning smugly as he glanced back over his shoulder at you and winked, making you roll your eyes once more.

You dragged your eyes away from him to look at Jack who was yet to move. He watched Mark disappear down the corridor, then looked back at you.

He slowly stepped forward, eyes scanning your figure as he placed his hands casually behind his back.

"Ex?"

You sighed. "...Ex."

Jack nodded curtly. “Got it.”

“Abbot.” You looked over to see Dana studying both of you. “Dr King needs an attending in Room 8.”

Jack's eyes never left you. You watched him intently, waiting to see if he would say anything further. Instead he simply reached into his pocket and produced a protein bar.

You swallowed as he slid it into the front pocket of your scrub top, his fingers lightly against your side subtly.

“Eat.” Was all he said, unable to hide the affection in his voice.

Your throat tightened around a smile as you nodded. He held your gaze for one more second, then turned and headed in the direction of Room 8.

You watched him go, your hand subconsciously brushing over the side that he’d just touched.

When you looked back, Dana was still standing there, one hand on her hip as she watched you over her glasses with an expression far too knowing for your liking.

“Don’t you dare say a word.”

She raised her hands up in mock surrender. “Wasn’t gonna.”

You huffed as you turned, suddenly desperate to busy yourself in order to keep your mind off the cluster fuck that was your two worlds colliding.

For the next twenty minutes, you threw yourself back into work. Every few minutes though, your gaze betrayed you, either drifting towards the corridor where Robby had taken Mark or towards Room 8, where Jack had disappeared. The protein bar sat heavily in your pocket, your appetite now completely non-existent.

By the time you ended up at a computer to finish off your charting, your shift was close enough to ending that you had started to believe you might actually survive it.

“Oh damn, the patient in room 7 died.”

You glanced up to see Whitaker staring at a chart from the workstation beside you.

“The old lady with the chest pain?”

“Yeah.” Whitaker sighed.

You frowned. "That sucks."

“She had a husband right?” Santos chimed in from across from you, not bothering to look up from her own computer.

“Yeah she did, married nearly fifty years."

Without missing a beat, Santos glanced up at you. “Abbot better watch out.”

Your eyes narrowed.

"Nice. Very respectful." Whitaker shook his head, although you could see he was trying not to laugh.

"What?" Santos shrugged. "Our girl clearly has a type."

"Silver foxes?" McKay suggested as she walked past grinning like a cheshire cat.

"I hate all of you."

Whitaker looked over at you like he was genuinely offended. "What did I do?!"

Across the hallway, Jack had just emerged from Room 8. Your eyes met his. He didn’t react beyond the faintest lift of one eyebrow, but you could tell he'd heard every word.

You tipped your head slightly towards the supply closet. Jack looked at you for half a beat, then gave the smallest nod.

You waited a couple minutes before moving.

The supply closet was narrow, overstocked, and smelled faintly of antiseptic and cardboard. You shut the door behind you and leaned against a shelf, exhaling slowly for what felt like the first time in an hour.

A few minutes later, the handle turned. Jack stepped inside and closed the door quietly behind him. He leaned back against the opposite shelf, folding his arms loosely across his chest as the two of you studied eachother.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“So… that’s your ex.”

“That’s my ex.”

He nodded. "You left out a few details."

"Such as?"

His gaze dropped briefly, then returned to your face.

“Well first of all I wasn’t expecting Mark Sloan.”

Your brows lifted in surprise. “You know who he is?”

“I’ve heard of him.”

“Of course you have.” You paused for a moment before your voice dropped slightly, unable to hide the insecurity in your tone. "Do you think less of me because I dated someone like him?"

Jack's brows knitted together. "Absolutely not." He said immediately. "It's just that I wasn't expecting your ex to be..."

Your brow furrowed. “Be what?”

“…old.” Was what Jack settled on.

You let out a disbelieving laugh. “He’s not old, he’s like your age.”

“Exactly.” Jack nodded. “I'm practically from the stone age compared to you.”

“You’re not.” You insisted.

Jack’s mouth twitched, but the smile didn’t quite hold as he looked down at the floor.

You studied him for a moment, admiring the lines etched deep into his face that you’d had memorised for as long as you’d known him. “Does it bother you that he’s older?”

“No it doesn’t bother me it’s just...” He sighed. “I thought I was the exception.” He confessed.

Your face softened instantly as you pushed off the wall and took a step towards him.

"Jack."

"I know it’s irrational.” He said, giving a small, self-deprecating shrug. “I just thought I was the first older doctor you’d made questionable life choices over.”

You huffed a small laugh as you closed the gap between the two of you, reaching up to cradle his jaw.

“Hey.” You said gently, guiding his eyes up to meet yours.

“When I met Mark I was young and overwhelmed and had just moved to a new city and he was…” You trailed off, glancing at the door like Mark might somehow materialise on cue.

“…well you’ve seen what he’s like.”

You brushed a thumb over his stubble that lined his jaw. “It barely even qualified as a relationship. And then it ended and we worked together for months. And then I moved.”

Jack leant into your touch slightly, his eyes never leaving your face as you spoke, attentive in the way that always made your heart ache a little.

“And then on my first day here I met a grumpy doctor up on the roof while I was mid meltdown.”

His brows drew together in feigned disbelief. “I don’t think he was grumpy.”

“He told me if I was thinking of jumping I shouldn’t because it’d be a shame to ruin a face like mine.”

The frown that had a hold on his face loosened just a fraction. “Why on earth would he think that line would work.”

“In his defence, I think he was a little out of practice.”

His hands settled at your waist, warm and steady through the thin fabric of your scrubs. “Or his brain short circuited when he saw you.”

Your smile widened as you slid your arms around the back of his neck, entwining your fingers absentmindedly around the silver curls at the nape of his neck.

“Well, lucky for him it worked.”

The reluctant smile finally reached his eyes. “Very lucky.” He corrected.

He glanced down, playing with the tie of your scrub pants.

“I just can’t believe you dated a plastic surgeon.”

You snorted softly. “Is that seriously what’s bothering you the most?”

“Yes.” He answered plainly.

You shook your head, a wry smile on your lips. “Not the stupid nickname?”

Jack glanced down at you, his grip on your hips tightening ever so slightly.

“If he calls you that again I may have no choice but to punch him.” He conceded casually as he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

His head tilted slightly as he studied you for a moment. “But at least he can fix his own nose up after.”

You let out a laugh, running a hand over his chest. “Don’t worry.” You soothed. “I already told him you volunteer with the SWAT team.”

Jack smirked down at you proudly. “Atta girl.”

Then he leant down and finally pressed his lips to yours in a slow, reverent kiss. When he pulled back, his eyes narrowed immediately.

“Did you eat?”

You winced slightly. “Not yet.” You patted the pocket that contained the protein bar. “I’ll eat this and then go.”

Jack frowned, clearly unsatisfied with your solution. “Go home and eat something more substantial.”

“I will.”

“There’s pasta in the fridge for you, all you have to do is chuck it in the microwave.”

Your interest piqued immediately. “The pesto one I love?”

“Of course.”

You grinned, pressing your forehead against his. “You’re very good to me Dr Abbot.”

His smile softened into something private, something reserved just for you. “Anything for my girl.”

You kissed him again, deeper this time, enjoying the feeling of his warmth seeping into you.

“Alright.” He muttered reluctantly against your lips as he pulled away. “Get going before I end up locking you in here.”

You smirked. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

He shot you a warning glare with absolutely no bite to it.

You huffed dramatically, “alright alright.”

You reached for the door, then paused, glancing back at him.

“And for the record, if you’re worried about feeling old…”

Jack raised a brow.

“You should meet my other ex, he checked into the nursing home down the road last week.”

“Very funny.” He muttered, trying but failing to look unamused.

“I know I am.”

“Go.” He urged as he tapped your backside affectionately.

You raised your hands in mock defeat, slipping back into the pitt without another word.

Jack shook his head as the door shut softly behind you, a lovesick smile spreading across his face.

As always always always, feedback is always appreciated because I thrive off praise. Please give it back here and consider tipping me! 🤍

[bluetimeombre]

“Eat it for dinner!”

synopsisDr J makes the hospital famous with her tiktoks and, especially robby and jack. robby has something to say about what everyone thinks of him. (4.8k words)

warningsheavy smut. MDNI. This is all about this man eating pussy. oral (f receiving) slight fingering, robby's got something to prove, face sitting, come eating? if you squint, language, slight jealous robby

authornotes this is completely based of that meme i saw that i'll put below because i know what its trying to say but as a Robby girl I've got to defend my man (jack abbott though can also get it anyday) i dont know if i'm proud of this, i just have so many ideas that they all clump up and come out as barf but i hope you like (gif credits to @timothyolyphant :)

Robby went to you first because he didn’t understand what it meant and if he were to go to any of the younger residents or students they’d make fun of him. He didn't know what he had been staring at but he knew his residents.

You might tease him to but your teasing he could take, and if he really felt like it, make you regret in his bed later. After all he all but signed up for it when you started dating six months ago.

Guy who berates you for not making dinner, vs guy who eats it for dinner? Robby didn’t get it- at least he hoped he didn’t.

“Hey,” he said, sliding up next to you.

You didn’t bat a lash. “Hey yourself.”

“I need your opinion.”

You were still distracted on your charting, even as you said: “Yes, Robby, green does bring out your eyes.”

“What? No,” he said with a frown. He caged your body in, leaning is arm over you at the counter. “You're young.”

“That's why you like me, right?”

Robby hummed. He looked over you, making a mental list of all the reasons he loved you. “Yeah, sure, one of the reasons, so what do you think this means?”

He handed his phone over to you and finally you looked away from the charting to consider it. He watched as you read the text and saw the grainy pictures, one of him and another of Abbott, screenshots of them in backgrounds.. You didn't have to slide on any glasses or pull the phone away from you to see clearly.

Slowly, a grin broke out.

“Oh,” you chuckled.

Robby wasn't laughing and when you looked at him you realised that.

“It's nothing, it's just some meme,” you said, handing him back the phone.

Javadi had been gaining more attraction with her TikTok. She gave health advice with the background of the Pitt as her scene. It wasn't her fault- not really- if followers caught wind of the drama, friendships and hot men that worked there.

Her loyal followers had already deemed Santos as 'a hard exterior but caring soul', Whitaker with a 'heart of gold', and you 'the eldest daughter type.'

And they labelled attendings Robby and Abbott as DILFS.

Apparently they'd already explored how the two doctors would be in the bedroom.

“Okay,” he said, slowly sinking down to his knees in front of you as you swivelled your stool to face him. “But what does it mean?”

There was something hesitant in your gaze. The amused purse of your lips as you tried to stop a laugh and the light in your eyes. If you found it funny at his expense- which he had a feeling you were- he at least wanted to know what it meant.

You clearly thought he was joking. “You want to know what it means?”

He nodded.

“I can tell you at home?”

Robby let the words sink in, the fact you were undoubtedly referring to his place as home. But he didn't want to go home with you and this terrible feeling that everyone was laughing at him for reasons he didn't know why.

“Okay,” you said, holding his hands as if you were delivering bad news. “It means- and it's just Javadi's followers that think this and have clearly made this- that they think Jack is .... a more attentive lover.”

You chose your words carefully.

“ 'Eat it for dinner',” you continued. “Is a reference to how guys-”

Instead of saying anything you gave him a look and he gave you one back.

You sighed. “They think Jack eats pussy better than you.”

Robby didn't know what he was thinking but he wasn't sure it was ... that.

“I have a patient that's diaphoretic so I should probably-”

With little else to say you left your boyfriend kneeling, patting him on the shoulder as you went.

You could practically feel Robby distracted all day.

Every time you passed by the nurses area to go from one patient to another, he was there. Either sitting at the counter, head in hand and mindlessly looking through the computer or he was standing and listening to anything the one next to him was saying but you had a feeling he wasn't so much paying attention.

“Is Doctor Robby, okay?” asked Javadi. She was presenting a case to you, typically she went to you or McKay. You were sure she only went to you now as Cassy had the day off.

“Oh yeah, he's fine,” you said. It was no secret to anyone that you and Robby were dating, though you kept it professional around the ED. “Just TikTok, you know.”

Javadi smirked. “TikTok?”

“Yeah, yours.”

The smirk dampened and her eyes widened in the sort of frightened puppy way. She started stuttering over her words.

“Relax, he's not angry. At least not at you just what people are saying,” you said.

“What-what people are saying?” asked Javadi. “But everyone thinks he's hot. Really! They-they love Abbott and Robby. Seriously, people even ship them. Not that they don't like you and Robby, no they're obsessed.”

For a second you were intrigued.

In a way, maybe that should have have made you jealous or annoyed that everyone was finding him to be handsome and wanting a piece of him but if anything it made you proud. It made you want to hang off his arm.

“Some people are saying some things, nothing harmful.”

And also certainly none of their business how he ate you out at nights.

“Oh my god, I can totally tell them to stop, I can take the videos down, and I'll-I'll stop filming in here-” she stammered out.

“It's okay, don't worry,” you assured with a smile. “Get a CT and run blood toxics and come find me with the results.”

You found Robby exactly where you expected to find him, staring at the patient board without reading.

You didn’t even have time to greet him before he was speaking.

He jerked his head. “Come see a patient with me.”

So Robby led you off to exam room three, where an empty bed was made and no monitors were on. Even the lights were dimmed down low.

Robby pulled the curtains over and closed the door.

“Is the patient invisible?” You turned to Robby but hardly had time to see him before he was on you. His hands were on your hips, keeping you into him and his head ducked as he kissed you. He groaned into it, the forceful nature of his kiss having you stumbling back.

You couldn't help but kiss him back. When he started, there was no stopping. Even if you were in the hospital and desperate to keep it professional.

You shook your head, his lips moving with the movement. “Nu-uh.”

“What?” his hands came up to cup your cheeks, voice muffled with his not letting go of you.

“You're not kissing me cause people think Jack gives better head,” you said against his lips.

There was a noise of protest in Robby's throat.

“Cruel woman.”

Your hands slid up to his chest. “Wait- Michael.”

He brushed back. “What?”

“We are not getting it on here just because of some meme.”

You knew it to be the reason why almost at once. Robby was the one who had set certain boundaries in the work place. Like no making out. Yet he was the one huffing in frustration and surrendering, holding up his hands where you could see them.

“It's just some things people are saying on the internet.”

“I just don't get why,” he said, honestly. His head was tucked into his chest as he shrugged.

You were almost convinced he was upset. “I dunno. You're stern, sometimes, here,” you explained. “Maybe people saw that in the back of Javadi's TikToks and thought you had.... a hard exterior.”

“They think I'm un-caring?” he asked

“I didn't say that.”

“And Abbott?”

Quickly, you realised it was more than just feeling bummed about people thinking he gave bad head.

You smirked. “Jealousy looks good on you, Robinavitch.”

Slowly Robby sank down on the edge of the bed, sighing heavily as if this situation was weighing heavy on him.

You followed suit, sitting on the stool and wheeling close to him, treating him like he really was the patient. You knew how Robby got in his own head more times then was good for him. He didn't worry what people thought of him ever, but this was different.

“ What else is it?” you asked, softly, voice dropped low.

“Have I ever,” he began, shoulders high in tension and head low. His hands were braced on his knees. “Have I ever left you... un-satisfied?”

You wanted to laugh.

Robby and un-satisfied didn't belong together.

The nature of your jobs meant the two of you were exhausted more times than you were energised but that never stopped the two of you. If you were wanting you weren't left wanting, in fact, you'd be left thoroughly satisfied.

“Never,” you said.

He peeked at you with a little smirk.

“Those people don't know you, Robby,” you carried on, fingers circling his wrists and slowly holding him there. “They don't know what you do to me.”

Seconds ago you were berating him for kissing you in an exam room. But you leant into him and kissed his lips slowly.

“What I do, huh?” he mumbled against your lips.

“Uh-huh, things that Abbott could never.”

Just at the name of his friend had Robby grabbing you and all but pulling you over him. He leant back on the bed and slot you between his legs as he kissed you, hard. His hands couldn't find purchase as they sort every part of you, pulling our your scrub top and finding the skin there, running the back of his knuckles over.

Your hands wound in his hair, pulling until his mouth was opening up for you.

There came a sharp knock at the door before it opened. The curtains weren't pulled back but Dana's voice called out.

“Break it up in there! We need the room!”

Robby groaned, head throwing back on the cushion before you climbed off him. He didn't move even as you did.

“Aren't you coming?”

“Just... just give me a minute,” he said.

You chuckled to yourself, letting your eyes linger over all of him and left him there with the curtain drawn.

Dana was at the door, shaking her head with a chuckle.

You feigned innocence as best you could, working quick to tuck your scrub top back in and brush back your hair. “What?”

“The two of you, at it like rabbits.”

“We were not.”

“Not what I saw.”

“You didn't see anything.”

“Okay, not what I heard,” she said, lips smacking from the nicotine gum you slid onto her desk every morning.

“He was upset.”

“About that TikTok stuff?”

You looked to her. The last thing Robby needed was thinking everyone had seen the meme, that people thought he wasn't a good enough lover or whatever else he thought it meant.

“Is it bad?”

Dana shrugged. “It means nothing to me but you know guys, hurts their ego that kind of stuff.”

You nodded. You would say something in Robby was hurt. Whether it was that people thought he was a tough guy to work with or something about him that provoked the idea of selfishness.

But then they seemed to deem Abbott a capable lover, something you couldn't count on due to the fact you'd never gotten the chance to know.

Not that you wanted to.

(Except that one time in a dream before you were dating Robby)

Victoria rushed up to you and Dana excused herself. “I've just seen the post, Santos showed me,” she rushed out her words, panic evident. “Does he hate me? Oh my god, he hates me. My attending hates me.”

“He doesn't-”

“I mean it's so inappropriate, like, he saves lives you know maybe he just wants a meal cooked sometimes, not saying like- no- not that he'd ever get mad at you- or anyone for...”

You let Javadi trail off.

She blushed. “I should walk away shouldn't I?”

“Probably for the best.”

As soon as Jack walked in an hour before his shift was supposed to start, Robby stood, ready to leave.

It was rare he ever got out on time, let alone early but he hadn't been doing much work anyway, only thinking and being stuck in his own head. And sometimes with how much he thought about you: Yours.

“Thank you, brother, thank you,” he said.

Jack's gaze levelled on him. “Is everything okay?”

No, not at all. People on the internet speculated he was an asshole who'd get angry if you didn't have dinner on the table. As if he wouldn't live between your thighs if given the choice.

Robby bit his tongue and nodded.

“Hey Jack,” you greeted, coming by.

Robby's eyes followed you at once. He thought of all the plans he had in his head.

“You're here early,” you noted.

“I asked him to come by, listen, I got some errands to run. You think you're okay coming home by yourself tonight?” he asked.

There was a hint of confusion in your gaze but you didn't prod. You never did push him, always letting him come to you when he was ready. He'd never been so thankful for it.

“Er yeah, sure.”

Robby kissed you quick and hard, his hand cupping your backside and squeezing before he left you.

He only caught a glimpse of Jack digging into his phone to show you something funny. He dread to think what it was.

The last hour of work without Robby felt like a whole other twelve. Every patient answered questions too slow and chairs piled up with more minor problems. It felt like everything irritated you. Which it had.

By the time you were getting home, climbing up the stairs because of cause the elevator was broke you almost forgot all about the meme that had Robby so worried earlier.

That was until you pushed open the door.

You expected the tv on low, the lights on, maybe the sound of the shower.

You were greeted instead by a dull orange glow from the dozen or so candles lit around the living space. There was a fresh bouquet of flowers on the table and a sleek box tied off with a ribbon.

Hands landed on your hips and the soft belly of your boyfriends pressed against you.

“Robby,” you grinned, raising a hand to fall on the back of his head and stroke his hair there.

The stretch gave him perfect opportunity to pepper kisses over your neck. His other arm circled your waist, pulling you into him.

“What is all this?” you asked, eyes closing in the bliss of feeling him everywhere.

He hummed into your neck. “I just don't think you know how much I love you.”

You bit down on your lip as his hot tongue swirled over your pulse. “Oh, I think I know.”

His nose brushed over your jaw as he guided you forward, his toes clipping your heels as he didn't let you go or turn you around. He dragged you to where the present sat on the table, below the roses. His hands were large as they palmed and moved around your stomach. He breathed against your ear, your body waking in shivers as he uttered against you. “Open it.”

It was tough to do so- even to bend down and grab it- as Robby was adamant in letting you go. Eventually you got a hold of the ribbon and pulled.

He let you go enough for you to pull out the garment inside. Or the lack of garment.

It was a small set of lingerie, red and black- his favourite colours on you. The colours of seduction. There were ribbons and straps that upon just looking at you weren't sure how they were to go.

“I want you to put it on,” said Robby, head resting on your shoulder and looking. “And then I'm going to make you come on my tongue until you're begging me to stop.”

Your knees weakened but Robby still held you.

“You think you can do that?” he asked.

You nodded and gasped, smashing your lips into his. You turned in his arms, tongue's battling and arms circling him. You pressed your body into his, practically throwing yourself onto him.

The attentive lover he was he allowed it for a moment before he pulled away.

“Put it on.”

In the bedroom you stripped and with the help of the mirror figured out where everything was supposed to go. The panties did little to hide your ass but clad away your pussy, straps at your tights and bows there. The bra pushed your chest up, lace dancing over your chest.

It was sexy and sensual, knowing Robby had brought it for you and demanded you wear it. All the same, you couldn't wait for him to tear it off you.

Stepping back into the candle lit room Robby was already shirtless, sitting on the sofa with his legs wide and cock hardening.

When you stepped out, he smirked, arms stretching along the back of the sofa.

“I think I like when you have something to prove,” you said, slowly walking over, letting every step linger and make him wait for it.

Or drawing out whatever he had planned.

“I have something to prove?” he asked.

You dropped to your knees in front of him, between his legs as Robby's eyes trailed to watch you. “Don't you?” You were desperate to touch him, knowing he didn't have that planned but needing him anyhow. Your hands had only smoothed up his thighs before he grabbed your wrists.

Robby stood and pulled you up with him.

Without words he sat you down the sofa, stretching you out while he sank to his knees.

“Nu-uh,” he tutted, fingers wrapping around your legs and prying them apart, slowly. Your panties slipped and your pussy was slowly displaying itself. “You know what I want.”

“Michael-”

“What do you want?” he asked, but tonight was more about him than you. If it was about him proving something, you'd be his practise. If he was an artist you were going to be his canvas.

Your mouth just opened to speak when his thumb pressed down onto your panties. He rubs, slowly, pressing down harder till you grew wetter. Till he could feel it through the material.

His beard scratched at your thighs in the way that made you wither as he kissed at your thighs. His fingers pushed into your skin, kneading the plump of it.

“Have I ever told you, I love the way you smell.”

You gasped as he slid his thumb up and down, circling it slowly over your clothed clit.

“Have I?” he asked again, craving an answer.

“No.”

Robby was watching the space between your legs as he put his head there and inhaled.

Your back arched as his nose pressed into you, smelling and inhaling and groaning out when he was done. His fingers were pressing hard enough into your thighs to bruise. You wanted it to.

You watched as Robby darted out his tongue and ran it up and down you panties. He got a taste of you through the panties he brought.

Robby started off slow but he could never go slow. It was the way he did procedures, marking off everything first then moving around the room in seconds. It was the way he kissed, getting the same taste of your lips before sliding in his tongue and getting a taste of your spit. It was the way he fucked, slowly moving into you till your walls pulsed around his cock then he was moving like an animal.

They were small presses of his tongue then he was making out with your pussy through the cloth. He drooled against you, moaning and prodding his thumb, pressing in and out.

“God, I wanna get you naked,” he said against your core.

You didn't know if he wanted you stripped or just your core.

You chuckled breathless. “Then why dress me up?”

Robby pulled away to look at you. His thumbs hooked into your panties. “I like to un-wrap you.”

He dragged your panties down slow, grasping your legs and helping you out of them all the while keeping you limp on the sofa for him.

You expected Robby to ditch them, throw them aside but instead he shoved them in his face and inhaled again. “Oh my god,” you groaned, head landing back on the sofa.

“You're so wet and I haven't even touched you,” he said.

Finally he ditched the panties and faced your pussy.

His gaze flickered up to you and you felt exposed. A sudden need to hide came over you but Robby shook his head like he knew. Keeping your gaze he darted out his tongue and flicked it against your clit, circling your bundle of nerves.

At the devout attention your eyes fluttered shut in pleassure.

Robby sucked your clit in his mouth and pulled back with a pop. “Look at me, look at me.”

You looked at him.

His eyes were dark and wicked with want. He licked his lips and kept your gaze as he went in. He forced your legs up and apart, bending you as he shoved himself into you. He was there quick and heavy, licking and kissing till his slurping was heard around the apartment.

“Robby!”

He chuckled into you, sending vibrations up through you.

“I need your fingers inside of me, please.”

He hummed and shook his head, still occupied with dragging his tongue over you. “Not my fingers people criticise.”

You groaned.

Robby sucked some more, swallowing up your want, driving parts of your soul away while he was at it. “Spread yourself open, baby- just like that- there we go-” he guided your hands to your own core and helped you hold open the lips of you.

Then he went in with new reverence. The tip of his tongue ran miles and as you were left gasping for him, making a mess he cleaned it up from your hole to your clit and ran circles around it.

“Oh shit, Michael.”

“Feels good?”

“Yes!”

“Am I gonna make you come?” he asked, dropping his spit against you and working it in. When your fingers slipped he took over, holding you open.

Your hands went to his hair, stroking it back.

You knew your hands in his hair, or fingers threading through, drove him insane.

“Yes!”

He shoved his face in again, like a man addicted.

Sweat was starting to from along your body and the hand that wasn't in his hair groped at your own breast until you were humping up your hips to his-

“Get up,” said Robby suddenly.

He stood, his cock stretched against his pants. Robby brushed the back of his knuckles against the hard line of himself and wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Up.”

On shaky legs you did so, feeling the want but the coil of release slowly eased.

Robby bent you over and continued cleaning up your mess.

It was a new angle, the sort he'd never tried and as you felt his tongue in places you'd never felt you wonder how long he'd been thinking of this. How long had he wanted you bent over, ass up in his face.

With your back up to him he easily un-hooked your bras and threw it aside.

“You think Abbott could eat you up like this?” he asked, voice only above a growl. “Huh?”

“No,” you gasped, slowly turning to jelly.

The new position didn't last long as Robby stood tall again, pressing the hardness of his cock against the curve of your ass.

You arched yourself back into him. “Please, please, please.”

“I know baby, I know,” he cooed in something that could have been sympathy in a mocking tone. “God, you feel what you do to me? Like I feel what I do to you.”

Robby turned you around and kissed you, the trace of your essence on his tongue and shared between the two of you. He let his tongue dance over yours like he wanted to share it, a hand creeping to the back of your neck and keeping you in.

You were so wanting, so needy for any part of him.

“I'm gonna lie back now,” he said against your lips. “And you're gonna sit on my face.”

You pulled back, wondering if you'd heard that right.

Robby nodded slowly, not even trying to hide as he watched your lips. His thumb came back down to your clit, circling enough to keep you like putty in the palm of his hands.

“Michael-”

He was already pulling away, popping the buttons of his trousers and making himself comfortable on the sofa.

You were standing, hesitant. “I can't sit on your face.”

He smirked and patted his stomach. “Yes you can, c'mon.”

“I'm serious.”

Robby smirked, nudging you up. “So am I.”

He was looking at you with such wide eyes, though dark. The same way he looked at you when you got something right in work. When you pleased him, when he was so proud of you.

This was for him, you told yourself as you climbed over him, allowing time to run your hands up and down the hairs of his round belly.

You watched his gaze follow yours as you trailed up and up his face, over his beard until all you saw was his eyes.

Lingering on your knees you tested how low you could get.

The tip of Robby's tongue found your centre and slowly worked you open again.

His hands wrap around your thighs and he yanks you down till you're sitting on his face with a heavenly groan.

There was no time for protests as he got to work, his tongue burying inside of you. He was so close he could hardly move, only keep himself there and suck and slurp. At every tiny move his nose brushed into your folds, nudging your clit and dragging out the need.

“Ohhh fuckkk,” you whined.

Robby groaned into you as he tried to speak, something like 'beautiful' caught between your pussy. His hands were messaging your ass and grinding you into him.

“S'too much, oh my god.”

He shook his head, wetting your core with his saliva and your need mixed.

“Robby, I can't-”

“Yes you can,” he spoke finally, pulling away enough that you could hear his voice.

Your lips pursed together as you shook your head. The coil of tightness in you grew hotter, burner brighter. It felt like your first time with him over and over again. The way his body bounced off of yours with every thrust, the moans he couldn't help let out into your neck, marking himself there for weeks.

“Please come,” he said against you now. “I need you to come on my face, baby, please.”

Perhaps the world would have liked to know there was only one thing in this word that could get Robby begging. Your pussy.

“There, huh? You like it just there?” you could hardly make out his words, like he was speaking into your very being.

Your hand fell back into his hair and you leant back, riding his face with a new passion and fever. He moved his head along with your movements and it became a frenzy of passion and need and want, the both of you moaning and uttering any words of encourganemt.

“Yeah baby, there you go- there you go-”

“Robby! Robby! Shit!”

“All over me, c'mon, c'mon.”

You still couldn't believe it, your want all over his beard, smearing down his neck and chest.

“Only making you come, making my girl come, that's right.”

In seconds you had grasped his hair, shoving him in as you let go into his mouth. He strained his neck up and kept himself open on you as he inhaled and exhaled in groans and grunts.

“Oh yes, please... yes- fuck baby,” Robby whined, spreading your cheeks to get every drop licked up. You'd think it was his own release washing over him with the noises he made and sucked out of you.

By the time you'd both calmed down and he'd caught his breath and tapped your thigh you fell lower down onto his stomach.

His breath smelt of love and sex as you lingered over him, letting Robby brush back stray parts of your hair. “Satisfied?”

“Very.” You might have seemed drunk with the way he had you coming but you didn't care. “One of the best orgasms of my life.”

He smirked at you incredulously. “Change it to best of the night. We haven't even begun.”

The meme btw ^

taglist: @oldbaddies, @mafercita101, @tiddieshakeshownu

[youandmereligiously]

Hottest thing ever

[barnesdreamcatcher]

As long as you’re with me

jack abbot x f!reader

summary: you sleep with jack for the first time and discover what it means to be loved gently

cw: smut (mdni, 18+), gentle sex, oral (f rec), referenced p in v, reader uses sex as a coping mechanism and has low self-esteem, light intoxication

wc: 3k

a/n: listen, I do not think that rough sex is necessarily a bad thing, but it can be. I don’t feel like expanding on this 

now playing: Nothing’s Gonna Hurt You Baby – Cigarettes After Sex

Jack can’t take his eyes off you. Not when you look the way you do right now: skin glowing, eyes sparkling, and a truly sincere smile on your face. 

The wine bottle shared between the two of you stands at your feet as his hands snake around your waist, pulling you closer. He tastes the grapes on your tongue when his own slips between your parted lips, mapping out the inside of your mouth slowly. His palm wanders from your side to the small of your back, pressing you flush against him. 

You only pull away when you start to get lightheaded—too little oxygen, too much love. 

Love. 

Neither one of you has said it yet. It’s much too early for that four-letter word, but the idea of it hangs over you as he kisses your cheek instead of your mouth to let you catch your breath. 

Jack tilts his head to meet your gaze and smiles softly. His eyes drift over your face like he’s memorizing every inch. He’s close enough that he could count each individual lash if he wanted to. 

When he lifts his hands to cup your face between his palms, you melt into his touch. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers. 

Your skin heats under his hands, blood rushing to your face. The timid smile on your face tugs at Jack’s heartstrings.

“So beautiful,” he repeats tenderly. 

He means it. 

You misinterpret it. 

When you stand on your tiptoes to kiss him again, there’s more heat to it—the kind that leads to places you haven’t been to with him yet.  He keeps you steady, your face still held by him.  His lips fit against yours like two puzzle pieces.

The weight of him leads you towards the couch naturally. He doesn’t guide or force but simply leans in until you sink onto the cushions, him braced above you. 

Your hand drifts down from his chest to his stomach. Through his shirt, you still feel the way his muscles flex under your touch.  He breaks the kiss to look at you, an almost dopey curve to his mouth. 

“You’re ticklin’ me,” he mumbles. 

“That’s on purpose,” you reply. 

He grins, then catches your hands in his own.  “Is that so?” he whispers. “Anything else you want to confess?”

You let a few seconds pass, just for dramatic effect, before you nod.  “Yeah,” you mumble, “I’m also trying to take your shirt off right now.”

Jack chuckles softly.  “You don’t say,” he teases. “Any reason for that?”

You roll your eyes fondly.  “Take a guess.”

A gentle laugh spills from him, originating deep from his chest. You feel the vibration travel through him until it reaches your hand, too. 

“I think I can help out with that.”

He grabs the hem of his shirt and pulls it up, then over his head. Your eyes are glued to every inch of sun-kissed skin that’s slowly exposed. For a moment, you hesitate before you reach out to rest your hand on his chest, feeling the heat radiating from him. 

When you’ve had your fill of touching him—though you’re not sure you’ll ever get enough of him—you take off your own shirt. You had planned in advance and worn a black lace bralette, but you hadn’t told Jack, so you could trick him into thinking that you’re always this put together.  The matching panties waited for him under the skirt, which you were eager for him to pull off of you. 

Jack can’t look away—and doesn’t want to. You’re surprised that for once, it doesn’t feel like you’re being ogled. 

No, Jack admires. 

His fingers drift over your breasts up to your neck, then rest on your face. 

“Like I said,” he whispers. “Beautiful.”

Instead of answering, you lean in to kiss him again. As your lips press against his, you reach for his belt buckle and open it. Jack hums into your mouth, a small roll of his hips encouraging you. 

He helps you take off his jeans. Jack talked to you about not wearing his prosthetic at home around you a few days ago, but right now, he still has it on. He seems a little nervous as his pants fall away, and you get a full glance at it for the first time.

You don’t mind at all. 

The next barrier that falls is your skirt. Jack undoes the zipper at the side carefully, then slides the fabric down your legs. He makes a sound you can’t quite categorize when he sees the thin lace panties you picked out for tonight.

“Fuck,” he whispers, “How are you this perfect?”

Again, you forgo an answer with another kiss. 

Jack notices. He cups your face, then pulls away a little just to look at you. His brows knit together slightly. 

“Hey,” he mumbles.

You haven’t been together that long yet, but he knows you well enough to see that you don’t feel like talking about this right now.  Still, for a moment, he chews on his bottom lip in contemplation before he asks, “Wouldn’t you rather take this to the bedroom?”

You shrug softly. “I don’t mind the couch. Whatever you want.”

The divot between his brows deepens.  “But I’m asking you what you want,” he counters. “If… if we’re doing this right now, I want you to be comfortable.”

“I am comfortable,” you reply. 

He nods reluctantly.  “Alright,” he mumbles.

The next kiss feels a little different—not in a bad way, just more careful. Jack waits, lets you chase him instead of taking the lead. So you do. 

You reach behind you to unfasten the clasps of your bra. As the lace falls away, Jack watches with amazement. He almost manages to throw in another compliment for you, but you don’t give him the chance. You stand up from the couch and hook your fingers into your panties, then slowly slip them off.  Jack’s breath hitches. He leans into the back of the couch to watch as you step out of the fabric that fell to your ankles. This time, he truly stares. 

When you step closer, he pulls you in by your hips until you’re seated on his lap. Your bare cunt brushes over the bulge in his boxers, causing both of you to moan. 

You roll against him once, then twice, then kiss him again. The heat between the two of you is unbearable. You don’t understand why he hasn’t taken off his underpants yet and wonder if he maybe just needs a little bit more encouragement, so you grind down against him again. 

Jack hisses at the contact, his fingers tightening on your sides. 

“Fuck, baby,” he mutters. “You’re gonna give me a heart attack.”

“Then let me help you,” you chuckle and reach for the waistband of his boxers. He lifts his hips to help you slip them off—and you swallow hard when you see what you’re working with. The grey happy trail you’ve been eyeing since his shirt came off leads down to his thick cock. The size of the bulge makes more sense now. He’s veiny and flushed a dark red, almost a little purple at the tip. 

“Jesus,” you whisper.

Jack chuckles, maybe even a little self-consciously so. 

“Yeah, it’s um… it’s been a while for me,” he admits. 

Your mouth falls open—you hadn’t expected that. A man with his looks, a doctor at that, too?

“Really?” you ask. “I mean… that’s okay. I don’t mind. Just… tell me what you like.”

He shrugs softly. 

“I like you.” 

His answer is so sappy that it makes you grin. 

“Shut up. No, really, tell me what you like.”

Jack looks at you and pulls you closer again. 

“I’m serious,” he mumbles. “I just want you, however you want. Why? What kinda stuff do the kids like these days?”

Your face warms a little.

“I don’t know,” you mumble. A total lie.  “We can try some stuff, you know?”

“Like what?” he asks. “You want me to tie you up?”  He chuckles like the idea is absurd to him. 

“Would you want to tie me up?” you counter. 

Jack’s brows furrow again. 

“I don’t think that’s my thing,” he says quietly. 

You nod slowly.  “What about…”

Saying it out loud feels, for lack of a better word, cringe, so you take his hand and place it on the base of your throat. 

Jack doesn’t pull away immediately, but his fingers don’t wrap around your neck either. He looks up at you, his jaw set tightly.  Then he shakes his head and cups your face instead. 

“I don’t think so,” he says softly. “How about… we just take things slow and figure it out as we go?”

When you nod, Jack kisses you, and it tastes like relief.  He surprises you when he switches positions with you—you’d have thought he would want you to stay on top.  

Jack braces his weight on his forearms as he hovers above you, his face just inches away from you. Then he lowers his head, but his lips don’t meet yours—they trail down over your chest. His tongue swirls around your nipple, making you gasp as the sensation tingles through you. 

He cups your other breast, squeezing and kneading the flesh gently, then places a kiss on the valley between your breasts before he descends further.  To your ribs… then your navel… then your hipbone. 

Your breath stills completely when his fingers come to rest on your thighs. He doesn’t push them open yet.

“May I?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” you whisper. 

He parts your legs gently, his eyes still focused on you until he lowers his head and—

Your world tilts a little. 

When his tongue drags through your drenched slit, and Jack moans out loud, you arch towards him. He holds your hips in place, fingers digging into the flesh—not hard enough to bruise, but enough to make you feel him. 

“Fuck,” he gasps, “You taste so fucking good, baby.”

He flattens his tongue against your clit, licking upwards until you see stars.

“Jack-“ you moan, trying… you don’t know what you’re trying to say. Your fingers find purchase in his hair, tugging slightly at the grey curls.  He sucks your clit into his mouth, causing you to cry out in pleasure. 

He laps at your cunt like a starved dog, and you can’t believe that “it’s been a while” for him, not when he’s eating you out like that.

“I—oh God,” you sigh dreamily.

Your legs quiver, your hips twitch—your entire body is shaking with pleasure. 

“That’s it, baby,” Jack murmurs, his words muffled. “Fuck—please, just let me make you feel good.”

The sounds of your arousal mixing with his saliva are unholy—a wet overflow of moisture between your thighs. Jack seems to be right where he wants to be. He moans into your flesh, his hips bucking and pressing into the couch below like he is trying to alleviate the ache, the buildup of his own need. 

When you come apart, he guides you through it, not stopping until your brain is overflowing with oxytocin and your thighs won’t stop shaking. 

Both of you are panting when he comes up.  He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and smiles devilishly. 

“God… we’re so doing this again,” he declares softly. 

You’re at a loss for words. You haven’t come like that ever. All you can do is nod and reach for him. 

Jack plants his arms on either side of your head and kisses you deeply. You taste yourself on his tongue, the sweet, tangy flavor erupting in your mouth. 

His leaking cock presses against your tummy as his lips graze yours.

You reach between you and stroke him, making him groan into your mouth. 

“Jesus,” he mutters when he pulls away to look at you. “You—”

He thrusts into your hand instinctively, and you realize just how pent up he is. 

“Your turn,” you whisper. 

Jack tsks softly, half amused, half… something else.  He cups your face and kisses your jaw tenderly. 

“Believe me, that was my turn,” he says lowly. “But if you want to keep going, I’m sure as hell not saying no.”

--

The bliss afterwards is indescribable. But it’s also foreign.

You still sense every press of his hands on your body without feeling tender, every brush of his lips without a single mark on your skin, and every thrust of his hips without that residual feeling of having been used. 

Jack was nothing but gentle. 

And god, it was incredible. 

The sheets underneath you are crumpled and slightly damp with sweat and sex, but you don’t mind. Not when Jack’s arm is wrapped around you, your back pressing against his chest. He kisses the side of your neck where your pulse still flutters with excitement. 

“You were incredible,” he whispers.

It must be so obvious that his words fluster you because he smirks when you hide your face in the sheets. 

“Barely even did anything,” you mumble. 

Jack makes a sound you can’t quite discern. 

“Right,” he chuckles. “Except that thing where you got really tight when you were about to come again or—”

You whip around and press your hand over his mouth, your eyes wide and embarrassed.

“Jack,” you complain, half-serious, half-playful. 

He kisses your palm and smiles. 

“Hey, I’m just teasin’,” he retorts. “But I really meant it. It was really great for me.”

“Yeah, for me, too,” you mumble. 

You’re not used to any kind of pillow talk, so the words feel thick, like they don’t quite want to leave your mouth. 

Jack doesn’t seem to mind. He just pulls you closer against his chest and rests his chin on the top of your head. 

As the minutes pass, he tells you to go pee and promises more cuddles later on. 

In the bathroom, you look at yourself in the mirror. The haphazardly buttoned-up shirt you’re wearing belongs to Jack and falls to your mid-thigh. Your hair is a mess from how often he ran his hands through it. A few hickeys begin to gain color and paint your neck a soft purple.

You can’t help but smile. 

“Hey, sweetheart?” Jack calls out. “Your phone keeps vibrating. I think someone really wants to talk to you!”

“Yeah, just a sec,” you reply. 

When you return to his bedroom, Jack is sitting up, his brows drawn together slightly. Your phone is in his hand, the screen facing up. 

“Sorry,” he says as he passes it to you. “I didn’t mean to spy on you or anything, just wanted to bring it to you.”

You take your phone and glance at the messages—and feel your face heat up.

“Oh.” Your laugh comes out stiff as you quickly shut off your phone. “Sorry, um—they’re joking, of course. Like, uh…”

Jack looks at you quietly, watching as you fumble nervously with the edge of your phone case. There was a light flush to his cheeks now, too. 

“No, no, don’t worry, I shouldn’t have read it anyway, I just looked at it ‘cause it kept… vibrating,” he explains. 

The awkward silence that follows feels detrimental. 

You wonder if you should explain more, or if maybe stammering another apology would make it worse, but then Jack breaks the quiet first. 

“Not to sound my age, but… I assume cracking means… uh… hooking up?”

You press your lips together uncomfortably.

“Yeah,” you mumble. “Like, um… yes.”

He nods once. Then he tilts his head to catch your eyes. 

“It’s not the… nicest word, is it?” he asks. 

“It’s just, like, a TikTok thing,” you answer. 

“Hm,” is all he replies. 

Then he takes your hand and guides you back onto the mattress. You meet his gaze hesitantly. The lines around his eyes are a little deeper, just like the furrow between his brows. He doesn’t seem angry, just serious.

“I… I kind of would prefer it if you didn’t think of what we just did as… “cracking”. It’s not the word I would use,” he says slowly.

“It’s just a word,” you mutter. 

“Not to me,” he argues softly. “It’s… words have meanings. And cracking sounds like… like I’m doing something to you, not with you. I don’t mean to be… all old man and, like, police your language. But… I don’t want you to think of sex with me that way. Or… with anyone else for that matter, even though, ideally, I would like this to be a long-term thing.”

His hazel eyes don’t leave your face for even a single moment, and it’s almost overwhelming—if it weren’t for the sincerity in them. 

“I’m sorry—" you begin, but Jack shushes you.

“No, sweetheart, I don’t- I don’t want you to apologize. I just want you to be comfortable with me. I wanna make sure you… you feel respected by me,” he explains. 

“I do,” you reply quickly. “Really. Like, no one else has ever… been this kind to me.”

Jack’s face falls. 

“Oh, no, I mean, like… you’re a gentleman,” you elaborate.

He shakes his head softly. 

“No, baby, I’m… this is… this is the bare minimum. Christ.”

Jack’s hands find yours, and he leans in to kiss your forehead. Then he wraps his arms around you. 

“At the risk of sounding like your father, I think you kids need to put down your phones and go out in the real world.”

❤︎ just a quick reminder that the best way to support authors on here is to comment and reblog ❤︎ ☆ find my masterlist here ☆

[pittmebabyonemoretime]

it's too damn hot here // jack abbot

in which the apartment ac goes out and you finally get a glimpse of your mysterious neighbor

(a/n: i'm having so much fun writing these little tasty morsels of stories. makes me feel like my ideas are not just sitting gathering dust lol)

Pittsburgh in July was not supposed to feel like the surface of the sun.

It was a record breaking heatwave and according to your thermostat, you were currently residing inside a toaster oven.

With no breeze and zero shame left, you had joined the rest of your floor in propping your front door wide open, hoping for a mythical cross breeze in the hallway.

You were currently splayed out on the hardwood directly in front of a plastic box fan that was doing nothing but blowing hot air into your face.

You groaned, shifting your head toward the open doorway.

And that’s when you saw him.

The mystery man from 2B.

Because of your opposite work schedules, he was usually nothing more than a set of footsteps in the early morning or the faint sound of classic rock through the walls. But today, the heatwave had dragged everyone out of hiding.

His door was propped open with a huge medical textbook, and your eyes lazily drifted across the hall.

If the heat hadn’t already started to fry your brain, the sight of him would.

He was wearing faded gym shorts and you had literally just caught him mid motion, pulling a sweat soaked black shirt over his head.

It was like a scene from a cheesy shampoo commercial, except instead of a beach, it was a dimly lit Pittsburgh apartment complex.

As the shirt cleared his face, revealing a sharp jawline, grey stubble, and an impressive chest that even you were confused about, you couldn't help but notice the way the sweat glistened off of him.

Delicious. Absolute five star meal.

You knew you were staring and you wanted to look away, but your eyes were effectively glued to the sight of him.

Then he shook out his hair, and because the universe wanted to add a cherry on top of this fuck ass fruit cake of a day, he looked right across the hall.

Right at you.

Splayed out on the floor like a starfish.

For a few horrific and beautiful seconds, your eyes locked in on each other.

He wasn’t creeped out. No, instead he decided to bestow upon you an incredibly charming smirk. He raised a hand and gave you a casual wave.

It took you a minute for things to go back into motion. And for you to realize you’d just been caught ogling your neighbor.

Panic seized your overheated brain and you scrambled backward on the floor, kicked your own box fan by accident, and flipped over so your back was to the door, staring intently at your kitchen cabinets.

"Hey. " a deep voice called out from the hallway.

You froze and slowly turned your head. He was standing right in your doorway, leaning casually against the frame. And he was holding two sweating cans of cold soda.

"You look like you're about to pass out.” He said, his eyes crinkling at the corners with amusement.

"It’s really hot.” you said, slowly sitting up and trying to regain a shred of human dignity. “In here. Like it’s really hot. Without the a/c.” You rubbed your hands over your face embarrassed.

Jack laughed and stepped inside, holding out the can of soda. "I'm Jack, by the way.”

You took the ice cold can, instantly pressing it to your burning cheek. "y/n. Sorry, I don’t usually stare people down like that. You were just in my line of sight.”

"Is that right?" Jack sat down right there on the floor next to you, cracking open his own drink. "Well, if you ever want another look, you don't have to spy from the floorboards. You can just ask."

You choked slightly on your first sip of soda. You’ll have to add witty next to buff as hell on the list of traits for your neighbor Jack. And something tells you there will be more things to add if this heatwave doesn’t let up.

[de4thknell]

when jack returns, he finds his spot stolen and you sprawled across the couch.

he raises his eyebrows.

you offer no explanation, but reach out for him with open arms. he smiles once he understands your intention. 'come to me,' is what you're telling him wordlessly.

jack steps up to the couch to prop a knee between your legs and sets his crutches aside.

your hands brush over his cheeks, into his hair, pull him in until he's close enough for you to wrap your arms around him.

he rests his head on your chest, slides his hands up along your ribs until they're wedged bebeath your shoulders and his body is weighing down on you.

your hands roam over his head, stroking back his hair, only for the curls to fall right back into place.

jack shuts his eyes with a deep exhale. the show you were supposed to be watching long forgotten, he focuses on the soothing movements of your fingers, on the subtle pressure in every spot where his body touches yours.

"i love you," you whisper.

jack's eyes open at that. for a moment he stays still, contemplates. then raises his head to look at you. studies your face, assesses your sincerity.

"yeah?" he finally says.

"yeah." your voice breaks.

a smile creeps up on his face and he leans up to place a kiss on your lips. the kiss is reverent and slow and afterwards jack's lips don't leave yours. he savours the moment, takes the time to commit it all to memory. then kisses you once more.

"i love you too." it comes out muffled, jack is still refusing to break the contact.

you swallow. "yeah?" you try to joke.

jack openly grins against your lips. "yeah," he breathes into you.

pics: Horimiya, Rogue Trader

[youandmereligiously]

This fluffy sweetness 😭🩷

[mysoulbelongstobuckybarnes]

—sunshine of the dark.

jack abbot x sunshine!reader

the sunshine of the night shift, all cookies and lavender, loves to make the grumpy, sassy, silver fox attending smile through attempts at flirting and baked goods. but what happens when he asks a certain replacement attending for drinks and the sunshine dims?

—angst. hurt/comfort. fluff ending. reader can be described as plus size but no specified race. age gap (reader is in her late 20s, early 30s, our grumpy man in his late 40s, early 50s). medical inaccuracy.

part two

thank you to @cafekitsune for the lovely divider!

"Are those croissants?"

"Better yet, they are vanilla cream stuffed croissants."

The unsubtle smell of your new croissants wafted through the air, alerting almost everyone of your presence that came with new baked goods like a package deal. All the pittlings, as you so dearly called them, looked up as Dana playfully scoffed at the obscenely mouthwatering croissants which you brought in.

"Trin, wait—"

"Nope!"

"No, no, no! You stole all of the cookies last week!" Matteo came running, hands already up to defend the desserts as Trinity opened up the lid of your container before you could even reach the nurses' station.

"What about me—I'm literally her favourite—"

Dennis almost tripped trying to catch up as you gave custody of your beloved croissants to one of the hands trying to poach them away. You walked up to the nurses station handing a secret stash to dana and lena, your mama nurses, before grinning at the scene in front of you.

"You're spoiling them." Dana scolded, without any bite. She also knew how much they deserved it, and how you were too sweet to actually stop treating the youngest of the pitt.

You gave her a side hug. "They deserve something after busting their asses here, especially under Robby. God knows what's up his ass these days. How many times did he yell at Samira today?"

Dana and Lena scoffed, "Almost told her she didn't belong here again."

You rolled your eyes. This wasn't new at all. You made a mental note to check up on the girl yourself.

You looked at them in front of you. Matteo, Trinity and Dennis were already battling against each other and somehow Langdon had already gotten away with two pieces—one for Mel, obviously—and then Shen's invading hands also won the match.

Your heart warmed at all of them.

"You done distracting my staff, nurse?"

A buzz of electricity shot through your spine at the deep, gravelly voice. You turned around on your heels, a sly grin adorning your face, cheeks bumped up to meet his almost smirk and beautiful hazel eyes.

Dr. Jack Abbot. Your grumpy, sassy, hot attending. Your personal mission.

"So you agree that I'm distracting?"

Javadi made a choked noise that sounded almost like chortle while covering her mouth.

He huffed at you, crossing his arms on his chest. You had to keep your eyes from drifting to the muscles on his big arms taut against his broad chest.

"Bribing my students with baked goods? That's distracting."

"You know, its crazy—all I keep hearing is that you find me a.k.a my cooking is distracting, doc."

"Yeah? Well that's medically compromising—you should get your ears checked."

You rolled your eyes, your grin unwavering by his dry quips. "Well, what's medically compromising is your appetite, Abbot. Say, when was the last time you tried any of my distracting goods?"

He raised his eyebrows, "Why? You want me distracted too, nurse?" His voice dropped a decibel, as if the whisper was a secret meant to only rile you up. Your cheeks immediately turned pink, dusting the tips of your ears as well.

Your grin faltered. His almost came into view.

"Very subtle—" Shen coughed up, very unsubtly as your intimate moment with the attending came crashing. Jack took a quick look at your face; pink cheeks and ears and the confidence of the sunshine he managed to falter. A prideful feeling almost bloomed in his chest—only he could affect you like this. Fluster you like this. A small smile was about to make to his face, but was he about to let you win?

"Okay, back to work everyone! Santos, you still have to finish those charts!"

He moved away from your space, the warmth lingering in your heart. But you saw it—he almost gave in.

"Well, sunshine—you almost made it. take the win, will ya?" Dana's voice rang out in the back. but you shook your head, your lower lip getting caught between your teeth, leaning back onto the counter, watching your grumpy attending order around. "Never giving up on this, Dana. Not until he actually smiles, or even laughs."

"God, when will you both stop?"

—

It all started during a particularly, mercifully uneventful night at the pitt.

You, including almost everyone at the pitt, had their eyes glued on the screen with dollars on stake. Will the stupid teenagers who stole their professor's car, with a brake fail, be caught by the unwitting police? Or will they crash? In who's vicinity? Presby or will they have to save lives in the pitt, yet again?

You had put 40$ on presby and he had snorted. "You're optimistic."

"You should try it sometimes—might just make your grumpy face prettier, old man."

Whittaker's eyes widened, Trinity side eyed Perlah and Princess who were looking like they just found gold, Jesse and Donnie stopped incessantly organising the crash cart in case the car did crash in the pitt's vicinity and Dana and Robby smirked at each other.

Amusement etched onto the attending's face and it was a thrill you never stopped chasing. "C'mon, even the grumpy dwarf in snow white smiled, doc—what's stopping you?"

He just shook his head at you, huffing at the comment and walked off. You watched him walk away with his back towards you and accepted the challenge. "One day or the other, I'm gonna make you smile, Abbot—maybe even laugh—you'll see!"

He raised his eyebrows at you and leaned back onto a wall with his arms crossed on his chest, making something thunder inside your body. "We'll see about that, nurse. But first, you might want to look at the screen."

The police had caught them.

—

After that day, you brought in your best food and your best lines. But somewhere along the way, it stopped being just about seeing him smile. I mean, obviously you wanted to see him smile, almost concerned it would make your heart stop, but Jack Abbot started to mean something more.

Seeing him everyday, looking into his soulful eyes, his stupid soft voice while talking to patients and the almost smile he gives you during your shenanigans bloomed a deep, warm, ridiculously fuzzy feeling which had set itself somewhere behind your sternum.

Even if it got a huff out of him, a scoff, a smirk that burned its way through the small space in between you both to between your legs or just raised eyebrows.

So, you never stopped flirting. Never stopped baking. Never stopped chasing his smile. It became your dream. Because you knew it would be breathtaking to see it, feel it and know that you were the cause of it.

So, you were here, with a hop in your step, making your way towards the man.

"And I thought these dull hospital lights could never make anyone look good, but here you are, proving me wrong, Mr. Grouch."

He didn't even look up from the chart he was assessing. "Don't you have patients to check up on?"

"Don't you have some smiling to do?"

He turned to look at you and the warm feeling started to spread through your body, unwarranted. He was about to quip back, his mouth opening slightly when—

"19 year old, GSW to the chest, head trauma, pulse is thready—"

Jack's shoulders and jaw set itself tight, as if bracing for whatever was about to come next. he kept the chart back with a thud, going around you, hand brushing on your lower back. "You're with me. Smiling later." He said, lowly, breath fanning your ear.

"Promise?" Your voice had gone heavy.

You gulped as you both walked towards the gurney, his hand still on your lower back, a small comfort before heading into the storm. He glanced back at you, before getting to the boy after you gave him a nod of readiness.

"Trauma 2 is open!" You heard princess yell.

You took a deep breath before going in, hoping this one will turn around. Everyone is here. Jack is here.

It was going to be okay.

—

Your hands trembled.

Your breath was stoic. It didn't dare to move the air between you or the resident still doing cpr.

Jack glanced at his watch. "Stop."

His voice had lost its sharpness but it still held authority. It honeyed through the trauma room, reaching you. But it didn't warm you up like it usually did. His concerned face was focused at the year 2 resident who was starting to hyperventilate. She still kept going.

He glanced at you. You understood what he needed. You moved forward, your body numb. "Sweetheart, you need to let go. Its okay, its going to be alright—"

"No!" She shrieked. You heard Jack calling her name. "He was younger than me—" She whispered.

Jack stepped forward and gripped her shoulders. "Its okay, doctor. Let go. Look at me—I need you to breathe."

Her hands went slack. The machine beeped mercilessly. "Time of death, 5.57 am."

You circled your arms around her as she fell, weeping into your chest.

"shh, I know. C'mon let's get you out." You whispered, your voice sweet as sugar, your soul numbing as the machine beeped.

Jack looked at you but you avoided his gaze. Your hands were trembling, your vision was blurring and your heart was trying to punch its way through your body. Your brain couldn't take it. But you still took care of the people around you. You squeezed donnie's hand on the way out because you knew his kid was also a teenager. You promised princess a treat because you knew she was not going to eat after this. You took care of the resident in your arms because you knew she wont be able to sleep after this.

His gaze burned on your back as it followed your figure through the overbearing walls of the pitt.

After, you got the resident settled, you were about go off to take a breather when Ellis called your name. "Hey! The kid in trauma 2, do you mind calling his parents and informing them?" Your heart ached and flashbacks of another trauma, another death, another set of parents losing their whole world burned in your mind. But you nodded.

"Hello? am I speaking to Mrs Shah?" You introduced yourself, "I'm speaking from Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center—"

Immediately the questions started, the panic, the desperation, the devastation. You sighed, your exhaustion and anguish slipping out. You tried to explain the urgency, that they needed to come immediately. Your hands shook as you hung up and closed your eyes.

You tried to busy yourself, checking up on other patients, but your mind still wandered away to the boy. The sorrow of another soul departing, another young life you couldn't save, another injustice was too heavy. The grief set in your bones.

It was a reminder of how this job got harder. These walls sometimes seemed too hollow, too empty, with the losses all of the doctors had faced. This department wrung people out with its cruelty. You were expected to move on with no time to process everything.

That's where Jack came.

Being with him, bantering, flirting, joking—it gave you joy—something that the E.D could never steal. He made working and just being there easier, as if the air got much more breathable around him. You were almost addicted to the giddiness you felt around him. his salt and pepper curls, his teasing voice with you, his dry sarcasm, the way his black tee stretched around the muscles on his back and biceps—

"Excuse me? We were called in urgently? We are looking for our son? Neil Shah?"

The grief crashed down on you. Your eyes turned glassy again and tried to look for any other nurse or even Jack so that you wouldn't be in this position. Not again. Not where you have to inform the parents that their beloved child has passed away. Not where you have to hear the wails of the mother and denial of the father.

You sighed in defeat and led them to an empty room. Slowly, you explained what had happened. How their son had passed away. "I'm sorry for your loss, Mr. and Mrs Shah. Truly."

They had started crying, asking you questions, Demanding answers to truths you didn't know. Until one question. "How did he get shot?"

"He—" Your voice broke, but that's when you felt a warm, steady hand on your shoulder. Your beacon of comfort. You immediately recognized it. "I'm Doctor Abbot—I performed the surgery on your son. Nurse, could you please assist Dr. Kwan with a consult in south eight?"

Your heart filled with gratitude. He gave you an out. And you took it. You nodded but not before mouthing a thank you to the man in front of you. He squeezed your shoulder before holding the door open for you and your heart squeezed. Why did he have to be so kind?

You took a quick glance towards him before getting out. You felt you could breathe.

That did not long last.

"Can you believe he did that? I mean, if I was in his place, I would never put my life on the line—for a girl i just met? That was so stupid—"

You took a sharp inhale and jerked your head to the voice. "How dare you? Just because you don't even have an ounce of the bravery, the courage and the empathy that he had, doesn't mean you get to call it stupid, you—"

Before you could go up to him and slap him, strong hands grabbed you, wrapping around your torso, with no harshness but just comfort coursing through.

"Ogilvie, if you don't have even 1% basic empathy or haven't heard the phrase 'dont talk ill of the dead' I suggest you drop out of medical school and go back to 3rd grade."

You shoulders visibly relax at the voice and at his fingers which softly caressed your chubby love handles—this man was not helping you keep cool. Heat travelled up your neck when you felt his chest rumble with some instructions he gave to the resident in front of him.

Jack called your name and his hands travelled to your shoulders. "Come on, let's go—"

"What? what about the consult—"

"That was a lie—"

"You dog—"

"Come on, you nuisance. Let's get you a breather."

—

"The roof?"

"You'll see."

The door busted open and strong gust of wind hit you in the face. And there it was.

You gasped and your hands went to Jack's forearm. "Oh my god."

"Oh my god."

"Come on, you wanna see the sunrise?"

"Well, at least ask me for a cup of coffee first, old man. You losing your touch already?" He gave you a deadpan look. "But of course, if you insist."

He took you to the railing. "I've heard you go even beyond the railing..."

Jack gave you a side eye. "Oh come on, you really believe anything really stays in the box at this hole?" He still did not entertain you. "Please, Jack?" You gazed up at him, with your best puppy eyes.

"Alright. But only this time."

He ducked and got across first, holding out his hand for you, fingers gently taking your palm and helping you cross the railing. "Thank you," You softly murmured, the touch growing the warmth in your chest. the sunrise had only taken its footing—the soft blue of the sky was slowly lighting up. "So," You took a deep breath, "why did you bring me to your sacred space?"

"Sacred space? Really?" Jack scoffed.

"Everybody knows its where you and Robby come to make heart eyes at each other—" He grunted and you let out a soft laugh. "Come on, tell me." You whined.

"I saw you." He spoke. "After–after you realized he was gone, after we declared the time of death. your hands were trembling," Your breath hitched. "Your breaths were small, your voice was—" You looked away. His gaze bore deep into your eyes, trying to probe out the vulnerability gently, and his voice was too tender, too warm, almost wrapping you up in their saccharine like blanket. "The point is, you still took care of everyone. Donnie, Princess, the resident—"

"Someone has to. I just choose to. Nobody forces me to, Jack." Your voice gets small.

"And when will you let yourself take care? When will you take a breath?" Your breath hitched. "You're the sunshine of the dark side, sweetheart. We don't want you fading out while you take care of others." He syruped.

You hoped it would stay dark so that he couldn't see the red on your cheeks, the heat crawling up your neck and how you couldn't trust your own voice anymore. But you braved on.

"um, I dont know if you know this, doc, but I shifted to nights for a reason other than one grumpy teddy bear," You let out a giggle when jack let out an annoyed huff, "there was a girl, 19, just like today's kid. She was abducted and tried escaping, but the abductor shot her. She was brought in, I was a part of the surgery and despite everything, despite Robby busting his ass—she–" Your voice broke and you gripped the railing. "She almost escaped it, but...her parents were angry more than heartbroken. Her mother threw things at the father, he yelled back and I tried to calm them down, but h-he pulled me in, threw me in the wall and said I was too incompetent, I couldn’t save his daughter's life."

You inhaled sharply. "He killed himself 2 months later."

"Look at me."

"Jack—"

He pleaded your name. "That was not your fault. It will never get easy, I know that...too well. But you learn to live around it, but I need you to understand that it was not your fault."

You nodded. "How do you live with it?"

"Before returning to Pittsburgh, before my...leg, in Afghanistan—we used to get this street food. It used to be sold at nights and we used to switch routes and trade fucking mattresses and anything just to have a chance to get it. Its called kolcha. It used to be heaven in the hell we were put in.

I used to see my brothers get blown up, losing their lives, civilians losing a sense of humanity after the way everyone treated them. But there are soft joys that help the grief. that helped me live. Stopped me from..." He trailed off, a pensive look forming on his face.

Your hand clasped around his on the railing. He gazed up at you, your eyes already on him, so honeyed, filled with care and admiration, with so much compassion, he didn't know what to do with it.

You both just gaped at each other. Your hearts filled to the brim. Getting lost in time.

Suddenly, a ray of sunlight reflected in Jack's hazel eyes and you broke your contact, a gasp forming on your lips as you tore your eyes away to marvel at the jawdropping sunrise.

The sun was officially peeking up. Its rays bounced off skyscrapers made of glass, lighting up the small alleys of the street. The orange and yellow shades painted the horizon and you almost died right there. "Its so beautiful..."

The sunlight was colouring your skin, your giddiness coming out with the sun.

"Will you take care of yourself, sunny?"

You let out a sweet giggle. "Sunny?"

"The sun clearly loves you." He murmured softly before tucking in a strand of hair fallen haphazardly on your eyes, blocking him from the view.

"Hmm, you're going soft on me, old man. Or are you just manipulating me so that I won't tell anyone that your grumpy attitude is a hoax and you're just a big ol' teddy bear?"

He snorted and let out a soft smile.

Your heart jumped.

"Oh my god!" you gasped and pointed. "Oh my god! You smiled!"

"Come on, sunny. Let's get you inside before you tragically die due to slipping while celebrating something that never happened—"

"Excuse me—" You scoffed but let him lead you onto the safer side of the railing, his hands on your shoulders, sliding down to your hands to steady you as you come over.

"Try convincing Robby that you did it—"

"Oh fuck off, you are just a big, fuzzy, loving teddy bear inside—"

His smile burned through you, in your heart.

And as you predicted, you could never forget it.

—

The next day, there was a new skip to your walk as you entered the pitt. You had spent your day trying to calm down your heart every time you reminisced what happened on the roof. Your skin would jump with goosebumps and your cheeks would immediately redden. So you distracted yourself in the best way.

You walked in with a box in your hand. The aroma of the newly tried recipe made everyone turn their heads. But this time you refrained from giving in to your beloved pittlings' puppy eyes.

Lena and Dana raised their eyebrows. "What's got our sunshine happier than before?"

"Nothing." You squealed softly.

"Mhm." Lena hummed. But mama nurse knew you too well. She knew all of you too well. "You know, you spent an awful lotta time on the roof yesterday. And what's that in the box you're tryin' so hard to keep away?"

"Its for Jack." You murmured. "He mentioned this food he had when he was in Afghanistan—"

"Didn't Dr. Abbot take you up on the roof yesterday?" Joy chimed in.

"What!?" Trinity yelped.

"Excuse me?" Dana took her glasses off and left them on the counter with a thud.

"Are you serious?" Matteo asked you, with her eyes wide open as Princess squealed to Perlah. "i knew it! may utang ka sa akin ng 50 bucks!"

Donnie gave you a pat on the back, like he was proud of you. "W–wait—guys—"

"What's going on here?"

You closed your eyes and sighed in defeat. The voice, the man, the mchottie who had you in trouble. Ellis leaned up on the counter with a dangerously smug look on her face. "Well, we were just talking about sunshine here and yo—"

Your eyes widened and embarrassment crawled up your veins in your neck, swirling anxiety in your brain with all the ways this could go wrong. "Okay! Everybody go back to work, now! Trinity, go home. Ellis, your labs for the 33 year old lady in north five are here and Matteo—"

She peered at Matteo with her glasses slid down till her nose, staring at his phone dreamily, who straightened up, as if he was caught with a scandal. "—do us all a favour, keep the yearning for Dr. Javadi aside and get. back. to. work!"

Everyone scrambled off. You gaped at her with a grateful look in your eyes. "You are amazing."

You turned around to look at the man you've been—shamefully or shamelessly you didn't know—thinking about the whole night and your jaw almost dropped. The sight was marvelous.

Jack abbot in gear.

Camouflage pants and a tight black tee.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer." He dryly quipped at you.

Before you could reply, a gurney came bursting through the bay. "55 year old man, cardiac arrest—"

You felt his whole body reset and bracing like it always did. "Sunny, you're with me—"

"Sunny?" Shen asked, a knowing, smug look adorned his face as his eyes jumped from him to you. Your whole body flushed. He was going to be your ruin. Jack ignored Shen's absolutely valid inquiry with the excuse of the patient in front of him. But you're frozen.

He still remembered your conversation.

Did he think about it again and again and again like you did?

Your heart did not stop pumping blood but your brain stopped producing logic it seems.

"Sunny? You still with me?" Hus rough yet gentle voice coaxed you out of your thoughts and reminded you of the situation at hand. You cleared your throat and just nodded wordlessly, hoping no one would notice the red on you face.

How will you survive this man?

After sending him off to surgery, Crus looked between the both of you, as if he could sense the electricity between you, the tension, the undying sense of something happened here and just these two are in denial. "That was smooth."

Jack raised one eyebrow at him, amusement etched onto his face. "What was?"

Crus cleared his throat. You stilled. You knew what was coming. Crus did not stop. "You two make a good team."

You shot him a glare that seemed somewhere between 'i will kill you' and 'please don't make my life hell'. He saw it, noted it, considered it.

And threw it in the trash apparently. "Just saying. Everyone saw it inside. Its like you both were in sync. Unstoppable. Inevitable—"

Don't say it.

"—made for each other."

Shen made a choked sound and Ellis pursed her lips, trying to contain her giggle. Beside you, Jack stilled.

"Sunny makes it easier. Made for the night shift." He grunted out.

"Don't make it sound dramatic." He signed on some discharge papers and handed them to Lena. His hand brushed against yours. "Bye, sunny." he murmured softly against your cheek and left you. All by yourself. To process what just happened.

"So, sunny?"

"Shut up, guys."

You turned around and walked towards the supply closet, nothing but an excuse to ditch the conversation that you are about to face.

They followed you like little ducklings.

"What happened to you guys on the roof?" Crus asked.

"Nothing happened—and how do you know?"

Ellis scoffed as if the notion of anything staying a secret in this hospital was absurdly ridiculous. "Come on! tell us—"

"Nothing happened guys and shush!" You glared at them. They peered on you with curiosity as your body shook with embarrassment? Humiliation? Adrenaline? The mere thought of Jack abbot and you on the roof?

Shen slurped on his stupid watered down coffee. "You should go for it."

"I will stab you—"

"No, he's right! At least then your sexual tension in between emergency traumas will not traumatise us."

"Excuse me?"

"Please—even the unconscious patient can sense it!"

You huffed and crossed your arms as if it could save you from this conversation and put on a mask of denial. "That's not even remotely true. besides—I don't like him!"

The three of them stared at you. "Yes, and Shen doesn't live on caffeine." Ellis deadpanned. "You cant deny something we see literally everyday. You banter, flirt, tease and even cook for him! Didn't you make something specially for him today?"

Crus gasped dramatically. "Whaaaat?"

You rolled your eyes. "Its not that big of a deal."

"Yes, it is." The three of them chimed in unison. Your eyes fell on their faces, their relentless questions and sighed in defeat. You scrunched your face, closing your eyes for just a second and then squinting at them. "Am I that obvious?"

"Yes—"

"No—"

You pursed your lips and raised your eyebrows at them. "Seriously?"

They gave you wordless looks almost meant to serve with pity, empathy, hope. You don't know. "Listen, you just made this afghan food for him which I know you've never even heard of before. You try to make him smile everyday and there is this embarrassingly obvious sexual tension in between you. Don't think that the ED is half blind to miss the looks you give him."

You sharply inhaled.

"Hey, there's no harm in going for it—he will say yes. If he doesn't, that's his loss. some other person will get your perfectly baked goods." Ellis assured you.

That's when your brain imagined it—wildly. Not in the unsaid, shy and restrained ways it has been doing for the past months. The vivid image of you and the attending you made smile, together, in each other's arms, happy. Holding hands, requited secret glances, soft kisses, stolen touches, his eyes with a gentleness and passion just saved for you and a love that's not a secret—its known, its seen and understood—but its just for both of you.

Your heart skipped a beat.

Your cheeks blushed furiously.

The three of them smirked, knowingly.

"I—" You gulped and stammered on your words. "I need to be somewhere." Your hands shook and your brain didn't comprehend what you needed, nor did your body and it all was about to go crashing when—

"What are you all doing there? Don't you have jobs?"

Jack.

You didn't whether to sigh in relief or wring your hair out in frustration. This man was going to end you. "You know, sunny also has patients to attend to, rather than hearing you guys bicker or gossip about whatever it is."

You felt heat and humiliation hiking up your neck as you notice the smug looks they give each other before wandering off. "Yes boss."

But not before Ellis winked at you, Crus gave you a smug salute, and Shen slurped away loudly, obnoxiously, knowingly, looking back and forth between you and Jack.

Speaking of the man, he just leaned against a counter, gazing at you, with an unpredictable and unreadable look on his face. "Well, since you're done organising that supply closet for the 4th time, some patients are getting starved of your sunshine. Unless, of course, the supply room is in dire need of your attention, sunny."

Sudden confidence flared in your chest. "Well, cap'n grumps, you could just say you are in dire need of attention. No need to shame my perfect supply room."

Your mouth spoke before your brain you could stop it. His mouth twitched, just slightly, his amusement not hiding under a curtain and a glimmer in his pretty eyes which made you weak in the knees. "Get back to work, sunny." He murmured, head shaking and his shoulders lighter than before.

You almost giggled. "Of course, boss."

You walked away. every sense in your body was tingling, goosebumps on your skin and a fire somewhere in the pit of your stomach and a familiar fuzzy feeling growing stronger beneath your chest.

You didn't know if you were going to survive this man. You didn't know if you wanted to.

—

The next hours of the shift were determined to drain the soul out of you.

There were 4 traumas at the same time and a statewide insufficiency of nurses. So that meant you had to jump back and forth. Chairs was filled and actually overflowing while you had a scarcity of beds so all the nurses were charged with scheduling, organising and moving beds according to the level of emergency and pain patients were facing. Plus, you had multiple patients and a family who had declared that dr. google was more knowledgeable than a nurse.

Amazing.

And you hadn't gotten a chance to even eat.

When you finally got a chance to eat in the breakroom, that's when you saw it. The kolcha. Untouched. Because you wanted him to have the first bite. First taste. Just to see that Heartwarming smile again.

You bit your lip and took a peek outside. Everything had slowed down. Just for bit, you were sure, before another trauma, another emergency, another goddamn patient too obnoxious and blind to only believe what google says pulls you in.

This was the time, you decided.

So, you picked up the box, an extra hop to your walk, as you looked for him.

Jack abbot.

Ellis' words rang in your ears and your heartbeat sped up. Should I do it?

Take the chance, the risk?

"Hey, Lena, do you know where Jack is?" You asked softly, almost bashfully, as she narrowed her eyes at you but then flashed you a knowing look before pointing at a room.

The buzz in your heart and brain intensified as you walked towards him. You were so giddy, it hurt. Your soft smile had turn into a beam. The anticipation had turned to you nervous and exhilarated. You wanted to see his smile, the one he'll give after you give him a kolcha. Will it be a soft and dedicated one, reserved just for you? Will it be a joyous and unwithdrawn one, not shying away from showing his beautiful wrinkles?

Everything made your heart soar.

Your feet slowed down as you got there and you heard voices. His and... Dr. Al-hashimi. She was laughing before Jack spoke.

"So, you want get that beer we talked about?"

You heard Jack chuckle. A vibration that rumbled through his lungs in his chest to the ground that you apparently walked on. You felt as if it had just been pulled underneath you. It was lighthearted, casual—directed at someone else.

The ringing of elation in your ears stopped. Replaced with a haunting stillness.

"Yeah, of course. I would love to."

Your breath stopped in your lungs.

It was casual without any audible or visible awkwardness. You glanced inside only to see Jack smiling, a sly and playful grin, lighting up his whole face. Directed towards her. Not you.

Never you.

You wondered if she made it easy for him. Like you probably never did. His whole body was turned towards her, a casual openness to him that was never reciprocated with you. Your chest tightened. Throat strained. Something in your temples felt like it was being pulled.

Jack asking Dr. Al Hashimi out for beers. Your breathing felt shallow. Why wouldn't he? She was brilliant, kind almost dazzling with every step she took. She carried herself with maturity that only comes with facing warzones and fighting injustice. She never had to take constant efforts to make someone smile. He did it instantly for her.

Your hold on the box full of kolchas loosened.

Your legs moved before your brain processed everything. Your eyes looked into the distance, your thoughts melding, twisting your heart, a suffocating hurt settling deep in your bones.

You just kept walking.

"Hey, hon—you okay?" You heard someone say, but your mouth didn't move, your voice had gone numb. So, you just gave tight smile and gave a wordless nod and moved ahead.

Get back to work. You have patients.

Your body moved, on instinct, but without any soul in it.

He didn't owe you anything, you realized. He never reciprocated your efforts, nor did he respond. He just grunted, shook his head, raised his eyebrows, scoffed. It was meaningless. Fruitless. It was just amusement to him. You felt your heart hitting the pit of your stomach. He probably never even considered it. You were his nurse. He was your attending. You tried too hard it was almost entertaining. The sunshine of the night shift. Overbearing. aAways shining. Never needed anything back.

You were nothing like her.

She was everything he could want.

You never even understood where you left the box of kolchas meant for him. It was discarded somewhere like it never included unconditional efforts, hope and love. Like you didn't just stay up the hours you were supposed to put in for sleep to make something you had never made from scratch, just for him. It was not like he ever tried anything you made.

You just walked to a patient, and gave them a smile.

But it felt foreign on your face.

You asked them what was wrong, checked their pulse, gave necessary meds and equipment to the resident in front of you. It felt mechanical. Your eyes were vacant. Too preoccupied with trying to see the things your heart missed. the hope that you harboured over time, the anticipation and giddiness on seeing him, the fuzzy feeling inside your sternum.

Now replaced with a sudden anxiety. A hollowness.

"There she is." You almost jumped, startled by the intrusion of the voice you were now dreading to listen to. "I was looking for you."

Flashes of his soft smile, the wonderful sound of his chuckle, the casual openness—never meant for you—shattered you. You stood there still, unresponsive.

"Sunny?" Jack asked, oh-so-gently, but it just pricked your skin like needles. Even his soft words had become a sign of betrayal. Was he just dragging you along?

A shaky exhale escaped you but your face remained stoic. Your movements were calculated.

"Lena wants you to talk to this patient, he doesn't agree with any of the nurses, says he wants a 'real, qualified doctor'."

"Okay—"

"—and ortho has your results ready for north five, just sign on those." You said in a clipped tone. Tou couldn’t even look at him anymore. You had to get out of there.

But you could still feel him. His furrowed eyebrows, tensed shoulders, concerned eyes—searching for answers, searching for you. All confused. But you didn't have answers. Not anymore.

So, you left, wordlessly, with your broken heart.

Him, with confusion etched onto his features.

Because you realized that while you looked for him in every room before even entering it, he probably never did.

So you should stop too.

Shouldn't you?

oh, what a curse it is to be lover girl

—laufey.

thank you for reading!

part two is out now!

tagging ppl who commented on inspo post:

@thefemininemystiquee @celestialceremonials @cloudwerewolf @seraphk1ss @mafercita101 @sugakookieswithacupoftae16 @loveisallyouneed1125 @moondustfairies @amethystmoonempress @pear-1206 @allthatisbuck1917 @rkentzler9 @hahaifolded @caroficrecommend

[fadedmunson]

dbf!jack abbot who loves being around you

your dad's gone for the weekend and you're lazing around on your humongous couch engrossed in the phone call you were having when in walks dr. abbot, or your "jack rabbit."

his eyes look soft and gentle, but excessively tired. his posture is slightly hunched but softens once he hears your laughter from the couch and he's scratching his stubble while unlocking the front door and setting down his bag and you pay him no mind at first, just waving and blowing him a kiss before continuing the conversation with your friend, complaining about whatever corny reality tv show everyone was obsessing over.

he takes the phantom kiss with a tired chuckled and puts it in his pocket before turning to the kitchen

you quickly sit up off the couch and see where he's rested on the kitchen island, waiting for the espresso machine to pour out his liquid gold.

you open the fridge and take out a fruit salad you had made earlier, rummaging through the cupboards for a fork with one hand while the other balances your plate and your phone

you are making so much fucking noise and in your peripheral is a staring jack abbot

his eyes are so soft and he seems to be so content with all the noise you're making, just staring at you in complete awe, happy and basking in your uninterrupted presence. your giggles and over exaggerated reenactments of 'love island' is like honey being poured into his ears.

he sees you turning to go back to the sofa and wordlessly waves you over to sit with him

you comply, of course, quickly bidding your friend bye before scurrying over to the doctor

he grabs your plate and fork and pats his thigh, inviting you to sit on him

your eyebrows knit together before you speak "im too heavy for that, jack rabbit"

he audibly laughs at this "sweetie i can deadlift you in my sleep," he nods his head over to the coffee machine "go get my coffee and then come sit on my lap, it's not up for discussion"

you playfully roll your eyes before walking away, but not before he smacks your ass as you walk by him

you just glare at him before getting his mug and walking back, situating yourself on his surprisingly comfortable thigh

he smells like mint gum, muted cedar notes from the cologne he put on hours ago, and latex

you both just stay like that while you eat your fruit and he sips on his coffee, quietly enjoying eachothers presence so early in the morning.

jack could probably die in this exact moment and he'd die a happy man

one hand sipping an amazing peruvian treasure while the other one holds your plush thighs steady, you mindlessly feeding him fruit while scrolling on your phone and taking breaks by pecking on his cheek

he prayed your dad gets swamped on this business trip because selfishly, jack never wants to stop playing house with you.

[geminiwritten]

── miss independent ; jack abbot

summary: you've always kept things casual. it's just easier that way. you've got a roster, a routine, and absolutely no intention of changing—until you realise you've made one very inconvenient mistake: falling in love with dr. jack abbot.

notes: okay, this took way longer than it should have because i burnt out trying to make all the "medical stuff" absolutely perfectly, then when i picked it back up i feel like the rhythm changed a little? hopefully for the better? i'm not sure if it's worth the wait, but i really hope y'all still enjoy! and as always, please let me know what you think!

warnings: swearing, blushing, italics, fwb type situation, jealousy, implied age gap, reader is in serious denial, medical descriptions, medical procedure descriptions (not graphic), most definitely incorrect medical information, sexual references, implied sexual relationships, making out (on shift), and one irritatingly handsome and unreasonably reasonable night shift attending.

word count: 15620

“Hey—oh, thank God.” You kick the door shut behind you. “Can you wait for me? I just need, like, five minutes.”

Ellis sighs. “Really? I was just about to leave.”

“Five minutes,” you say again, already moving toward your room.

You don’t bother shutting the door. You just drop your bag at the foot of your bed, pull the faded old U.S. Army shirt over your head, and shove your sweatpants down. Then you grab a fresh set of scrubs and pull them on, tying the drawstring quickly before opening your bag to check for your badge and stethoscope.

“Aren’t you gonna shower?” Ellis calls from the living room.

“We showered before I left,” you say, “but I didn’t have a clean pair of scrubs.”

Ellis gags. “Gross. Why’d you have to say ‘we’?”

You sling your bag over your shoulder as you step out of your room, grinning.

“Because we had some really great shower sex too.”

Ellis makes a dramatic vomiting noise as you both head out the door, her keys jingling as she turns to lock it.

“I thought Deran was your usual Thursday morning appointment,” she says.

You shrug. “Scheduling conflict.”

She turns and starts down the hall, glancing at you from the corner of her eye. “You are the schedule.”

“I’m restructuring,” you say lightly, falling into step beside her. “Don’t think Deran’s making the cut.”

Ellis doesn’t say anything else. She just watches you for a second—eyes narrowing, brows drawing a little tighter—before shaking her head and turning toward the fire stairs door. You both make your way down to the parking garage in silence, crossing the dimly lit basement until you reach Ellis’ car.

The drive to the hospital isn’t long. Ellis fills most of it complaining about a patient she handed off to McKay this morning who insisted his diagnosis was wrong because he’d googled it—and she’s still muttering angrily by the time she pulls into the hospital parking lot.

“I swear,” she says, yanking the parking brake a little too hard, “if I hear the words ‘but I googled it’ even once tonight, I’m going to lose my mind.”

You snort softly as you climb out of the car, slinging your bag over your shoulder before shutting the door. You both head inside through the ambulance bay, keeping out of the way of an arriving trauma as the paramedics wheel the gurney through—something about chest pain, you overhear.

“Trauma one’s open,” Dana calls.

“Dr. Toomarian, with me.”

Your head snaps up at the sound of Jack’s voice, your gaze landing on him beside the gurney as he guides it through the trauma bay doors, that familiar mask of focus already in place.

Then he looks at you, something flickering across his face.

“Hey—don’t disappear. I need to talk to you after this.”

You lift your hand, pointing a finger at yourself. “Me?”

He nods once before turning into the trauma bay, the glass door swinging shut behind him.

“Ooh,” Ellis murmurs as you both turn down the back hall. “You’re in trouble.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, right.”

“Maybe he’s restructuring,” she adds, the corner of her mouth lifting. “Think you’ll make the cut?”

You shoot her a flat look. “Very funny.”

Ellis smirks as she opens her locker, shrugging her bag off her shoulder and shoving it inside. You do the same—moving on autopilot as you sling your stethoscope around your neck, clip your badge at your hip, and stuff your backpack in your locker before shutting the door.

You head back toward the hub side by side, both peering into the trauma bay as you pass. The patient is stable now, half-conscious on the bed while Jack gives orders and Jesse preps for transfer to a room for monitoring. Dr. Robby is in there too now, looking as tired as always with his arms folded and protective glasses pushed up on top of his head.

“Evening, ladies,” Lena says from behind the nurses’ desk. “Get a good sleep?”

“Always,” Ellis replies as she grabs a tablet from the rack.

“Good enough,” you mutter, tipping your head back to read the board.

“Mm.” Lena peers at you over the top of her glasses. “Well, maybe you should start prioritising sleep over extracurriculars.”

Ellis snorts beside you.

“Lena,” you gasp, voice thick with mock offence. “I don’t—”

You stop short as Jack steps up beside you, offering Lena a polite nod before looking back at you.

“You have my badge.”

You frown. “What?”

“My badge,” he says again, already reaching for the badge at your hip.

He unclips it from your scrub pants and holds it up, brows lifting just slightly.

“Attending physician, huh?”

You shrug. “Thought it was time I got a promotion.”

He huffs out a small laugh, shaking his head as he fastens the badge to his scrub top and fishes your badge from his back pocket. Then he steps in closer, his fingers grazing your hip as he tugs on the waistband of your pants and clips the badge where his had been.

“Try to keep track of it,” he mutters, already turning away.

You don’t respond. You just roll your eyes and turn back to the nurses’ station, where Lena is still watching you over the rim of her glasses, utterly unimpressed.

“You didn’t even notice?” Ellis asks.

You lift one shoulder. “I just grabbed it off the floor.”

“Okay,” Lena mutters, glancing back down at her chart. “I’m choosing not to know.”

Ellis shakes her head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I know,” you say, tipping your head back again to read the board. “But you love me.”

She snorts, not even looking up from her tablet.

“Come on.” You bump your shoulder against hers. “Let’s go check out the elbow dislocation in One.”

“Fine,” she sighs, “but I’m not doing traction.”

You roll your eyes for what feels like the umpteenth time as you start moving, heading toward the North corridor with Ellis at your heel. When you pull back the curtain at North One, the man lying there is exactly what you expected—mid-twenties, gym shorts, red with embarrassment and trying not to wince even though the shape of his shoulder is very wrong.

“Alright, Mr. Donovan,” you say, pulling on a pair of gloves. “Let’s have a look at that shoulder.”

His eyes flick up to your face, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Are you a doctor?”

“Sure am,” you reply as you step closer to the bed. “And with me is Dr. Ellis. She’s going to help me get that bone back in place, but first you’re going to have to tell us how you did it.”

He grimaces as you gently prod his upper arm.

“Yeah—uh—I was just at the gym,” he starts, voice strained.

“Benching?” Ellis asks.

He nods. “Yeah.”

“Let me guess—personal best?”

He nods again. “Yeah. How did you—”

“Happens more often than you think,” you cut in, your fingers finding the pulse at his wrist. “Move your fingers.”

He wriggles them slowly.

“Any numbness?”

He shakes his head.

“I was just putting the bar back,” he says. “My arm twisted a bit and it just… popped.”

You glance over your shoulder at Ellis, and she nods.

“Okay, Mr. Donovan—”

“You can call me Chase,” he interrupts, the corner of his mouth lifting a little higher.

You nod once. “Alright, Chase. We’re going to give you something for the pain and a muscle relaxant so it’s easier to get it back into place. Then Dr. Ellis and I are going to do the reduction.”

“Will it hurt?”

“Not much,” Ellis replies. “Maybe a little discomfort, but it’ll be quick.”

“Okay,” he mutters, wincing again as he tries to shift in the bed.

You look at Ellis. “Fentanyl and midaz?”

She nods, already turning away to find a workstation.

“We’ll be back in about five minutes,” you tell Chase. “Just as soon as a nurse administers the medication and it has enough time to kick in.”

“Five minutes, huh? That’s just enough time for me to figure out how to ask for your number.”

You snort. “Let’s just get your shoulder back in first, then see how you feel.”

“Ouch,” he chuckles. “Is that your subtle way of saying you have a boyfriend?”

You hesitate, taking half a step back from the bed.

“Uh—no,” you mutter. “No boyfriend.”

He smirks. “So I have a shot?”

You shake your head as you turn away, a faint smile pulling at your lips. “Like I said—let’s see how you feel after I manhandle your humerus back into its socket.”

He doesn’t say anything else—just lets out a quiet breath of laughter as you turn and step out of the room.

Your gaze flicks up as you reach for the curtain, and only then do you notice Jack standing there—arms folded, shoulders set, his hazel eyes fixed on you like he’s waiting for something.

“Oh—hey,” you say. “Need me?”

He shakes his head. “Nope. Just doing the rounds. Want a hand with the reduction?”

“Nah, I’ve got Ellis,” you reply, starting back toward Central. “But you’re more than welcome to supervise.”

He scoffs, falling into step beside you. “You don’t need supervising.”

“I know.” You glance at him from the corner of your eye, a smirk tugging at your lips. “But I know how you like to watch.”

His mouth quirks, like he’s trying not to laugh.

“Careful,” he murmurs.

“Or what?” you tease, stopping just before the nurses’ station.

His eyes are a little darker now, the tops of his cheeks dusted pink.

“You don’t want to find out,” he says, his voice low enough that only you can hear.

Something twists low in your belly—and you get the sudden, distinct feeling that you do, in fact, want to find out.

“Abbot,” Lena calls before you can say anything else. “Trauma inbound—cyclist versus vehicle, ETA three minutes.”

Jack pauses for a half a second—then nods. “Alright, let’s prep Trauma Two.” He looks at you. “You in?”

You pull a face, all mock disappointment. “Oh, I wish I could, but I’ve got that reduction…”

He gives you a flat look, the corner of his mouth pulling just slightly. “Mm. Tragic.”

“Good luck, though,” you add, flashing him a grin.

You turn away before he does, moving around the hub to grab a tablet and find your next patient. It isn’t long before the paramedics come crashing through the ambulance bay doors with a groaning patient on the gurney—and you take that as your cue to get back to the shoulder dislocation.

“Alright, Chase,” you say, pulling back the curtain. “Let’s do this.”

He gives you a lopsided smile. “I was hoping I’d see you again.”

Ellis snorts. “Midaz is working.”

You laugh softly as you step up beside his affected arm, adjusting the bed slightly before pulling on a pair of gloves. Ellis does the same, moving into position on the other side and bracing one hand against his good shoulder.

You look at her. “Ready?”

She nods once.

“Okay, Chase,” you say, one hand wrapping gently around his wrist. “Stay loose for me.”

You place your other hand at his elbow and bring his arm out from his body, easing it into position.

“Hey—relax,” Ellis says. “Don’t fight it.”

He lets out a breath, the tension in his body easing.

“That’s it,” you murmur, starting to pull his arm outward.

You feel the resistance from the dislocation, holding his arm steady until—his shoulder drops.

Ellis nods. “Good. Now rotate.”

You carefully rotate his arm out, slow and controlled, until you feel a small shift—the soft clunk of the bone slipping back into place. Chase flinches, inhaling sharply, then—

“Oh—” He blinks. “Oh, that’s—that’s way better.”

You give him a small smile as you guide his arm back in, keeping it supported while Ellis grabs the sling.

“Move your fingers,” you tell him.

He does.

“Any numbness?”

He shakes his head.

“Good.”

You move aside as Ellis steps in with the sling, fastening it over his shoulder before adjusting the bed again.

“Comfortable?” she asks.

Chase nods slowly. “‘M tired.”

“Then have a nap.”

You peel your gloves off and drop them in the waste bin, squirting a pump of sanitiser into your palm as you turn back toward Chase.

“We’re going to keep you here for a bit, okay? Just to monitor you and get an X-ray to make sure everything’s back in place.”

“You’re leaving me?” he mumbles, eyes half-lidded.

You shake your head, letting out a quiet laugh. “I’ll be back in a bit to see how you’re feeling, alright?”

He mutters something else as his eyes slip shut, but it’s too soft for you to hear.

Then, after a beat, Ellis looks at you. “Gonna give him your number?”

You roll your eyes. “Um, no.”

“Why not?”

“Because I'm not—”

“Roster’s looking a little thin,” she says as she turns and steps out of the room.

You follow her, frowning. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She shrugs. “Not that I’m keeping track, but… by my count, you’re down to one.”

You let out a short, disbelieving scoff. “Okay—well, not that it’s any of your business, but Andrew moved to Canada, and Craig got back with his ex.”

She glances at you from the corner of her eye. “And you dropped Deran, so—”

“Like I said,” you cut in, lifting your chin just slightly. “I’m restructuring.”

“Restructuring,” she repeats mildly, “or retiring?”

Before the words have even landed, she’s gone—slipping into North Five with her tablet in hand and that stupid little smirk still curled at the corner of her mouth. You can faintly hear her greet the patient as the door eases shut, leaving you confused and alone in the middle of the North corridor.

Retiring?

You blink, your brows drawing tighter.

Retiring?

What the hell is that supposed to mean? Retiring from what?

From having fun? Having casual sex? Blowing off a little steam in the most enjoyable way you know how?

It’s not like you’re some irresponsible party animal—you barely go out, you only drink on occasion, and the hardest drug you’ve done since starting med school is ibuprofen. In fact, you’d argue that you’re the opposite of irresponsible. You take your casual sex roster very seriously. You don’t take risks, you make sure every single one of your partners has regular sexual-health check-ups, and you make sure to actually get to know them before you even sign them up.

Which is exactly why you’re not going around giving out your number to random patients.

You need to know someone before you start something casual. You need to know that they’re not going to ask for more, that they’re going to be mature and understand exactly where you both stand.

You need to know that you can trust them not to be irresponsible.

Because the last thing you need is some trigger-happy idiot who isn’t wearing a condom getting caught up in the moment and finishing inside you. Not that you ever go without a condom.

Except for...

Well—except for Jack.

But that’s different. He knows what he’s doing. You trust him—and you’re on birth control.

So it doesn’t really matter if, occasionally, he finishes—

“You good, or are you just going to keep staring into space?”

Your head snaps up, heat flooding your cheeks as you meet Henderson’s gaze.

“Uh—yeah, sorry, I was just—”

He chuckles. “No need to apologise—but if you’re bored, I could use an extra set of hands in Eight.”

You tilt your head. “Worth it?”

“Forearm lac. Exposed tendon.”

You nod. “I’m in.”

The next few hours blur together in a steady stream of night shift weirdness—a woman with a mystery rash whose story evolves from laundry detergent to poison ivy, someone who decided Gorilla Glue was a reasonable substitute for hair gel, a fish hook through a hand with the fish still attached, and a DIY dentistry job with half the tooth left and a lot of blood.

You barely catch a break until your patient in Central Twelve—when you and Ellis absolutely have to leave the room before you both burst out laughing at the mortified man who insists he slipped and fell on a Buzz Lightyear action figure. Because how else would it get stuck up there?

In your defence, you had managed to maintain some semblance of professionalism right up until Ellis muttered under her breath, “To infinity and beyond, I guess.”

That’s when you lost it—muttering the first excuse you could think of before slipping out the door and doubling over with laughter.

“Oh my God,” Ellis says, wiping the corner of her eye. “I love the night shift.”

You press a hand to your stomach, still aching from the laughter.

“Stop—” you gasp, shaking your head. “I can’t go back in there.”

“In where?” Shen asks, appearing in front of you.

You and Ellis both go still for a second, the laughter dying down as you exchange a look.

“Actually,” Ellis says, turning back to Shen with a smirk. “I think this case might be perfect for you, Dr. Shen.”

You nod. “Oh, absolutely. We could really use your expertise on this one.”

Shen frowns. “What’s the case?”

“It’s hard to explain,” Ellis says quickly. “You’re better off seeing it for yourself.”

Shen isn’t stupid, obviously, but he is incredibly curious—as most doctors are. So despite the fact that both you and Ellis are doing a terrible job of hiding your amusement, he takes the tablet from your outstretched hand and opens the door to Central Twelve.

Ellis’ eyes go wide, but before either of you can say anything else, someone calls your name across the department.

“Trauma One—get in here,” Jack says, waving a hand.

You let out a sigh, tipping your head back for a split second before jogging across Central to meet the paramedics.

“Twenty-four-year-old male—fell onto a plastic prop sword,” the first paramedic says, guiding the gurney into Trauma One. “Penetrating injury to the left thigh, object still in situ. Bleeding controlled, pulses intact, GCS fifteen. Fentanyl given en route, vitals stable.”

You almost snort when you realise the man is dressed in a pirate costume, his plastic cutlass wedged about four inches into his anterolateral thigh.

“Alright, we’ll take it from here,” Jack says. “Can you tell us your name, sir?”

“Josh,” the patient replies, his voice strained.

“Stabilise the leg,” you tell Mateo, moving into position opposite him. “On my count—one, two, three.”

You shift the patient from gurney to bed, and the paramedics clear out.

“Josh!”

A young woman rushes into the room, clearly from the same party—wearing what can only be described as a very short, very inaccurate interpretation of a nurse’s uniform.

“Oh my God. Is he bleeding out?”

Jack glances up, his lips twitching when he spots the woman. “I don’t remember approving that uniform.”

You shoot him a look. “Very funny, Dr. Abbot.”

His eyes linger on you for a beat too long.

“Not that I’d object,” he murmurs.

You arch a brow. “The nurses might.”

“I’m not a nurse,” the woman says, indignant. “I’m a sexy doctor.”

You look her up and down again, your gaze catching on the small, laminated name badge pinned to her chest with ‘Dr. Feelgood’ printed in bold pink letters.

You hum. “Right.”

“Still not the sexiest doctor in the room,” Jack mutters as he moves around the bed.

Your eyes flick up, meeting his for half a second, the corner of your mouth lifting just slightly before you catch yourself and turn back to Josh.

“Have you had anything to drink tonight, Josh?” you ask.

Somewhere behind you, Dr. Feelgood starts to answer for him, but Bridget quickly steps in and guides her out of the trauma bay.

“I’ve got a dorsalis pedis pulse,” Jack notes.

Josh groans, mumbling something unintelligible under his breath.

“We’re going to get you something for the pain, alright?” you say, watching Olive insert the IV. “But first, I need to know what happened and how much you’ve had to drink.”

Mateo carefully cuts up the leg of Josh’s pants, fully exposing the entry site.

“I—ngh—I fell on it—” Josh manages. “It’s not even—not even real—fuck—”

Mateo turns away quickly, hiding his amusement.

“What about alcohol?” you ask again.

“Like—two beers,” he replies.

“Any drugs?”

“No—ah—no drugs.”

You nod. “Okay. Let’s give another twenty-five of fent.”

“Can we get surgery down here?” Jack asks as he steps back from the bed.

Mateo moves to grab the phone. “Calling now.”

Jack nods, folding his arms and lifting his head to look at you. “Alright. What’s next?”

“Repeat neurovascular exam, stabilise the object, don’t remove it, and get imaging before anyone touches it.”

He nods again. “Good.”

You try to ignore the way he’s watching you as you move to the foot of the bed, going through the motions of the neurovascular checks a little slower than he had just a minute ago.

“Pulses still intact. Cap refill under two. No numbness,” you report.

“Good,” he says again. “Keep checking. If that changes, we move faster.”

You nod once before turning back to Josh.

“Do you know when your last tetanus shot was, Josh?”

He shakes his head faintly. “No.”

“Okay, tetanus booster—” you glance up at Jack, “and antibiotics.”

“Which antibiotic?”

“Cefazolin?”

He watches you for a beat, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly—then he turns to Olive. “You heard the doctor. Get him some cefazolin.”

You drop your head, biting back a smile as you watch Mateo start to clean the entry site.

“Let’s flag contamination risk for surgery,” Jack says, pulling off his gloves. “And X-ray for—”

“Position and fragments,” you cut in, finishing for him. “And CTA left leg to clear the vessels before removal.”

He tosses his gloves in the bin and turns back toward you, brows raised.

“Alright,” he says, mildly amused. “I can see I’m no longer needed in here.”

You flash him a small, smug smile before turning back to the wound.

“Entry looks clean, bleeding’s controlled—let’s pack around it and get him to imaging.”

Mateo nods and moves to grab more gauze, helping you pack carefully around the plastic blade so it doesn’t shift during transport. Jack lingers just long enough to make sure you’ve got everything under control before he steps out of the room, slipping back into the quiet chaos of the night shift.

You and Mateo quickly finish stabilising the leg before the nurses prep him for imaging. They’re just about to wheel the bed out when Walsh arrives from the OR, fighting a smile when she sees the pirate impaled by his own sword. You give her a brief rundown as you pull your gloves off and squirt a pump of sanitiser into your hands. She nods along, asks a few questions, then mutters something about prepping an operating room while they wait for imaging.

When you finally step out of the trauma bay, you spot Jack standing with Lena at the nurses’ station. You don’t quite catch all of their conversation as you walk past to grab a tablet, but you do hear something about ETA three minutes and decide to make yourself scarce before you’re dragged into another trauma.

You scan the board briefly, pick your next patient, then head toward the South corridor, already pulling up the chart for South Twenty on your tablet. You’re halfway through the patient’s intake when—

You stop—then take two steps back, turning your head toward South Seventeen.

“Deran?”

The man in the bed glances up, blowing a lock of dark blond hair out of his eyes.

He smiles. “Hey, doc.”

“What’re you doing here?” you ask, despite the obvious.

He’s got his left hand cradled in his lap, wrapped loosely in an oil-stained rag that’s already soaked through in places, blood seeping into the fabric and drying in dark blotches. His knuckles underneath are split and swollen, his pinky finger sticking out at an odd angle, the rest of his hand already blown out around it.

“I was helping a friend with his truck,” he says, glancing back down at his mangled hand. “The prop rod slipped, and the hood came straight down.”

“Ouch,” you murmur, stepping forward.

He huffs out a short laugh. “Yeah. Ouch.”

“Mind if I take a look?”

“Go for it.”

You set your tablet at the foot of the bed and step up beside him, leaning in as you gently lift the rag to get a better look at what’s underneath. It’s not that deformed—just swollen, and his pinky finger is obviously broken, but otherwise it’s mostly just bruising and superficial cuts. At least he won’t need stitches—maybe some steri-strips and a splint—but you’re more concerned about the dirty rag he’s got wrapped around it.

“What d’you think?” he asks, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Am I going to make it?”

You tilt your head. “Maybe. If we act fast.”

He laughs softly, the sound ringing almost too familiar in your ears.

You straighten quickly, clearing your throat. “Do you—uh—have you seen a doctor yet?”

He shakes his head. “No. Just you.”

You nod once and pick up your tablet, flicking out of South Twenty’s chart.

“Cool. I’ll be your doctor—” You pause, glancing back at him. “Unless you think that’s a conflict of interest?”

His smile widens. “You mean the prettiest doctor in Pittsburgh’s gonna fix me up?”

You roll your eyes. “Just Pittsburgh, huh?”

“Well, I couldn’t say the world—that’d be way too cheesy.”

You snort. “All your lines are cheesy.”

He gasps. “All of them?”

“All of them,” you echo, keeping your eyes fixed firmly on your tablet.

“Wow,” he mutters. “Tough crowd.”

You shake your head, trying not to smile as you pull up his chart and make a quick note, effectively assigning yourself as his physician. Then you set the tablet back on the bed and turn to grab a pair of gloves.

“Alright, I just need to have a closer look before I can get you some pain relief.”

You nudge the stool closer to the bed and sit down, leaning in as Deran gingerly shifts his hand. You peel the rag back properly this time, murmuring an apology when he winces, and set the dirty thing aside before reaching for gauze and saline.

“This might sting a bit,” you say, already starting to clean the dried blood from his knuckles. “Let me know if you want me to stop.”

“Do I need a safe word?” he asks smugly.

Your gaze flicks up, unamused—then back down to his hand without a word.

“I’m gonna go with meatball,” he decides. “Because—”

“—your favourite thing in the world is a meatball sub from that deli on Carson,” you cut in. “I know.”

His brows lift. “Wow.”

Your eyes flick up again. “Wow what?”

He shrugs, wincing slightly as you turn his hand. “Nothing. I just… didn’t think you paid that much attention.”

You don’t look up this time, unsure what you could possibly say that wouldn’t turn this into a deeper conversation than you’re willing to have right now.

After a beat, Deran hums. “Still doing the whole unavailable thing, huh?”

You roll your eyes. “It’s not a thing, Deran. I work fifteen hours a day with hardly any phone reception, and my days off are spent catching up on paperwork and sleep. I am unavailable.”

“Yeah, I know,” he says, glancing back down at his hand. “I guess I just figured since I hadn’t heard from you in a while, maybe some lucky guy finally managed to sweep you off your feet.”

You scoff, focusing a little too hard on wrapping fresh gauze around his hand. “Yeah, well—you’d be wrong.”

He grimaces when you turn his hand again, being careful not to bump his pinky finger as you finish dressing the cuts. Then you gently set it back in his lap and start cleaning up, swivelling on your stool to toss the oily rag and all the bloodied gauze into the waste bin.

“Alright,” you say, turning back. “Lift your hand for me.”

He lifts it slowly.

“Can you move your fingers?”

His eyes go wide.

You give him a flat look. “Just try.”

His expression twists as he slowly flexes his fingers, letting out a low, pained groan.

“Okay, that’s enough,” you say, scooting forward again. “Any numbness or tingling?”

He shakes his head. “No.”

You reach out and press gently against the tip of his pinky—until it turns white—then watch the colour return beneath his nail.

“Cap refill’s good,” you mutter, more to yourself.

He winces again as he lowers his hand back into his lap.

“So, what’s the verdict—is my weekend ruined?”

You snort. “Not entirely. I’ll get you some pain relief and order an X-ray. We might have to reduce the pinky, but I want imaging before I touch it—I need to see exactly where the fracture is first.”

“Well then,” he says, smirking as he lifts his right hand and holds up just the index and middle finger. “Good thing I’m right-handed.”

It takes a moment for the joke to land. You tilt your head, frowning faintly as you stare at his fingers.

Then it clicks.

“Oh my God,” you laugh, grabbing his hand and forcing it back down. “What is wrong with you?”

He grins. “What? You said it yourself—my weekend isn’t entirely ruined.”

You shake your head. “I didn’t think you meant that.”

“Well,” he says slowly, leaning in, “I don’t have plans yet, but if you’ve got time between paperwork and sleeping, maybe we could—”

“Everything alright in here?”

You turn to see Jack stepping past the curtain. He stops at the foot of the bed and clasps his hands behind his back, eyes flicking curiously between you and Deran.

You straighten a little and nod. “Yep. All good.”

“Except my hand,” Deran adds, lifting his injured hand.

“Right.” You shake your head once. “Deran, this is Dr. Abbot—he’s the senior attending on shift tonight.”

Then you glance back at Jack.

“Crush injury to the left hand after a truck hood came down on it. Significant swelling through the fifth digit with an obvious deformity at the pinky, plus some superficial lacerations across the knuckles. Neurovascularly intact—cap refill’s good, no numbness or tingling. I’ve cleaned and dressed the cuts, and I was just about to send him for imaging before we decide if the finger needs reducing.”

Jack nods once. “Good. Any pain management?”

You stand and nudge the stool back, picking up your tablet from the end of the bed.

“I was just about to order some ibuprofen and Tylenol.”

He nods again. “Sounds like you’ve got everything under control.”

You give him a small smile before turning back to Deran. “Hang tight—I’ll come find you once I get your X-ray results.”

He pouts. “You’re just going to leave me here?”

You roll your eyes, already turning away. “Unavailable, remember.”

Jack slides the curtain shut before following you out, falling into step beside you as you head back toward Central.

“You know him?”

You glance up from your tablet. “Uh—yeah. Old friend.”

He lifts a brow. “Friend?”

You give him a look. “What do you want me to say?”

He shrugs, letting out a quiet laugh. “Friend works.”

“Good,” you mutter, stopping at one of the workstations and setting your tablet down.

Jack pauses beside you. “Meet me in Central Twelve once you’ve put the orders in.”

You frown. “Why?”

The corner of his mouth twitches.

“Because I’m your boss, that’s why.”

Then he’s gone, moving through the department with that faint hitch in his stride and an ass that absolutely should not look that good in scrubs.

You shake your head and turn your attention back to the computer in front of you, swiping your badge to log in. You quickly pull up Deran’s chart, make a few notes, and order the ibuprofen and Tylenol. Then, just because you can, you try to pull up Central Twelve’s chart—if only to annoy Jack by getting a head start—but there’s nothing in the system.

Great. Must be a brand-new patient.

You let out an irritated little sigh before logging off and grabbing your tablet again.

The door to Central Twelve is shut when you get there, which isn’t unusual, but immediately makes you fear the worst for whatever case Jack has waiting for you inside.

You take a breath, turn the handle—and freeze when you spot the empty bed.

“Shut the door,” Jack says, without looking up from the supply drawer he’s rummaging through.

You hesitate. “Am I in trouble?”

He sighs. “Do you ever just do what you’re told?”

You finally step into the room, shutting the door behind you before setting your tablet on the room cart.

“Sometimes,” you say. “Depends what’s in it for me.”

Jack straightens, turning toward you. “That’s a remarkably transactional approach to life.”

You shrug. “I believe in reciprocation.”

He takes a step closer. “That’s not what reciprocation means.”

“Really?” you ask. “Because last time I checked—in the shower, by the way—you were getting a pretty good deal.”

His mouth quirks. “Are you saying I owe you?”

You step forward. “Who’s keeping count?”

“Maybe I am,” he murmurs.

Before you can say anything else, his fingers catch the hem of your shirt and he tugs—just enough to pull you off balance. Then his mouth is on yours. Slow, deep, unhurried. As if there isn’t an entire emergency department waiting on the other side of that door.

He presses closer, his hand moving beneath your shirt, rough fingers digging into your hip as his mouth parts lazily against yours. His tongue slides along your bottom lip, pulling a breathy little sigh from the back of your throat as your fingers curl into the front of his scrub top. You tilt your head, leaning in, chasing more—and for a second it almost feels like he’s going to give it to you.

Then he pulls away.

Your lips follow instinctively, and he chuckles, taking a deliberate step back.

You blink. “What was that?”

He lifts a shoulder. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

He steps toward the door.

“Dr. Toomarian’s got a patient to present.”

You stare at him. “Seriously?”

He reaches for the handle.

“South Sixteen.”

Then he’s gone, and you’re left watching the door swing shut with something strange and unfamiliar stirring beneath your ribs.

That was weird.

Not unpleasant. Not by any means. Just... unusual.

It takes you a little longer than it should to remember how to move. How to suck in a full breath, pick up your tablet, and head back out into the chaos of the night shift past midnight.

The department is exactly as you’d left it. Patients complaining about pain that could have been prevented with a little common sense. Doctors running on nothing but caffeine and questionable protein snacks. And Lena in the middle of it all, her glasses perched low on her nose as she scans the tablet in her hand.

“Hey,” you say, stepping up to the nurses’ station. “Got anything easy for me?”

Lena glances over the top of her glasses. “Easy left three hours ago.”

You sigh. “Come on. There’s got to be something.”

Her eyes flick back down. “I’ve got a Ms. Callahan in Central Nine. Migraine, vitals are fine.”

“Perfect. I’ll—”

“I’ve got this one,” Jack says, appearing beside you. “Dr. Toomarian needs a resident in South Sixteen.”

You frown. “But I—”

“Now.”

You stare at him for a second, wondering how the hell a man can kiss you breathless one minute then start barking orders at you the next.

“Fine,” you mutter, gripping your tablet a little tighter. “But when I’m admitted for emotional whiplash, I want it documented that you’re the reason why.”

Then you turn and head for the South hall before you’re tempted to say something even less professional.

You don’t normally snap like that—especially not at an attending—but something about the last fifteen minutes has crawled beneath your skin and stayed there, impossible to ignore. Your pulse still hasn’t settled properly. Your cheeks are still warm. And every time you think about Jack’s stupid little half-smirk after he’d kissed you, you’re annoyed.

You just can’t figure out why.

He doesn’t normally kiss you in the middle of a shift.

He doesn’t normally order you around like you’re a lost med student.

And he definitely doesn’t volunteer to see migraine patients.

But you don’t normally get this irritated. Especially not at Jack. The two of you are always messing around. Playing games. Flirting. It’s what you do. So what’s so different about tonight?

“Hey.” Ellis grabs your arm, stopping you just outside of South Sixteen. “You good?”

You blink. “Yeah. Why?”

“You look like you’re contemplating homicide.”

“And if I am?”

“I’d be obliged to remind you that we’re here to save lives, not end them.”

“Damn. Guess I’ll just have to wait until after my shift.”

Her eyes narrow, the corner of her mouth lifting just slightly. “Is this about who I thought I saw being taken up to imaging?”

You frown. “Who did you think you saw?”

“Deran.”

“Oh.”

You glance over her shoulder at the empty bed in South Seventeen.

“That was fast,” you mutter.

Her brows lift. “Wait. You’re his physician?”

You shrug. “Yeah.”

“Isn’t that a conflict of interest?”

“Isn’t my life a conflict of interest?”

She stares at you for a moment, amusement tugging at her mouth. “It’s one of those nights, huh?”

You sigh. “Yep.”

She puts a hand on your shoulder. “Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

Then she gives you a brief nod and continues down the hall, humming a tune you don’t recognise as if to rub it in that she’s having a far more pleasant shift than you are.

You spend the next half hour alongside Nazely, talking her through a chest pain workup and reassuring the patient who’s convinced every twinge in his left arm is the beginning of the end. By the time you’ve reviewed the ECG for the third time and convinced him that googling symptoms at two in the morning isn’t a substitute for medical advice, you’re finally able to move on.

The shift settles back into its usual rhythm after that. Patients. Notes. Consults. A never-ending stream of questions from the new med student stuck on nights and equally never-ending complaints from people who should have gone to bed instead of doing dumb things that landed them in the ED.

It isn’t until two a.m. that you finally find yourself back at the nurses’ station with Ellis, sipping a vending machine energy drink she’d forced into your hand while the department enjoys a rare moment of relative calm.

“Shen said the Butt Lightyear guy went up for surgery.”

Lena tilts her head. “Butt Lightyear?”

“You don’t want to know,” you murmur into your drink.

“They tried removing it manually but were worried about the wings,” Ellis explains.

“The wings?”

She smirks. “Yeah. You press a button and the wings pop out.”

You shut your eyes. “Ouch.”

“Let me guess,” Lena says, peering over the rim of her glasses. “He slipped?”

Ellis nods. “Yep. Total accident.”

“Yeah, and the toy just happened to be completely covered in lube too,” you add.

Lena sighs. “Every day I learn something new against my will.”

You and Ellis both laugh as Lena turns away, seemingly done with this conversation—and the people of Pittsburgh judging by the defeated look on her face. You’re about to reach for your tablet to pull up the X-ray images off poor Butt Lightyear when a bright laugh cuts through the quiet hum of the department, drawing your attention toward Central Nine.

You narrow your eyes. “Why is he still in there?”

Ellis shrugs. “Not sure. I thought it was just a migraine.”

“Laughing pretty hard for someone with a headache,” you mutter.

Ellis glances at you. “Do you know who she is?”

“Nope.”

“Huh.”

You look at her. “What?”

She shakes her head. “Nothing.”

“I have no idea who she is,” you say, grabbing your tablet. “And frankly? I don’t care.”

Ellis nods. “Okay.”

“Good.”

Then you turn away before she can say anything else, heading toward the North corridor even though you have no idea which patient you’re actually on your way to see.

It isn’t long before you find yourself passing through Central again, peering into Ms. Callahan’s room to see if she’s been discharged yet. Which she hasn’t—but at least Jack’s not in there anymore. Not that it really matters to you, but you can’t imagine the rest of the department is thrilled about an attending wasting half the night on a migraine patient.

Ten minutes later, you walk past Central Nine again. Not because you’re looking this time—you’re genuinely just passing on your way to find a free workstation—but she’s still in there. And she certainly doesn’t look like she’s in pain anymore.

If you were her, you’d be demanding discharge papers by now.

The third time you glance at Ms. Callahan, she catches your eye, and you offer her a small, awkward smile before quickly glancing back down at your chart. The same chart you’ve been pretending to work on for the better part of fifteen minutes without writing a single coherent sentence.

“You know that’s Abbot’s ex, right?”

You blink. “What?”

Shen nods toward Central Nine. “Ms. Callahan. She’s Abbot’s ex.”

You glance back at the gorgeous blonde woman scrolling through her phone, not at all looking like someone suffering from a migraine.

“Oh.”

Shen nods slowly. “Anyway. He’s looking for you.”

You frown. “Who?”

“Dr. Abbot.”

“Why?”

Shen shrugs. “Didn’t say.”

You sigh. “Great.”

He watches you curiously as you log out of the computer and push your chair back.

“Did he say where?” you ask.

“South.”

You nod once. “Thanks.”

Then you turn and head toward the South corridor, but not without one last glance at the woman in Central Nine. The woman who apparently used to date Jack. The woman who, for reasons you still don’t entirely understand, is suddenly very difficult to stop thinking about.

You spot Jack standing beside the workstations in the middle of the South hall, frowning at something on his tablet. He looks tired now, his curls standing at odd angles thanks to the way he drags his hand through them after every stressful trauma patient—and he’s leaning his left hip against the side of the desk, shifting the weight off his right leg because three a.m. is always when it starts aching. Not that he’ll admit it.

“Shen said you wanted to see me.”

He glances up. “Your friend’s imaging came back.”

“And?”

“Hand surgery wants him,” he says, offering you his tablet.

You take it, glancing down at the X-ray images. “Fracture and tendon damage. Fantastic.”

You flip through the images and skim over the surgeon’s review.

“Okay. I’ll send him up.”

Jack takes the tablet back, his brows pulling together slightly.

“Have you eaten?”

You frown. “What?”

“Have you eaten anything tonight?”

“I had an energy drink.”

He stares at you. “That’s not food.”

You shrug. “I haven’t had time.”

“Make time.”

You roll your eyes. “Fine. I didn’t bring anything.”

He lets out a quiet sigh, glancing down at the tablet as he flicks out of Deran’s X-rays and brings up another patient’s chart.

“There’s a container in the fridge.”

You blink. “What?”

“Top shelf. Left side. Blue lid.”

Your brows lift. “You brought me food?”

He glances up again. “I brought extra food. It’s that pasta you like.”

As if on cue, your stomach grumbles. Loudly.

“Go eat,” he says. “I doubt surgery’s coming to collect your friend in the next twenty minutes.”

You want to argue. You really do. Because you don’t need to be looked after. You don’t need him to bring you food and make sure you eat and be all quietly caring like this. But God is this man a good cook, and you’d have to be an idiot to turn down free pasta at three o’clock in the morning.

“Fine,” you mutter, already turning away. “I’ll eat.”

“You’re welcome.”

You don’t look back. Because if you do, you might see the stupidly smug look on his face and it might make you smile. Then he’ll know he was right, and you absolutely cannot give him that satisfaction. So instead, you drop your gaze and watch your shoes move against the speckled linoleum until you reach the break room door.

You don’t even notice that someone else is in there until you reach the fridge and finally glance up.

“Oh. Hey.”

Ellis waves her fork. “Hey.”

You pull the fridge door open and immediately spot Jack’s blue-lidded tupperware.

“You brought food?” Ellis asks, clearly surprised.

You don’t answer. Not explicitly, at least. You just glance over your shoulder with what could be considered a very brief nod, then turn back toward the microwave and set the container inside.

“She’s his ex, by the way,” you say without thinking.

“Huh?”

You press the start button on the microwave before turning to face Ellis properly, leaning back against the kitchenette counter.

“The woman in Central Nine. Shen just told me she’s Jack’s ex.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Ellis stabs a piece of broccoli with her fork. “I know.”

You tilt your head. “How do you know?”

“I asked Dr. Abbot how he knew the patient,” she says, as if it were obvious.

“Oh.”

You glance back at the microwave, still humming, Jack’s container rotating slowly inside.

“What’d he say?”

Ellis sighs, stabbing a piece of carrot this time. “Just that they dated about a year after his wife passed, but he realised he wasn’t ready to move on yet, so he ended it. It was amicable. Now they’re friends.”

You frown. “Friends? He’s never mentioned her to me.”

Ellis finally looks up, something sharpening in her expression. “Why would he?”

You hesitate. “Because we’re—well, you know…”

Her mouth twitches. “I thought it was casual.”

“It is,” you say quickly. “I just thought he would’ve mentioned—”

“Does Abbot know who Deran is?”

You blink. “What?”

Ellis smirks. “You know, the guy currently sitting in South Seventeen? Mr. Thursday mornings, or—” she tilts her head, “I guess it’s former Mr. Thursday mornings now.”

“Well—not exactly, but that’s—”

The sharp beeping of the microwave cuts you off, and you turn quickly to silence it.

“That’s different?” Ellis offers.

You grab the container out of the microwave, shut the door, then yank open the cutlery drawer to grab a fork before turning back to face her.

“Yes,” you say firmly. “It’s different. Jack knows we’re not exclusive, but he doesn’t need to know who the other guys are.”

Ellis snorts. “Or were.”

You glare at her.

“Alright,” she says, leaning back in her chair. “Then why do you need to know who she is?”

You stab a piece of pasta. “I don’t. I’m just... curious.”

“You mean jealous.”

Your head snaps up. “I’m not jealous. I don’t care what he does when he’s not with me. He can sleep with whoever he wants. He can sleep with every bottle-blonde in Pittsburgh for all I care.”

Ellis’ brows shoot up. “Wow. You’re really jealous.”

“I am not,” you protest. “It’s casual. We both know that. If he wants out, he can just say so. I don’t need him. I don’t need anyone. I mean, sure, it’s fun when they’re good, but I am perfectly fine on my own. I don’t need someone interfering with my life. With my routine. I’m happy exactly the way things are.”

Ellis nods slowly. “Okay, Miss Independent. I get it.”

“Thank you.”

“Just to be clear,” she says, pushing her chair back, “you’re standing here eating his food because he told you to. Right?”

You open your mouth to argue, but she keeps going.

“Your hair smells like his shampoo. You walked into our apartment this morning wearing his shirt, and I’m pretty sure those are his socks.” Her gaze drops briefly to your feet before returning to your face. “You haven’t slept in your own bed once this week and, unless I’m forgetting somebody, you haven’t seen another guy in...” She pauses, pretending to think. “Wow. Almost four months now.”

You stare at her.

“And when you got that stomach bug last month,” she says, grabbing her container as she stands, “he called out of work just to sit on the bathroom floor with you for eight hours.”

She steps up right beside you, dropping her container in the sink.

“That’s not casual.”

The water runs for a few seconds as she rinses the container beneath the tap, then she sets it beside the sink and turns toward the door.

“Anyway,” she says lightly, reaching for the handle. “Let me know when you’re ready to admit you’re in love with him.”

Then she’s gone, leaving you alone with your pasta and your rapidly fraying nervous system.

You don’t move. You just stare at the door, trying to remember how to breathe. Trying to think about anything that isn’t that strange and unfamiliar feeling lodged beneath your ribs, insistent on being felt.

No.

It’s not—

It can’t be—

You would know if you were in—

Fuck.

You turn quickly and drop your container of food beside the sink before it ends up on the floor. Then you press both palms into the edge of the counter, as if that might somehow ground you.

This is ridiculous.

Ellis is just messing with you. She has to be.

You’re not in—

God. You can’t even think about that word.

You drag in a deep breath and grab the fork again, lifting it to your mouth.

It’s almost annoying how good it is. Infuriating, really. Because apparently being an emergency doctor, a SWAT physician, offensively attractive and unfairly charming isn’t enough. No. Jack Abbot just has to be an excellent cook too.

Jerk.

You finish the rest of the pasta as quickly as you can, trying not to be disappointed when the container is empty. Then you rinse it beneath the tap and set it beside Ellis’ tupperware.

Your heart is still beating a little too fast when you step out of the break room, and you have to shove your hands into your scrub pockets to keep them from shaking. You keep your head down as you make your way back toward South Seventeen, trying to focus on what you’re going to say to Deran and not how you may or may not feel about your attending.

“Hey,” you say, pulling the curtain back. “How are you feeling?”

Deran glances up. “Hey, doc. Long time no see.”

You squirt a pump of sanitiser into your palm and rub your hands together as you step up beside the bed.

“Been busy,” you say. “Are the painkillers working?”

He lifts his hand, wincing. “A little.”

You glance at the clock on the wall. “You could probably get some more soon.”

His brows pull together slightly. “Is that your way of saying I’m not heading home any time soon?”

You sigh quietly, dragging the stool closer to the bed and dropping down onto it.

“Not tonight, no. I’m sorry.”

He groans, tipping his head back against the pillow.

“I know,” you murmur, leaning in. “But one of our hand surgeons reviewed the images, and you’ve got a fracture right here.” You gently tap the base of his little finger near the knuckle. “I was expecting a break, but it’s lower than we’d like and close enough to the joint that this isn’t something we can safely reduce and splint in the ED.”

He lifts his head.

“There’s also some concern about the tendon around it,” you continue. “The finger was pulled pretty hard out of position, and the surgeon’s worried it may have damaged one of the tendons that helps it move properly.”

“What does that mean?”

“They’ll take you upstairs, get better imaging if they need it, and most likely repair everything at the same time rather than risk you losing function later.”

His brows draw tighter. “Repair?”

“The fracture. The tendon. Anything else they find once they’re in there.”

He lets his head fall back again. “Great.”

“You’ll be okay.”

“I know,” he says, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Just not exactly how I pictured getting to spend more time with you.”

You roll your eyes. “Really?”

“Will you be here when I wake up?”

You snort. “Hopefully not. If all goes well, I’ll be at home asleep.”

He sighs. “Damn.”

You push the stool back and stand. “Any other questions before I sign you off to surgery?”

He lifts his head, frowning slightly. “Yeah, actually. I wanted to ask you about that guy.”

You tilt your head. “What guy?”

“The one that came in here before. The attending.”

Your stomach drops.

“What about him?”

“I thought he was your boss.”

You fold your arms. “He is.”

“Huh.”

“What does that mean?”

“It’s just—” He hesitates. “I don’t know. You just don’t usually look at your boss like that.”

You stare at him for a moment, trying to ignore the rush of your pulse in your ears.

“You sure you didn’t hit your head?”

His brows lift. “Wait. Did I hit a nerve?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

Your eyes narrow. “Why don’t you just focus on the fact that you need surgery? Do you need me to call anyone?”

He shakes his head. “I already called my mom.”

“Good,” you mutter, already turning away. “Good luck in surgery.”

“Tell your boss I said hi.”

“Bye, Deran.”

His laughter follows you out into the hallway, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of looking back as you yank the curtain shut.

You shake your head as you start down the corridor toward Central, as if that might somehow knock your errant thoughts back into place. You can still hear your pulse, still feel the heat crawling beneath your skin, your scrub top suddenly too warm and too tight.

The lights overhead are almost painfully bright now, the way they always get in the late hours of the night shift—but tonight their glare feels personal. Offensive, even. As if those buzzing fluorescent bars are shining brightly on everything you’ve worked so hard not to acknowledge. Not to feel.

Not that you’re feeling anything.

At least, not whatever it is Ellis thinks you’re feeling.

You just need a minute. One minute of quiet to come up with perfectly reasonable explanations for every stupid little thing she pointed out. Then your mind can stop running circles and you can finish your shift, go home, and get some much-needed sleep.

By tomorrow, all of this is just going to feel ridiculous.

Because that’s exactly what it is.

Ridiculous.

“Dr. Abbot,” Bridget calls from behind the desk. “Can you take a look at this for me?”

You stop short halfway between South and Central, watching as Jack moves from one end of the nurses’ station to the other. Bridget is already holding up her tablet, pointing at something on the screen while Jack leans in, brow furrowing just slightly as he squints at it.

He needs to wear his glasses. You’ve told him this countless times. Yet for some reason, he insists on reserving them exclusively for news articles, novels, and recipes.

Apparently, the PTMC emergency department isn’t worthy of his clear vision.

Your stomach lurches as your traitorous thoughts remind you of the time he’d worn them during sex. The time he’d insisted on keeping them on as he settled between your legs because he wanted to see you properly. He wanted to see everything.

You shake your head again, trying to push the memory away.

Jack leans a little closer as Bridget starts explaining something you can’t quite make out. Not that you really care to hear what she’s saying. You’re too busy watching the way Jack’s left hand grips the edge of the desk, his weight shifting toward it, lessening the load on his right leg.

It must be really sore tonight.

He nods along, murmuring something low as he taps on the screen. You know what comes next before he even does it. He lifts that same hand and it drags across his jaw, tilting his head just slightly as he tries to concentrate on whatever it is Bridget’s asking—but he’s tired. You know he’s tired. From the set of his shoulders to the way he’s shifting almost all his weight off his right leg, you just know that he’s counting down the hours to the end of shift.

Maybe you should feel guilty for not letting him get enough sleep yesterday.

His left hand adjusts its grip, the tendon in his forearm flexing as it does and for some stupid reason, you forget how to breathe. Just for a second.

“You alright?”

You blink. “What?”

Henderson frowns slightly, suddenly standing beside you with his tablet in hand. “That’s the second time I've caught you completely zoned out tonight. What’s going on?”

“Uh—”

You glance back at Jack just as he looks up, his gaze meeting yours briefly, a small smile tugging at his lips—and your treacherous heart leaps. It actually leaps.

What the fuck?

You clear your throat. “Yeah. No. I’m fine.”

“You sure?”

Henderson—the perceptive bastard—glances toward the nurses’ station, and his eyes widen.

“Oh, shit. Did something happen between you two?”

Your stomach flips. “What?”

He gestures vaguely toward Jack. “You and Abbot. Did you break up or something?”

“What?” you say again, louder this time. “Why would you even—I mean, we’re not—we’ve never dated. Why would you think that?”

He tilts his head. “Really? I thought Ellis said—”

“Ellis?”

“Not just Ellis.”

Your eyes go wide. “Who else?”

He shrugs. “Everyone assumes you guys are together.”

“Together?”

He frowns. “You’re not?”

“No,” you say, almost too fast. “No. We’re not together, we’re just—it’s… casual.”

His brows lift, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Casual?”

“Yes,” you mutter, dropping your head into your hands. “Are you telling me the entire ED thinks Jack and I are dating?”

Henderson laughs. “Actually, now that I think about it, I don’t think I’ve ever heard Shen mention it.”

Your head snaps up. “People talk about it?”

Henderson shrugs. “It’s gossip.”

You open your mouth, ready to deny everything, when—

“Trauma inbound,” Lena calls. “Male, twenties. Motorcycle crash. Hypotensive in the field. ETA two minutes.”

“Shit,” Henderson mutters. “That’s not gonna be fun.”

Jack glances over at you again, calling your name across the floor. “Trauma Two. Let’s go.”

You hesitate, taking a step back. “I—I can’t. Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Henderson says quickly. “I can jump in.”

He’s already moving before he’s even finished speaking, weaving through the growing rush of staff converging on Trauma Two. You watch him for a second, taking another slow step back, then another—and just before you turn away, you glance at Jack.

He hasn’t moved. He’s still standing by the nurses’ station. Watching you.

Your stomach twists.

Then you turn away and keep walking down the corridor.

And fortunately for your rapidly deteriorating grip on reality, it isn’t long before Dr. Toomarian pulls you into a room to present a patient and you’re forced back into work mode.

The distraction helps, at first. You focus on the patient, answer questions, review scans, place orders, and for a few blessed minutes your brain remembers how to function. Then someone says Jack’s name and your pulse jumps for no reason. You hear a voice that sounds vaguely like Jack’s and your head snaps up. Someone calls for an attending and you catch yourself looking.

By the time you’re halfway through reviewing another chart, your pulse still hasn’t settled and you’re no closer to understanding what the hell is wrong with you, only increasingly certain that whatever it is, it’s getting worse.

Eventually you find yourself moving back through Central, your nose buried in your tablet as you scan the next patient’s intake form, determined to stay distracted. You’re just about to turn down the North corridor when you finally glance up—and there he is.

His brows lift, just slightly. “A word?”

Shit.

“Um. Sure.”

You tuck your tablet under one arm as you follow him around the corner toward the ambulance bay. Not quite all the way outside, but far enough from the nurses’ station that no one nosy can overhear.

When he finally stops and turns to face you, you’re reminded—quite aggressively—just how unfairly attractive Jack Abbot really is.

“What was that?”

You take a small step back. “What was what?”

He nods vaguely toward Central. “You completely dodged that trauma back there.”

“Yeah. Sorry.” You look away. “I just—I had a patient I needed to get back to.”

“We’ve all got patients,” he says, folding his arms. “But this is the ED. We treat the most critical patients first. That means traumas—you know that.”

You glance back at him, then down at your shoes. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m just... a little distracted tonight.”

“Distracted?” he echoes. “Is this about your friend?”

Your head snaps up. “My friend?”

“The one you just sent up to surgery.” His jaw tightens, just briefly. “If I’m being honest, I’m not even sure you should’ve been his physician.”

You frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s a conflict of interest.”

You scoff. “A conflict of interest? Seriously?”

He folds his arms a little tighter, making the sleeves of his scrub top strain around his stupidly thick biceps in the most distracting way.

“Yes.”

You lift your chin. “Alright. How’s Ms. Callahan, then?”

He blinks. “Who?”

“Central Nine. Your ex.”

He stares at you for a second.

“Who told you that?”

“It doesn’t matter,” you say quickly. “What matters is if you can treat your ex without it being a conflict of interest, then I can treat some guy I used to sleep with.”

The corner of his mouth twitches.

“So he’s not just an old friend.”

You tilt your head. “You knew that, Jack.”

For a brief moment, neither of you says anything. You can feel your pulse in your throat now, fast and uneven, and judging by the way Jack’s looking at you, you’re not doing nearly as good a job of hiding it as you’d hoped.

“Look,” you say, desperate to end this interaction. “I’m sorry I ducked the trauma. Really, I am. But Henderson was right there—it’s not like I left you hanging. I knew he’d jump in.”

Jack rubs a hand across his jaw, looking away for a second before glancing back at you. “You’re right,” he says. “I’m sorry. Henderson was there, I could have called either of you.”

You nod once, the knot in your stomach finally easing slightly.

“Guess I should stop playing favourites, huh?”

You frown again. “Favourites?”

He lifts a shoulder. “You’re always the first person I look for when I need a second set of hands.”

Heat rushes up the back of your neck, but you refuse to let him see it.

“What about Dr. Robby?” you ask, shifting your tablet against your chest.

He leans in slightly. “I’d still choose you.”

The words hit you square in the chest, settling somewhere deep behind your ribs. For a second, your lungs forget how to work entirely, and by the time you finally figure out how to breathe again, Jack is already gone.

You stand there for a moment, staring after him, waiting for your brain to catch up with whatever the hell just happened. Waiting for those words to make sense. But they don’t. Not entirely. They stay lodged in your chest even as you clear your throat and press a hand against your sternum, turning slowly back toward the chaos of the ED.

Whatever.

Maybe they don’t mean anything.

You shake your head as you glance down at your tablet, pulling up the chart you’d been focused on before all this. Before Jack told you he’d still choose you over his own best friend, who also happens to have more experience, more qualifications, and significantly better judgement than you.

Ridiculous.

You spend the next half hour cleaning gravel out of a drunk college student’s knee after he fell down the porch steps at a house party. Then you help Henderson with a nine-year-old girl who split her forehead falling from the top bunk of her bed, distracting her while he does the sutures. After that, you work through a mild pneumonia case with Nazely before treating a middle-aged man with a kidney stone. The orders, pain meds, scans, and paperwork all blur together, and by the time you finally check the clock again it’s almost seven.

“Shit,” you murmur, dropping down at desk near the nurses’ station.

You need to catch up on your charting if you plan on getting out of here any time soon.

“Hey.” Henderson sits at the computer across from you. “Little girl with the forehead lac just got discharged.”

You glance over at him. “Oh. Nice.”

“Her mom wanted me to thank you for helping her.”

You snort. “Between the drunk college kid and the old guy coughing up half a lung, it was my pleasure.”

Henderson huffs a laugh. “Apparently she’s been saying she wants to be a doctor since she was six.”

Your brows lift. “Really?”

Henderson grins. “And now she wants to be a doctor just like you."

“Yeah? Did you tell her not to go into emergency medicine if she values her soul?”

“Assuming you had one to begin with,” Robby cuts in.

You glance up just as he walks past, wearing that familiar half-smile of weary amusement with a coffee in one hand and his bag slung over his shoulder.

“And here I was worried you’d be in a good mood this morning,” you say, smiling sweetly despite your words.

His eyes narrow, but the corner of his mouth lifts a little higher. “Careful.”

You roll your eyes playfully, turning back to the screen in front of you as he continues through Central.

It takes exactly eight minutes before you’re interrupted again. Bridget taps you on the shoulder asking for your signature on a prescription, and just as you hand it back to her, the red phone rings. You watch Lena answer it with a tired sigh, both Jack and Robby looking up to hear what kind of chaos is inbound.

“Alright,” Lena says as she hangs up the phone. “Male, forties. Single-vehicle MVC. Hypotensive in the field, positive seatbelt sign. ETA four minutes.”

“I’ll take it,” Robby says, setting his coffee down. “Let’s prep Trauma One.”

He glances around the unusually empty floor.

“I’ll jump in,” you offer, pushing your chair back.

Henderson shoots you a look as you stand and turn toward the nurses’ station, pulling a pair of gloves from a box. It’s not that you really want to jump in on another case ten minutes before the end of your shift, but you haven’t had a trauma since Captain Stabby and his sexy doctor friend, and you’re starting to feel a little guilty about it.

“See,” Robby says, pulling on his own gloves. “There’s hope for you yet.”

You roll your eyes again as you follow him out to the ambulance bay, and it isn’t long before you hear sirens.

The ambulance careens in and pulls up right in front of you, the back doors flying open as the first paramedic climbs out, holding a tearful young girl in his arms. She couldn’t be older than four.

“Thirty-eight-year-old male, restrained driver in a single-vehicle MVC versus a tree,” the paramedic says. “Positive seatbelt sign, abdominal pain, hypotensive on scene, improved with fluids. GCS fifteen. Two IVs in place. Daughter was restrained in the back seat and appears uninjured.”

The second paramedic circles the van from the driver’s side and starts helping Robby lower the gurney.

Robby nods toward the daughter. “You check her out?”

“We did a quick assessment on scene, but we’ve been focused on Dad,” the paramedic says, still holding her.

“Alright. We’ll get somebody to take a look at her.”

The young girl starts crying harder as Robby and the other paramedic begin wheeling the gurney inside. You stay beside them, one hand on the man’s forearm as you watch his eyelids droop.

“Stay with me, sir,” you say, squeezing his arm. “Can you tell me your name?”

“Barry,” he murmurs.

“Where does it hurt, Barry?”

He winces. “My—my stomach.”

The gurney rolls through the second set of doors, and suddenly you’re back under the bright fluorescent lights.

“Abbot,” Robby calls. “Can you take a look at the kid?”

Jack appears before you can even glance over your shoulder.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says, his voice soft as he gently takes the daughter from the paramedic’s arms. “Your dad’s in good hands. Come on, let’s get you checked out too.”

You continue moving with the gurney into Trauma One, where Jesse and Olive are already prepping monitors and equipment.

“On three,” Robby says, positioning himself opposite you. “One, two, three.”

The paramedics help shift the patient onto the trauma bed before clearing out, making room for Jesse to start attaching monitors.

“Pressure one-oh-four over sixty-eight,” he reports.

Olive quickly cuts Barry’s shirt open.

“Seatbelt sign across the lower abdomen,” you say, pressing gently along his stomach.

He grimaces when you reach his left side.

“Left’s worse.”

Robby holds out a hand. “Ultrasound.”

Jesse hands him the probe as you squirt gel onto Barry’s abdomen.

“RUQ,” Robby says.

You glance up at the ultrasound screen. “Clear.”

“LUQ.”

“Clear.”

“Pelvis.”

“Nothing obvious.”

“Good,” Robby says. “FAST negative. He’s stable enough for CT.”

You turn to Olive. “CT chest, abdo, pelvis with contrast.”

She nods, moving toward the phone as the whole room finally takes a breath. The negative FAST isn’t a guarantee, but it’s a promising start.

Barry groans, trying to lift his head. “Where’s my daughter? Where’s Ellie?”

You press a hand against his shoulder.

“Hey, don’t try to sit up. Your daughter’s okay—she’s just outside with another doctor.”

“She’s okay?”

You nod. “She’s okay.”

He lets out a strained breath, settling back against the mattress and tipping his head back.

“Hold on.”

You move closer, gently pushing his hair back.

“Forehead lac,” you tell Robby. “About three centimetres.”

He glances over. “Alright. We’ll close it up before he goes to imaging.”

He strips off his gloves and reaches for a new pair while Jesse preps the suture tray. Olive is already cleaning up around Barry as you reach for some gauze to start cleaning the cut, gently pushing his bloodied locks of hair out of the way.

“Lidocaine,” Robby says.

You grab the syringe from the tray and hand it to him, more than happy to let your attending do the work while your adrenaline wanes and that familiar end-of-shift exhaustion sets in.

“Stay still for us, Barry,” you murmur, cupping the crown of his head. “This might sting a little.”

He winces as Robby injects the anaesthetic.

“Saline,” Robby says.

You hand it over before carefully plucking the last few stuck strands of hair away from the wound.

“How’s the pain?” you ask.

“‘S okay,” Barry mumbles.

“Forceps.”

You hand Robby the forceps, then the needle driver before he can even ask.

“Light,” he murmurs.

You reach up and adjust the luminaire until he raises his hand, signalling that it’s in the right spot. Then he pinches the edge of the laceration with the forceps and slides the needle through the skin. Easy. Effortless. Boring.

You glance up at the monitor, noting that Barry’s heart rate has finally dropped below a hundred.

“Scissors,” Robby says.

You grab the scissors from the tray and hand them to him, then go back to reading Barry’s vitals.

“You with us, Barry?” Robby asks.

“Yeah,” Barry murmurs.

“Can’t feel the needle, can you?”

“No.”

“Good.”

You let your eyes move slowly around the room, already holding gauze for Robby before he can ask for it. You feel him take it from your hand just as you turn your head toward the glass doors, gazing out at the beginning chaos of morning handover.

But it isn’t Ellis and Langdon arguing about God knows what that gets your attention.

Just outside the trauma bay, perched on the edge of a bed parked beside the nurses’ station is Barry’s daughter. Ellie, apparently. Her eyes are still red and puffy, but she’s not crying anymore. She’s got a pink hospital gift shop teddy tucked under one arm and her other hand wrapped around the tubing of a black stethoscope.

Jack is sitting on a stool in front of her, gently helping put the earpieces in her tiny ears with a soft smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. Her little hands grip either side of the headset, adjusting it with a very focused look on her face.

Jack hands her the chest piece as he scoots a little closer to the bed, then points to his chest. You can’t hear what he’s saying, but you can make an educated guess.

Ellie’s tiny hand grips the bell as she presses the diaphragm against Jack’s chest, a small crease forming between her brows. Jack is watching her with that amused little half-smile, his gaze soft, one hand braced lightly on the mattress beside her so she doesn’t topple backwards.

Ellie says something, and Jack nods, schooling his expression.

She’s taking her job very seriously right now, and Jack is taking her very seriously.

“Doctor.”

You blink, glancing back at Robby.

“Yeah?”

He gives you a look. “Scissors. For the third time.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

You hand him the scissors and watch him snip the tail on the second-last suture, then you turn your attention back toward Jack and Ellie. She’s giggling now, with the diaphragm pressed to Jack’s cheek as he gently shakes his head, laughing too.

“Forceps.”

You grab the forceps and hand them to Robby.

His eyes flick up. “You alright?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“You’re smiling.”

“No, I’m—”

Oh my God.

You are smiling.

You turn back toward Jack, and your stomach drops.

Oh my God.

You’re in love with Jack Abbot.

“Alright, Barry,” Robby says, peeling his gloves off. “We’re gonna send you upstairs for some imaging now, make sure we didn’t miss anything.”

You take one unsteady step back from the bed.

“Can someone call my wife?” Barry asks, his voice strained.

Robby nods. “I'm sure somebody already has, but I’ll check.”

Your hands shake as you pull your gloves off.

“What about Ellie? Can I see her?”

“Of course,” Robby says. “She’s right outside.”

Barry lifts his head slightly. “Am I okay?”

“Well, you’re talking to me, your pressure’s holding, and your FAST was negative. Those are all good signs.” Robby looks at you. “Isn’t that right, doctor?”

Your head snaps up. “Hm?”

He frowns. “You sure you’re alright? You seem—”

“I’m fine,” you snap, tossing your gloves in the waste bin. “I just—I have charting to do.”

Then you turn and march right out of the trauma bay, keeping your head down as you take an immediate sharp left. Ignoring the familiar voice that calls your name and makes your pulse scatter.

You don’t stop until you reach the picture wall. Only then do you drop down onto the bench, squeeze your eyes shut, and bury your face in your hands. You can’t scream. Can’t shout. Can’t drop to the floor and have a panic attack right here in the middle of the ED. So you just… breathe.

Okay. Maybe you’re being a little dramatic—but can anyone blame you?

You don’t want this. You can’t want this. You don’t have time for this.

Casual sex is easy. No strings, no stress, no reason to worry about anything other than saving lives and finishing your residency. That’s all you want.

Or… all you wanted.

Now?

Now you’re not sure what you want.

Of course you still want to save lives and survive your residency, but now you can’t imagine doing either of those things without Jack.

You can’t imagine another shift without knowing Jack is somewhere in the department. Or getting a difficult case and not being able to talk through it with him. You can’t imagine going home and not immediately texting him. Or having a bad day and not being able to talk to him about it.

You can’t imagine anything without Jack.

Which is terrifying.

Because it isn’t just sex anymore. It isn’t flirting or late-night texts or teasing glances across the floor. It’s the way he’s somehow worked his way into every part of your life without you even noticing. Every shift. Every conversation. Every stupid little story you save up to tell him later. He’s just there. Everywhere.

And now... he matters.

You sit up and drag in a deep breath.

You need to pull it together. This isn’t the end of the world. It’s not even a thing. It’s only a thing if you let it be a thing, which… you’re not going to do.

With another deep breath, you push off the bench and start heading back toward Central. All you have to do is finish your charting, then you can leave. You can go home, turn your phone off, and talk yourself off the ledge.

You just need a little space. A little time away from the hospital, away from Jack, and all these ridiculous feelings will—

“Hey. You okay?”

Your heart lurches, but you don’t stop.

“I was going to come over there,” he says, keeping his voice low, “but I didn’t want to—”

“I’m fine,” you murmur, without even looking at him.

His hand closes gently around your wrist, and your stomach flips so hard it’s almost nauseating. 

“You sure?”

You finally stop, glancing up at him. At the concerned crease between his brows and the little downward quirk at the corner of his mouth.

“I’m fine,” you say again, pulling your arm out of his grip. “Seriously.”

He gives you a look. Not one that says he’s offended or at all upset by your attitude, but one that says he doesn’t believe you. A look that makes you feel far too seen. Far too known.

“I need to finish my notes,” you mutter, turning away before he can say anything else.

You turn down the North corridor and don’t stop until you reach the desks just outside the break room. Then you drop into a chair, swipe your badge to log in, and force your trembling hands to steady themselves over the keyboard.

It takes a significant amount of effort to focus on your charting. You stare at the blinking cursor for minutes at a time before finally managing to squeeze out a few—mostly coherent—sentences. You type Jack’s name at least five times without meaning to, and every time you do, your heart thuds obnoxiously hard beneath your ribs.

Fortunately, no one tries to interrupt you this time, and after forty painstaking minutes of glaring at that computer screen and forcing your wayward thoughts to stay on track, you finally finish.

Now you just need to handover your patients.

You find Langdon by the nurses’ station, standing just below the workboard with his hands in his pockets as he reads through the list of patients and their ailments.

“Hey.” You step up beside him. “You got a minute for handover?”

He glances at you. “Oh. Hey. Didn’t know there were still any night crawlers left.”

You frown. “Everyone’s gone?”

“Everyone but Dr. Abbot,” he says. “And you.”

Your eyes go wide. “Ellis is gone?”

He nods. “Saw her head out about fifteen minutes ago.”

You scramble to grab your phone out of your pocket, unlocking it to find two new notifications from Ellis. Seventeen minutes ago.

Ellis: Abbot said he’s giving you a lift, so I’m headed out. Ellis: Need anything from the store?

Your stomach drops.

“Everything alright?” Langdon asks.

“Uh—yeah. Fine.”

You tuck your phone back into your pocket.

“I’ve only got two patients. Can you take them?”

He nods. “Of course.”

“Alright. Central Twelve came in with chest pain. Trops negative, ECG’s clean, waiting on the repeat. If that’s negative too, he can go home.”

“Mhm.”

“And South Nineteen’s the pyelo. Got fluids, ceftriaxone, feeling better. Medicine said they’d come see her, but I wouldn’t hold my breath.”

Langdon snorts. “Got it.”

You nod. “Great. Thanks.”

“Anything else?”

“Nope.”

He smiles. “Great sign-out.”

“I try,” you mutter, already turning away.

You hurry across the floor toward the lockers, pulling your phone back out of your pocket to type a reply to Ellis as you walk.

You: You’re dead to me. You: And toothpaste.

When you finally reach your locker, you quickly key in the code and pull the door open. You don’t bother removing your stethoscope or badge, or taking time to actually put your jacket on—you just gather everything into your arms and slam the door shut again. Then you turn and make a beeline for the ambulance bay.

Maybe you can catch a bus home. Or—hell—you’ll pay for an Uber if you have to.

“Hey, slow down,” Dana says as you rush past the nurses’ station. “What’s the hurry?”

“Sorry,” you call over your shoulder. “Just—really need to get home.”

You’re moving too quickly for her to press you any further. Thank God. Because the last thing you need right now is Dana and her infuriating habit of knowing things she has absolutely no business knowing.

You keep your head down until you make it all the way outside, and only then do you finally feel like you can breathe. You nod to a patient having a cigarette by the garden bed before turning the other way, pulling your phone out to order an Uber.

Only, you can’t remember the last time you ordered an Uber. Do you even have the app?

“You ready?”

You flinch. “Jesus Christ.”

Jack huffs a laugh. “Not quite.”

You glance back down at your phone, clutching it a little tighter.

“I’m this way,” he says, nodding toward the other side of the parking lot.

You hesitate. “I—uh—I was just going to grab an Uber.”

His brows lift, but he doesn’t look all that surprised. “You were?”

You nod. “Yeah. I’m good. Thanks.”

“You sure?”

“Yep.”

You turn away, but he doesn’t leave. He just stands there, waiting, one hand holding the strap of his backpack that’s slung over his shoulder, the other buried in his pocket.

“Is there something going on that I should know about?” he asks finally.

“Nope,” you reply, too fast.

Then, for some ridiculous reason, you start walking.

“Where are you going?”

“The bus stop,” you say, without looking back.

He follows you. Because of course he does.

“You’re going to catch a bus?”

“Yep.”

He laughs again, but this time it’s more disbelief than dry amusement.

“I’m offering you a perfectly good, no strings attached ride home, and you’d rather catch a bus?”

That makes you stop.

You turn around. “No strings attached?”

He lifts a shoulder. “If that’s what you want.”

“What I want?”

“If you want me to just drop you off, I’ll just drop you off.”

You stare at him for a second, your pulse pounding in your ears.

“Just drop me off?”

He nods slowly, his brow creasing slightly.

“And then what?” you ask.

He tilts his head. “What do you mean?”

“Then you just leave?”

“If that’s what you want.”

Your throat tightens. “Stop saying that.”

He frowns. “Saying what?”

“If that’s what I want.” You drag a hand through your hair. “You keep saying it like this is entirely up to me. Like none of this has anything to do with you. Like it’s my choice and you don’t get to say anything or—or feel anything, and that’s not fair.”

He studies you for a moment, folding his arms across his chest in the most irritatingly distracting way.

“What are we talking about here?”

“I don’t know!” You throw your hands up. “This. Us. Whatever this is. I don’t know what we’re doing anymore, Jack. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with any of this, and you just keep showing up being completely reasonable all the time, which is really fucking annoying.”

His eyes narrow. “I’m... too reasonable?”

“Yes! God—” You laugh once, sharp and humourless. “Why are you always like this? Why are you always so calm about everything? We never talk about what you want. We never talk about how you feel. We just keep pretending everything’s fine and maybe that’s worked up until now, but I don't think it’s working anymore.”

“Okay,” he says evenly. “Tell me what’s not working, and we can talk about it.”

“Talk about it?” You stare at him. “Talk about what? There’s nothing to talk about, because this—this isn’t anything. This is casual, Jack. It’s supposed to be casual. And maybe that’s the problem. Maybe we’ve spent too much time together. Maybe we just need some space or—or something.”

His brows lift. “Is that what you want?”

You fold your arms, trying to reclaim some semblance of control. “Yes.”

Something that almost resembles amusement flickers across his face, but he schools it quickly.

“Okay,” he says again. “If you want space, I can give you space.”

“Seriously?” You let out another sharp laugh. “Of course that’s your answer. Do you see what I mean? This is exactly what I mean. I stand here and tell you maybe we need some space, and you’re just... okay with it? Just like that? No questions, no argument, no nothing.”

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Do you want me to argue?”

“Maybe!” You throw your hands up again. “I don’t know, Jack! Maybe I want something. Anything. Just some indication that this means something to you. Because every time I say something, you just... accept it. You just nod and go along with it like none of this affects you at all. Like if I said I wanted space, you’d give me space. If I said I wanted to end this, you’d end it. If I said I never wanted to see you again, you’d just stand there being completely calm and reasonable and tell me that’s okay too.”

You let out a shaky laugh, shaking your head as you look away.

“And don’t tell me that’s not true, because you spent half the night in Central Nine with your ex and I spent the rest of the shift pretending I wasn’t paying attention to that, which is insane, by the way. Completely insane. She was a patient. You’re a doctor. I know that. I know I’m being irrational.”

You tip your head back, squeezing your eyes shut for just a second before looking back at him.

“And that’s the worst part, because I know none of this is actually about her. That’s the problem. It’s not about her at all. It’s about the fact that you’re always fine. You’re always so calm and so reasonable and so completely unbothered, and I don’t know how you do that.” You let out an unsteady breath. “It's like—like none of this matters to you. Like you don’t care. Like you could just walk away from everything, from me, and be completely fine.”

Your chest is rising and falling too fast now, your heart is beating so hard you’re almost sure he can hear it.

He doesn’t say anything right away. He just watches you, the corners of his mouth softened by something that looks suspiciously like fondness. And suddenly you’re struck by the horrible suspicion that he understands exactly what you’ve been trying so hard not to say.

“You think I could just walk away from this and be completely fine?” he asks, his voice soft. “You think I could walk away from you?”

He steps closer, the toes of his boots barely inches from yours now.

“When this started, it was casual. I knew that. I knew you were seeing other people. I knew you didn’t want a relationship—and if that’s still not what you want, then okay. I’m not going to pressure you into something you’re not ready for. I’m not trying to be overly reasonable, and I’m certainly not trying to make you feel like you’re losing your mind.”

The corner of his mouth twitches.

“When I ask you what you want, it’s not because I don’t care what happens. It’s because I do. It’s because I’d rather be patient than push you into something before you’re ready for it. And if space is what you need right now, then I’ll give you space.”

His gaze holds yours.

“But don’t mistake that for indifference. Because there’s no version of this where walking away from you is easy. There’s no version of this where I don’t care. And if one day you tell me that’s what you really want, then I’ll respect it. Not because it’s what I want. Not because what I feel doesn’t matter. But because I respect you.”

His expression softens again.

“Do you understand?”

You nod slowly, your throat suddenly too tight for words.

“Now listen to me.”

He lifts a hand and pinches your chin gently between his thumb and forefinger.

“I know you’ve had a long shift. I know you’re exhausted. I know you’re standing here trying to convince yourself you haven't completely lost your mind, and I’m not trying to make your day any harder than it already is—but I need you to hear this.”

His eyes search yours, earnest and unguarded.

“I love you too.”

For a moment, all you can do is stare at him. With your breath caught somewhere in your chest, your mouth slightly open, and your heart trying to punch its way through your ribcage.

His lips quirk. “You alright?”

“No,” you breathe.

And then you grab the front of his shirt and kiss him.

His hand drops from your chin to your neck, fingers pressing in just slightly as he kisses you back. Firm, unhurried, like he has all the time in the world and has decided, without hesitation, that he only wants to spend it on you.

He steps closer, tilting your head back as his mouth parts against yours. A soft, helpless little noise breaks at the back of your throat, and you can feel his lips curl in satisfaction. Then he kisses you harder, deeper, his other hand finding your waist as his tongue presses past your lips.

You step in until there’s nothing left between you. Nothing but hospital scrubs and the fact that you’re standing in the middle of a public parking lot right now.

And for a second, neither of you seems to care.

The hand at your waist slides higher, pulling you closer as his mouth moves slower. Not because he wants less, but because he knows he’s got you. Because after months of patience and uncertainty, he knows he can finally take his time.

Your fingers bunch tighter in the front of his shirt, and he smiles again.

“Don’t,” you murmur against his mouth.

He doesn’t say anything. He just kisses you again, gentler this time. A lingering press of his mouth against yours. Then another. His thumb brushes against your neck as he tilts his head, stealing one more kiss that feels almost unfairly tender after the way he’d just been holding you.

Then he pulls back completely.

You stare at him.

He stares back.

Your lips are still tingling, your hands are still fisted in the front of his shirt, and your heart is still beating hard enough to crack a rib.

The corner of his mouth lifts a little higher.

“Still catching the bus?”

You immediately let go of his shirt. “Shut up.”

He laughs properly then, letting you turn away and start marching toward one end of the parking lot.

“My car’s the other way,” he calls.

You stop, close your eyes, then slowly turn around.

Jack is still standing exactly where you left him, with his hands in his pockets and looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“Shut up,” you say again.

His smile only widens.

You roll your eyes and start walking again, brushing past him with as much dignity as someone can reasonably muster after having a complete emotional breakdown and then immediately making out with their boss.

You don’t need to look back to know he’s following you.

You just know.

And by the time you finally reach his car, you realise you’re smiling.

Which is annoying for several reasons.

© 2026 geminiwritten

[ofstarsandvibranium]

I’m so upset this man is fictional. 😭

[groovyangelkisses]

oh my god ♡

[missmanlykink]

dadaaaaaa

[keytomylockhart]

does your husband know?

Michael Robinavitch x Reader

and does your husband know the way that the sunshine gleams from your wedding band does he know the way? does he know the way of the crickets that would convince me to call it a night does he does he know the way i worship our love? – headfirst slide into cooperstown on a bad bet, fall out boy

summary: PTMC is hosting their annual fundraising gala, an event you're required to attend despite your objections. Also in attendance is your ex-fling, Dr. Michael Robinavitch, who takes the opportunity to try and rekindle the long extinguished flame. The problem? You're both married.

tags/warnings: MDNI 18+, cheating (Robby and reader are both married to other people), unprotected piv sex, creampie, oral (f receiving), spanking, light degradation, breeding kink, orgasm denial, cockwarming, light hair pulling, light choking, age gap (reader is an attending, but still younger than Robby), reader calls him michael, religious discussion (reader talks about christianity, sorry y'all this one is a little self-indulgent), toxic!robby, but also therapized!robby?

wc: 9.3k

a/n: this would not leave my brain and I had to get it out. To be clear, I do not condone cheating in real life!!! but there is something so delicious about the forbidden nature of it, of the secrecy and illicit yearning. Please do not read if that makes you uncomfy, I totally understand!! I also added the songs I listened to while writing this to a playlist if anyone is interested :)

The first time you met Dr. Michael Robinavitch you were a bright-eyed and bushy-tailed first year pediatrics resident beginning your emergency medicine rotation. He wasn’t the chief of the department back then–no, Adamson was still alive and kicking, instilling his paternal wisdom to all who worked under him and keeping Robby’s head on straight. 

Robby was lighter then, not carefree, per se, but less burdened by grief and trauma. You were quickly enamored with the man, his warm demeanor and soft eyes drawing you under his spell. For your part you tried to play it cool, shyly avoiding eye contact and stumbling over your words when you had to present to him. 

Robby was less subtle. It started with lingering looks filled with a fondness no one else was able to pull out of him; extra words of encouragement (“did so good in that trauma, hon,” and “nice pickup, smart girl,”); unnecessary (but welcome) touches on your shoulders, arms, nape of your neck, the small of your back. 

It didn’t take long for him to take you home, to have you sprawled across his bed naked. Your legs thrown over his shoulders as he fucked into you, thighs slapping hard against your ass as he pistoned his cock into you over and over. And it didn’t stop there; you spent most nights folded into various positions under him, on your knees, or on top of him. The sex was incredible, obviously. Robby was nearly two decades older than you and had been fucking for all of them. His experience was vast and he never failed to make you see stars, whether by his cock, mouth, fingers, or an unholy combination of the three. 

You never defined your arrangement. You’d heard about his reputation, about his tendency to stick around just long enough to get someone hooked before cutting ties and getting the hell out of dodge. You were prepared for that, and maybe a tiny part of you thought you might be different. 

And it was casual, for the most part. Except when you started calling him Michael instead of Robby, like it was a secret only the two of you shared. And for the key he’d given you to his apartment, for you to use when he wasn’t around because he knew how much you loved his shower and in-unit laundry. Or the trips you’d take up to his cabin, where he’d make you dinner after a day spent in the lake, hair still damp as you sipped the expensive whiskey he kept there. Or the time he’d taken you to his college buddy’s wedding, introduced you as his girlfriend, masquerading as the perfect boyfriend all night. Other than that, though–totally casual. 

But things got bad when Adamson died. Michael was devastated, that much was clear, though he didn’t exactly open up to you about it. He faded into a dimmer version of himself, a sunken husk of his former self just going through the motions to survive. 

You kept seeing each other, for a while, but it was different. You were now a purely sexual pursuit, the informal little dates and trips to his cabin abandoned for quick fucks in the on call room. The sex was now a means to an end more than a communal experience. It was detached, void of the exhilarating high you shared before. He rarely invited you over to his place anymore, and when he did, he didn’t stick around, the sheets beside you long cold by the time you woke up.  

Eventually, Michael did what he’d done to dozens of men and women before you. He pushed you away, not meanly–you knew what he was like when he was mean, had enjoyed it, even, at times–but with indifference. He stopped asking you to come over, stopped the flirting between cases, stopped calling you down for consults just to see your face. Soon enough you were just another co-worker, and he’d moved on to his next flavor. 

It hurt, of course it did. Even though you never defined your relationship as anything more than casual sex, you cared about him. Tried to support him through this time the best you could, the best he would allow you before he started lashing out. Had given far more of yourself to him than anyone else. Maybe you loved him. Maybe you thought you could fix him. Maybe it was some secret third thing that you’re still not sure how to articulate. 

You continued like that for a while, acting like two strangers who hadn’t seen the most intimate parts of each other, cordial to onlookers despite the taut tightrope you felt like you were walking every time you spoke to him. 

That is, until Pittfest, when he’d shown up on your doorstep, sad brown eyes begging you to make him forget, if only for a few hours. You obliged, leading him by the hand to your bedroom. You let him take you apart, use you however he saw fit. He spread you over his lap and spanked your ass until it was hot, then spent hours between your legs, devouring your cunt until he was dripping with your juices and your thighs were rubbed raw from his beard. His cock plundered your tight walls thrust after thrust, hot ropes of his cum painting your insides, your heated ass an hour later; your pretty tits the next morning. 

Then acted like nothing happened the next day. 

That was a wake-up call that he wasn’t coming back. So you moved on. Met a nice guy–an accountant–who treated you well, took you on vacations, talked about the future with you, in a way that made it clear he saw you in his. After being together for a year, he proposed, and you’ve been married now for 6 months. 

And Michael had too. He found himself a nice woman, closer to his age, and settled down, put a ring on her finger and bought her a house. You didn’t know much about her, but from all accounts she seemed like a lovely woman. You were happy for him, really, you were. There was absolutely no pit of rancid jealousy pooling low in your stomach. Not at all.

This history rushes through you as you catch sight of him at PTMC’s annual fundraising gala, an event you were required to attend if you wanted any chance to upgrade some of the more expensive, 10-year old equipment in your department. You’d tried to get out of it–not just because you were likely to see Michael in a non-work setting, but because you’d never been one for schmoozing; it just wasn’t your bag. You wished these people would donate out of the goodness of their hearts, not because the hospital promised to dedicate a wing to them. 

You hadn’t been able to completely avoid Michael these past few years, you did work at the same hospital after all. You’d seen him somewhat regularly, though far less than you did when you were a resident. As an attending, you weren’t often tasked with answering consults in the ED–residents usually took the brunt of the workload. You stayed upstairs most of the time, only wandering down to the Pitt to oversee the more complex cases, which you were thankful for.  

It’d been about four months since your last interaction. You’d just gotten back from your honeymoon, a trip to Paris that was supposed to be romantic, idyllic. And it was, at least to everyone on the outside looking in. 

You made your way down to the ED, Dana directing you to the physician assigned to the case, which happened to be Michael. He was different, less restrained when he spoke to you. He looked you in the eye–a courtesy you hadn’t been afforded in some time–he joked, put his hand on the small of your back as he maneuvered you away from an incoming gurney. He was flirting. Not in a crass way, not in a way that anyone else, really, would notice. But you did. Because you knew him, knew how frosty you’d become to one another over the years. 

You stuttered your way through, thrown off by Michael's change in demeanor. You approved the transfer to peds and his plan of treatment before quickly excusing yourself, heart racing–not because you didn’t like this side of Michael, but because you did. 

The exchange sat heavy on your tongue that night as you sat across the table for your husband, the lovely dinner he’d prepared tasting acrid in your mouth. You’d never mentioned your relationship with Michael to your husband–not because it was a secret, but because it seemed too complicated to explain in the beginning, and eventually enough time passed that bringing it up now felt awkward. It was unnecessary to tear open the wound when it had already scabbed over. Why upset the peace now? 

Which is why your stomach clenched as he approached the punch table you were stationed at, where you were scoping out the gala from afar. He looked good, really good. It wasn’t often that you saw him dressed up; he much preferred his scrubs and cargo pants to starched slacks and fitted shirts. Tonight he was styled in a perfectly tailored black suit, crisp white dress shirt underneath, and a silky black tie nestled against his neck. The soft swell of his tummy was sinful under his suit jacket. His hair wasn’t styled, exactly, but it was wrangled into something more kempt than his usual mussed look, and his beard was neatly trimmed, the graying strands more pronounced than they were years ago. 

He came to a stop about a foot away from you, close enough that you could smell the spicy, woody scent of his cologne; the same cologne he’d been wearing for years. The one that permeated the sweaters you’d borrow; that lingered on your sheets after he spent the night; the one that mingled with his sweat and musk as he hovered over you, taking you again and again and again. 

“Fancy seeing you here,” he smiled, and it looked so much like the one he used to flash you back then; the one reserved for you and you alone. A pang of sadness zipped through you for a brief moment before you collected yourself. 

Shaking yourself of your haze, you rolled your eyes, “this is a mandated event for all attendings,” you reminded him, arms wrapping tight around yourself as if it would provide any sort of defense, “you knew I’d be here.” 

“Yeah, doesn’t mean you’re any less of a sight for sore eyes,” he leaned forward to whisper in your ear, over the din of chatter. It’s not close enough to be indecent, but it is close enough to make your heart stutter. He was laying it on thick tonight.   

“That’s an awful nice thing to say to someone you’ve been avoiding for the better part of two years,” you said, perhaps a bit pettily. 

He takes that in stride, jaw shifting side to side as he considers his next move. He settles on, “Where’s the husband?” 

You took a deep breath. The last thing you wanted was to engage in small talk with Robby. You didn’t want to talk about the husband, the wife; didn’t want to re-expose the wound you’d worked so hard to heal. But you didn’t want to make a scene, either, so you answered politely, “He couldn’t make it. Had a fishing trip planned with his buddies, couldn’t miss it.” 

“Ah, what a shame, I was looking forward to meeting him,” he said with a smug look on his face, disappointment nowhere to be found. 

“Another time,” you said noncommittally, “what about your wife?” 

“She had a… prior engagement,” he said vaguely, not attempting to go into anymore detail. He cleared his throat, his confident composure flickering for a moment, “Listen, I was hoping maybe we could talk tonight. Privately. I wanted to… I just, I want,” he sighed, hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck, “I just wanted to talk to you tonight.” 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Mic-” you coughed, quickly correcting yourself, “Robby.” 

“My name is still Michael, you know. You can say it without retching," he said coyly, smirk hidden behind his whiskey glass. 

You shook your head, “I think I’ll stick with Robby. That’s the version of you I get now.” 

“You can have whatever version of me you want, sweetheart,” he muttered into his glass, quiet enough that you wouldn’t have heard it if he wasn’t standing so close. The pet name set your body aflame, blood boiling at how familiar he was acting. You moved to walk away, but he stopped you, hand reaching out to your arm, cupping your elbow and thumbing over the soft skin at the juncture. His hand was heavy, the warmth of his skin radiating through your body, the rough texture achingly familiar. This was getting out of hand, and fast.

“Please, I just… I have some things I want to get off my chest,” he said, “Been wanting to talk since I saw you at work a couple months ago. Before that, too, if I’m honest.” 

You shook your head again and took a step back from him, creating some much needed distance. “Look Robby, I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but… we’ve both moved on, right? I mean, what’s your goal here?” you asked. 

He blew out a puff of air, expression slightly exasperated, “What if I want to be friends?” 

You scoffed, “I don’t want to be your friend, Robby,” you said, shaking your head, “I don’t know how to be,” your throat was tight, unwelcome tears gathering fast. You tried to blink them away, didn’t want him to see the effect he was having on you. 

“I’m happy now, okay?” you said, hoping it sounded genuine. He looked wounded, those big cow eyes of his soft and sad. You reached for his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze as you continued, “I hope you are too.”

Your head is spinning as you turn away from Robby, but you don’t get a second to catch your breath before you’re swept into a conversation with Gloria and a handful of donors. You smile and make nice, talk about the important work you’re doing in peds, the lives you’re saving, how you could save more if you greedy assholes would just donate your networth without having us do this whole song and dance. 

You’re pulled into conversation after conversation, a hellish waltz choreographed without your permission. You’re dizzy by the time you’re able to extricate yourself, slipping out of the ballroom and down the corridor looking for a brief moment of respite. 

Peeking into rooms as you pass by, you finally come to a stop outside of a library. Not a Beauty and the Beast type, but a modest room filled with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves that are just the right amount of dusty. You step inside, looking around nervously as if some talking candelabra is going to jump out and scold you for snooping. 

Leather-bound classics stand out to you as your fingers flit over the various titles, Wuthering Heights, Frankenstein, Little Women, and, ah, Pri- 

“First edition Pride and Prejudice, these people must be loaded,” Michael said, startling a yelp out of you. 

“Sorry, honey, didn’t mean to scare you,” his hand settled heavily on the curve of your waist, the warmth of it seeping through the satin of your dress. He’s close–how did he get so close? 

“Michael…” you warned. 

“What was your favorite quote from the movie again?” he ignored you, hand kneading your flesh over your dress. 

He inched closer, body pressing solidly against your back, “you have bewitched me, body and soul,” he recites huskily, drawing your earlobe into his mouth and biting down. You gasp, the sensation zinging through you and straight to your core. He descends on you, then, placing hot kisses along the column of your neck, sucking at the flesh with the slightest pressure–he knows he can’t mark you up. Not yet.  

Your knees are weak. You need to stop him, have to tell him no, but your body is a traitor, betraying you at the most inopportune time. Your eyelids flutter closed, your hands finding purchase on the shelf in front of you and gripping hard. Tiny mewls and whimpers escape your lips involuntarily, Michael’s lips finding your sweet spots like he’d never forgotten them. 

“missed those pretty sounds, baby,” he whispered, and you’re abruptly broken out of your reverie, sense coming back to you in shameful waves. 

You turn around, your face all but pressed against his broad chest. He’s got you caged in, one arm leaning against the bookcase next to your head and the other still anchored to your hip. His eyes are dark now, and he’s got the look. The look that says he wants you, and he’s not going to stop until he has you. The look that has been your downfall time after time over the past 6 years. 

“What are you doing, Robby?” you asked, bracing your hands against his chest, trying to create some semblance of distance. “You have a wife. A good one, from what I hear. You want to throw that all away?” 

“I’m not sure I’d be throwing much away,” he murmured, a solemn look on his face. 

You shook your head, scoffing, “fine, so you want me to throw everything away?” 

He looks at you, hand snaking from your waist up to your shoulder, grazing the swell of your breast lightly on the way. His hand settles at the juncture of your neck and shoulder, fingers resting against the side of your throat. “I just think,” he said, fingers squeezing lightly, “that you’re not nearly as happy as you want everyone to believe you are.” 

“And what gives you any right to make that assumption about me? About my marriage?” you asked breathily, your brain already gone fuzzy from the slight pressure he’s applied to your throat. 

He shrugs, “I think that you’ve curated this picture perfect marriage that makes everyone fawn over you, that looks good on mortgage applications and Christmas cards, but it doesn’t really matter, does it?” he asks, hand releasing your throat and cupping the nape of your neck. He tilts your head up, the angle achingly familiar. His lips are so close you can almost feel the roughness of them against yours. Almost.  

“You might be able to hide it from everyone else, but I know what you look like when you’re happy; when you’re satisfied,” he said, arrogance wafting off him in waves, “There’s no fire; no spark. I mean, does he even know how to fuck you right?” 

You laugh incredulously, not really wanting to get into this with him right now. “We have perfectly good sex, Michael.” 

“See? That, right there. Not ‘mindblowing’, ‘incredible’, or ‘passionate.’ You didn’t even call it ‘making love’ which, while cliche, would have at least been romantic. You said ‘perfectly good,’” he shook his head in disappointment. “Really, sweetheart, that’s what you’re settling for?” There was that signature Robinavitch condescension laced throughout his words, and you hated that you were getting wet because of it. 

“You have me all figured out, do you?” 

“Kind of, yeah,” he said, no arrogance this time–just honesty. “Because I’m in the same boat,” he looks at you, his big brown eyes filled with too much sincerity, and something else harder to place; something more resigned. 

“I think we can have a good time,” he continued, “We always have before.” That, at least, was honest. No grand promises of leaving his wife, you leaving your husband, and running away together. 

“Yeah, is that what friends do?” you asked breathily. 

His head dips down to nose along the edge of your jaw, “c’mon, when’s the last time you were fucked properly, honey? Hm?” You gasp as he slots his leg between your thighs, knee pressing up against your cunt. 

“Michael, we can’t,” you huff out, willing your hips not to grind against the firm muscle. “Someone could come in…” you mutter weakly. You choose not to interrogate why you’re more concerned about someone wandering in and less about infidelity. 

His hands grab at your waist, shucking your dress up and guiding you back and forth over his thigh. A moan keens out of you, the pressure exquisite against your clit, “when’s the last time someone fucked every last thought out of your pretty little head, left you fuzzy and gooey after bein’ fucked so dumb?” he asked, and you could smell the whiskey he’d been nursing all night on his breath–the way the rich, smoky scent tangled with his natural musk was intoxicating.  

Your head lolled back against the bookcase, hips moving against him without resistance now, his big hands keeping your pace steady–not letting you think about it too much.  

“Does he know that you like your ass slapped raw, that you beg for it till you're crying?” You cried out, face heating because no, he didn’t know that. There were things about you to which only Michael Robinavitch was privy, sexual proclivities you’d only ever felt safe to explore with him. 

“Does he know how quickly you’d fall to your knees when I’d tell you to kneel? How you’d take my cock down so far down your throat that you couldn’t breathe?” he asked, rutting the hard line of his cock into your hip. 

The pleasure is dizzying, the sensations the only thing you can think about. But then the pressure between your legs is gone, a loud whine escaping your lips before Michael slaps his hand over your mouth, muffling you. “As much as I wanna hear you scream my name, we can’t let these nice people know what a filthy fuckin’ whore you are,” he grunted, nudging your panties to the side before plunging two fingers into your cunt, hooking them up to rub at that sweet spot on your front wall. 

You could feel the cool metal of his wedding band against your entrance each time he buried his fingers deep inside you, the contrast against your hot skin sending shockwaves through your body. You should feel ashamed at how turned on you are by it. 

His hand was heavy against your mouth, his skin salty against your tongue as you panted hot breaths into it. His nose traced the apple of your cheek as he continued muttering obscenities into your ear. “He know what a good little cumslut you are? How you love being painted with my cum? How you’d guzzle it down by the gallon if you could?” the questions were coming faster now, your brain unable to fully comprehend them; certainly unable to answer them. 

Without warning his thumb starts rubbing tight little circles against your clit. Your knees buckle, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you grind yourself against his skilled hand. The press of Michael’s strong body was the only thing keeping you upright and not a puddle on the floor. 

You’re right there, standing on the precipice of your release, the staticky feeling extending throughout your limbs as your orgasm approaches. One more swipe over your clit would send you tumbling over the edge. 

“Fuck, honey, he doesn’t even know what to do with you, does he?” he said, disdain thick in his throat, before wrenching his fingers from your pussy, your orgasm fading fast away. 

“No no no no nooooooo,” you whined, scrabbling to catch his wrist and failing. Your eyelids were heavy, barely open as you gaped at him, unable to form words to protest this indignity. 

He lifted his fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean before he settled your dress back into place. He squeezed your hips as he leaned in, mouth hot next to your ear, "I'm staying at the Omni tonight. Room 341."

And then he's gone.

You're left slumped against the bookcase, chest heaving, legs fighting to keep you upright. Your thighs are still sticky with arousal, the ache of your denied orgasm heavy as you move on uneasy legs back to the ballroom.

You’re stuck in meaningless, performative diatribes with potential donors for another hour and a half before you’re able to slip out. Michael, you’d noticed, had made his escape at least 30 minutes before you, the sneaky bastard. You hadn’t yet mastered the Irish goodbye, still feeling guilty for leaving people hanging. 

Against your better judgement, you find yourself entering the hotel's address into the uber destination box; swiping to pay before you can think better of it. Leaning back against a column, you close your eyes and take deep breaths of humid summer air, a futile attempt to steady your nerves. 

“I know you weren’t going to ditch this place without seein’ me first,” a wry voice calls out. 

You smile, recognizing Jack immediately. You’d gotten close with him over the years, Robby’s self-destructive behavior a solvent that had closely bonded you two, and was loath to dissolve just because you and Michael had. 

“And miss what I’m sure is going to be a riveting status report on dear old Michael Robinavitch? I could never,” you grinned at him. 

He shook his head, laughing, “Am I that predictable?” 

“Painfully,” you deadpan. 

He put his hands up in a defensive posture, “I just came out here to check on you. I saw that Robby cornered you at the punch table.” Yeah, and in the library where he fingered the living daylights out of me before leaving me high and dry, you thought sourly. 

“I’m fine, we’re fine,” you waved dismissively,  “Just reminiscing on the good ol’ days,” you said, which wasn’t technically a lie. 

But Jack looked less than convinced. To your surprise, though, he didn’t jump to pick apart your half-truth. Just leaned against the column opposite you, arms folded as he considered his next words. “He’s been out of sorts lately,” he said, trying to provoke your interest, “picking up more shifts, staying late, doin’ anything to avoid going home.” 

You don’t bite, knowing this is a loaded topic, knowing that Jack was leading you somewhere you weren’t sure you wanted to go.  

“He’s a grown man, Jack,” is what you manage.  

He nodded his head, agreeing, “Yeah, he is. And you’re a grown woman.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you ask, your patience wearing thin. 

He looked at you, not quite disappointed but disquieted, like he knew what track the train was headed on, and was hoping it wouldn’t wreck. “Just…make sure you know what you’re getting yourself into, kid. You know I want what’s best for you. For both of you.” 

You nod, “Thank you Jack, I’ll keep that in mind. It was good to see you, we should grab a drink and catch up sometime,” you said as your Uber pulled in. 

He bids you farewell as you trek to the car, hesitating only a second before sliding into the backseat.

You took a deep breath, then knocked on the door three times. You’re halfway to second guessing when he answers the door. He’d taken off his suit jacket, the shirt beneath untucked and unbuttoned at the collar, showing off the coarse hair on his chest. His sleeves were rolled up, his forearms now bare, and his tie had been loosened, the knot now sitting low against his sternum. 

You’re on him before he can say anything, one arm thrown around his neck and the other yanking him forward by the tie, lips crashing against his in a desperate kiss. It was an uncoordinated mash of lips and gnashing teeth, hard and unforgiving, spit gathering at the corners of your lips and drooling down. His lips were slightly chapped, the roughness a delicious friction against yours.  

“Woah there, honey,” Michael said against your lips, catching you as you tumble into him–and the room. You're pressed against the door as soon as it's closed, his hands moving up to cradle your head, fingers wrapping around the back of your skull and thumbs brushing against your jaw. 

“You’re an asshole,” you mumble against him, unwilling to part from his lips for a second. Your tongue swept across his bottom lip, begging him to open up and taste you. Michael held you still, licking into your mouth with languid strokes, trying to assert control over your frantic pace. Your lips were slick and swollen as you tried your best to slow down, to let Michael guide you like he always has. God, you missed kissing him. 

“Yeah?” he asked, fingers tightening around the strands of hair at the base of your skull, pulling enough to hurt, “thought you liked me mean?” The low buzz of pain was dizzying. He tilted your head to the side, exposing your neck and trailing wet hot kisses down the length of your neck, teeth grazing lightly your carotid, pulse racing. 

A hand moved behind you, skilled fingers unzipping your dress and letting it fall to the ground unceremoniously, and you were left only in your lacy black bra and panties. Then his hands are on you, rough palms kneading the globes of your ass roughly, pulling them apart and sinking his short nails into the flesh. 

“You just left me there,” you whined, head thrown back against the door, hands hastily untying his tie and moving to unbutton his shirt. It’s clumsy work, your shaking hands slipping against the shiny buttons, whining petulantly until Michael intervenes, batting your hands away with a laugh and taking care of it himself. 

“Just wanted to remind you how good we are together,” he said as he shrugged his shirt off, “wanted you to come to me on your own.” 

Your hands run over the newly exposed skin, savoring the feeling of his hairy chest against your palms. Trailing lower, you palmed his cock through his pants, wet spot noticeable at the tip. You jerked him slowly, hand just barely wrapping around his girth. He was warm, even through the fabric, and the feel of him in your hand only heightened your anticipation. 

He captured your lips once more before moving down to your tits, groping them roughly through your bra before pulling the cups down, hot mouth sucking the hardened bud harshly. “So pretty, baby,” he moaned into your chest, licking and sucking your nipples, tongue swirling around one while deft fingers pulled and twisted at the other. Your pace on his cock slowed, mind fuzzy at the attention he was paying your tits, his hips rutting lazily against your open palm. He’s too good with his mouth, and you can’t help the embarrassing sounds that escape your lips. Your chest is soaked by the time he’s had his fill, the spit slick nubs growing cold from the air. 

“Missed this so much,” he said, placing kisses to your tummy, right above your panties, teeth pulling at the waistband and letting it snap back against your skin. 

“Yeah? Prove it,” you said breathlessly, hand pushing down on his shoulder until he’s on his knees looking up at you. “With pleasure, sweetheart,” he said, content to give up a little control if it means getting his mouth on your sweet pussy. 

He wasted no time, yanking your panties to the ground and throwing your leg over his shoulder, burying his nose in your cunt, and inhaling your scent deeply. His tongue delved between your folds, sopping up all the slick gathered there, “taste as good as I remember, fuck,” he moaned into you, licking and sucking at your folds, tongue laving over your clit. He wasn’t teasing–no, he wanted you to remember just how good he made you feel, how helpless you got when you came on his tongue. 

He ate you like a man starved, like your cunt was his lifeblood, and he didn’t ever want to forget the way you tasted, the way you felt against his tongue. He pushed your other leg over, widen your stance for him. He traced your entrance before thrusting his tongue in deep, curling and fucking you with a fervor that made your knees weak. You ground your hips against his mouth shamelessly, the image of him below you sinful, eyes glazed over and beard dripping with your wetness. 

“Feels so good, please, fuck, right there Michael,” you cried, hands gripping his hair tight, shoving his face impossibly deeper into your pussy. Your denied orgasm from the library was coming back with a vengeance, your thighs trembling as the coil tightened in your core. 

He moved back up to your clit, his rhythm unpredictable as he switched back and forth between flicking your clit with short little strokes and massaging it in tight circles. The sensations were too euphoric, the pleasure blistering as you approached your orgasm, “I’m gonna cum, Michael, please keep going, please let me cum,” you begged. 

He pinched your thigh, hard, and pulled away just enough to give you direction, “look at me when you cum on my tongue, honey, let go, I got you.” 

You tried, eyes heavy as you looked down at him, jaw taut, working hard against your pussy. Your orgasm hit you hard, waves of pleasure radiating to every inch of your body, toes curling and mouth open wide in an obnoxiously loud moan.  

“That’s my girl,” he groaned into you, licking up every drop of cum leaking from your pulsing hole, “so fucking good for me.” 

You were boneless against the door, barely holding yourself up as Michael cleaned you up, not letting a drop of your spend go to waste. You pushed his head weakly, clit abused and sensitive from his devious assault. 

He kissed the inside of your knee, your inner thigh tenderly before getting up, knees cracking faintly. You pulled him close, tasting yourself on his lips as you kissed him messily. His hands travelled down, grabbing at the back of your thighs and hoisting you up, wrapping your legs around his waist as he walked you to the bed.  

He deposited you on the bed, stepping back to take in your debauched form before descending on you again, kissing up your stomach, nipping at the skin around your hipbones, your ribs. You reach back and finally discard your bra before moving to paw at his belt, desperate to get him out of his pants and into you. “Need you to fuck me, Michael, need to be close to you,” you whimpered, resolve broken; pride nowhere to be found. You had succumbed to Michael’s overwhelming magnetism; you felt like a tiny ball of metal being drawn to an industrial sized magnet, unable to resist, all sense or reason absent from your mind when he touched you.  

He doesn’t make you wait, shucking off his pants and boxers, cock springing out painfully hard. You forgot how pretty he was, thick and long, tip a rosy pink color. He was wet from the amount of precum he’d been leaking, shaft sticky with it. Veins protruded along his shaft, ones you remember feeling against your tongue, especially the one on the underside of his cock, the one that made him putty in your hands when you ran your tongue along it. Your mouth watered at the sight of it, vowing to get a taste before the night was over. 

He sat on his knees before you, grabbing your legs under your knees and pulling you towards him, the back of your thighs resting atop his spread ones, hips lifted slightly off of the bed. He stroked his cock a few times before slapping it against your puffy clit, the plap plap plap reverberating throughout the room. You moaned, thrusting your hips up to chase the friction. 

He ran his cock through your sopping folds, tip pressing gently against your entrance before gliding up to your clit, then back again. “You gonna let me fuck you raw, honey?” he asked, cock slipping messily against your cunt, “Gonna let me fuck a baby into you?” 

Oh. That was new. The moan that left your lips was borderline pornographic, “please Mikey.”  

His hips stuttered, groaning at the nickname he hadn’t heard in years. “Put it in for me, baby, show me how bad you want it,” he huffed out, grabbing your hand and putting it on his cock. You stroked him a few times, the weight familiar in your hand, before notching him at your entrance and rocking your hips forward slowly against the tip. You continued like that for a while, fucking youself steadily on the tip of his cock. Michael was big, and even the tip stretched you out deliciously.

It didn’t take long for his patience to snap, though, his hand replacing yours as he pushed in deep, inch by inch. The stretch was familiar and new all at the same time; each inch spearing you further onto his cock, the fullness so satiating you couldn’t speak. Michael was equally speechless when he fully sank into you, the feeling of your walls fluttering around him dizzying after so long without you. 

“Feels like coming home,” he groaned, hands finding home on the back of your soft thighs and hooking your legs over his shoulders, pressing you deep into the mattress as he fucked into you. The drag of his cock through your walls made you delirious; you could feel every vein, his head rutting against your g spot at just the right angle. Your hands scrabbled for purchase on his forearms–the only part of him you could reach–needing to touch him; to have him as close to you as possible. 

He found his rhythm quickly, pulling out almost all the way before snapping his hip back into you, the pace steady but brutal. His balls slapped against your ass with each thrust, and your pussy was squelching loud, slick coating your inner thighs and running down your ass and onto the sheets below. Michael watched his cock pump in and out of you, your arousal coating his cock in a thick, creamy ring around his base, the sight nearly enough to make him cum on the spot. 

“You fill me up so good, Mikey, can feel you in my guts,” you whimper, hand snaking down to play with your clit, your second orgasm quickly approaching.  

“Yeah, touch that pretty little clit, baby, make yourself cum all over my cock,” he said, grip tightening on your thighs, hips snapping against you faster, harder. You thought briefly about how you were going to explain the bruises. 

Another sharp thrust hit that sweet, spongy spot and you’re done for. Your blood felt molten as it rushed through your body, white hot shocks racing down your spine. Your back is arched almost uncomfortably, your mouth open but unable to make any sound as the waves crash over you. Your fingernails dig into his forearms, little crescent shapes nearly breaking the skin. The aftershocks are just as powerful, pleasure zipping through you with each thrust. 

You’ve barely recovered when he manhandles you onto your front, his strong hands pulling your hips back against him. Your back arched, forearms barely keeping you from faceplanting into the sheets. One hand settles on your shoulder, dragging you back onto his cock with each thrust, and the other tangles in your hair, pulling the strands tight, the pain and pleasure mingling together exquisitely. Your hips move back to meet his, fucking yourself back against him, desperate to make him feel as good as he’s making you feel.   

“Shit, missed this pussy so much, baby,” he grunted, “I think she remembers me, remembers how good this cock made her feel.” 

He shifted again, draping himself over your back and bracing himself on his forearms, one one either side of your head. He was so deep like this, the tip of his cock jutting up against your cervix with each thrust. All you could do was lay there and take it, the feel of his soft belly against your back a soft contrast to the punishing slam of his hips. One hand snaked between your body and the bed, ring and middle finger finding your clit and rubbing fast circles on it. It felt so good. 

Tears formed in the corners of your eyes, the mix of sensations and hormones garbling your emotions. “Am I good?” you asked, eyes bleary and throat raw, a part of you begging to know that you’re doing good, that you were as good as he remembered. That you weren’t risking everything for a mediocre lay. 

“So good, baby, takin’ it so good, always so good for me,” he groaned, hand grabbing your jaw and pulling your head to the side to kiss you. It was sloppy, mostly teeth clanking against each other, but you savored his lips on yours nevertheless. 

“Gonna let me cum inside?” he asked, pace faltering just a bit, “yeah? Gonna give me a kid? What would your husband say?” He’s fading fast now, hips grinding against your ass in short, hard thrusts. 

“Nine months from now, when a kid with my nose–fuck–my eyes pops out? What would he think, knowing I pumped his pretty little wife full of my seed?” 

You moaned, pleasure too great to feel the shame, “please, please cum inside me, Michael!” His fingers pressed hard against your clit and you were cumming again. It was less intense than the first two, but no less pleasurable. It was a warm pulse that emanated from your core, flooding your limbs and making your body sag against the mattress, spent. 

“I’ll give it to you, baby, give you anything you want,” he cried out as he came, spilling rope after rope of hot cum into your cunt. He gave you a few more thrusts before pulling out, watching as globs of his cum dripped out of your hole. Using his cock, he scooped up the spend and fucked it back into you, “gotta make sure it sticks, right, honey?” he said, a wondrous look on his face, like your cunt dripping with his cum was a holy sight. 

You turned around and sprawled out against the sheets, head fuzzy and floaty, but aware enough to whine out, “want a taste,” sulkily. He huffed out a laugh at you, but shuffled up the bed anyway, bracing an arm on the headboard as he fed the tip of his softening cock into your mouth. You suckled at him, licking the residual cum from his tip, eyes closed in bliss. You would have been content to stay that way, but Michael was sensitive after his orgasm, and couldn’t take much of your warm mouth on his cock, though he was loath to admit it. 

“Alright, honey, gotta get you cleaned up,” he said, extricating himself from you despite your disgruntled whimpers. 

And this is what always made 'casual' with Michael so difficult. He fucked you within an inch of your life, and then had the audacity to be so attentive, so achingly tender afterward. He cleaned you up, warm washcloth dabbing softly across your sweat-dripped brow, swiping gently between your folds and thighs. He made sure you drank water, reminded you about the importance of peeing after sex. Even carried you to the bathroom and bathed you–washed your hair, your body, rubbed you down with lotion afterward.

Settled back in bed, you were tucked up against him, leg thrown over his hip and chest pressed against his side. Your fingers trailed over his furry chest, fingers deftly grasping the star of his Magen David between your fingers, thumb brushing against it softly. It seemed wrong, like the cool metal should scald your flesh for your sacrilege. But maybe that was just your religious trauma talking–that, or your extensive knowledge of vampire lore. You’d both gotten married under your respective religious auspices–you had a lovely service in a beautiful church; you heard Michael had a traditional ceremony at his synagogue–had even seen the video of them doing the Hora. Yet here you were, committing the greatest marital sin; betraying your Gods and your lovers in one fell swoop. 

But you didn’t much believe in any god anymore, so you weren’t sure why you were having this borderline existential crisis over the blasphemous act you’d just engaged in. Maybe because it was comforting in a sick sort of way–you knew what to do with shame, especially the religious variety. You were less certain about how to handle the rotten desire you felt welling up inside you; the bone-deep longing to wake up next to Michael in the morning. 

Pushing the thoughts away, you asked, "why do you still wear it?" You knew he had a complicated history with his faith; that he had, on more than one occasion, cursed God’s name and decried his existence. 

He remained silent for a moment, then fingered the delicate chain resting between your breasts, thumb stroking lightly over the crucifix pendant. “Probably for the same reason you still wear this,” he said coolly, and you thought, briefly, that he was evading the question. 

“It’s from my bubbe,” he answered quietly, “the last thing I have from her, actually. And there’s a bittersweet nostalgia to it, too, I guess. Reminds me of a version of myself that believed in a higher power.” 

You understood that more than you cared to admit. It was also uncharacteristically vulnerable for Michael. You found yourself wanting to give him a piece of yourself in return. 

You covered his hand with yours over your necklace, “this was my dad’s,” you whisper, thumb stroking over his knuckles, “reminds me of being little, of singing in the choir at church. Wish things still felt that simple.” He nods, understands the feeling, if not the exact experience. 

"I think… I think I got married because I thought it was something I should do," he confessed quietly, staring straight up at the ceiling. "I woke up one day and saw that I had nothing to show for my life. No wife, no kids. Not even a dog," he laughed humorlessly, shaking his head. "I care about her, really, I do. But it's how you'd care for a good friend. I want what's best for her, want her to do well, but... it's just not…” he swallowed thickly, turning to look you in the eye, “I don’t love her."

Your heart raced, chest filling with inconvenient feelings that you were desperate to push down. You weren’t sure how much more of yourself you could expose before you reached the point of no return. Perhaps you’re already there. You settled on a safe answer, a deflection, "that seems like something you should tell her.” 

He laughed softly, “yeah, I guess so,” he said, hand moving to cup your cheek, “but I’m telling you.” 

You shook your head, eyes closing to avoid his penetrating gaze. This had never been part of the deal with him. Sure, your pillow talk had been more intimate than the typical hookup–you told him things you’d never told anyone else–hadn’t told your husband–but that didn’t extend to your real feelings for one another. This time was reserved for morose revelations; a twisted confessional between two people comfortable to wallow in the depravity of it; who knew the other wouldn’t avoid their gaze the next morning.  

“Tell me you love him,” he said, voice strained, “look at me and tell me you love him.” 

"I do love him," you said, eyes still closed, mustering up as much conviction as you could manage. Which, admittedly, wasn't much.

A beat. 

"Then why are you still here?"

"Fuck you," you pushed against his chest weakly, pulling back just enough to create some space. 

"hmm maybe in a little bit, didn't bring my viagra with me," he joked halfheartedly. 

“Be serious, Michael,” you bit out, making a real attempt to remove yourself from him now. You turned around, scooting to get out of bed only to feel his arms encircle your waist, pulling you back into him, his chest pressed solidly against your back. His grip was loose; you knew you could leave if you really wanted to, which made your complacency that much more infuriating. 

“I’m trying,” he said, “we’re done fucking, you could have easily walked out the door 45 minutes ago. But you’re still here, and I have to think that means something.” 

You don’t say anything. His breathing is heavy, the puffs of air sweltering next to your ear as he hits you with a gut punch, "I never stopped thinking about you." 

“You can’t do that, Michael,” you said, throat tight; tears pricking your lash line. 

“I never stopped thinking about you, about how how badly I fucked things up,” he continued. 

You laughed wetly, “Stop. You can’t just, just come back into my life after making it clear, for years, that you’re not interested in anything with me, that all I ever was to you was a good fuck.” 

“That’s never been true,” he said resolutely, “I know we never talked about it, but you know it was more than that.” 

It was quiet for a minute, then, “I’ve been going to therapy, for about a year now,” he said, “I’m doing better. I’m not perfect, obviously,” he laughed, the sentiment clear: I’m here cheating on my wife, so I’m not totally depleted of poor coping mechanisms. 

“I was fucked up after Adamson, after Pittfest. I treated you like shit when all you wanted to do was help me, when you were the only one who did help me. I’m sorry for that, how I treated you. You didn’t deserve that, and I’ll spend however long I need to making it up to you,” he said, and the sincerity in his voice made your heart ache. 

“I’m not telling you this so you’ll forgive me. I just, I want you to know I’m trying to get better. I’m trying to be the man that you deserve.” 

You shook your head, refusing to fall into this trap again. “I appreciate the apology Michael, I really do, but I can’t. We can’t. I’m married, you’re married.” 

He laughed bitterly, “Why do you think I'm staying at this hotel?” he asked, not giving you the chance to answer before he continued, “she kicked me out, said I’ve been distant. Said she didn’t want to be stuck in a loveless marriage.” 

The air is sucked from your lungs, brain not comprehending the words fully until he finishes, “I want to get a divorce.” 

He turned you around in his arms, hand cradling your cheek as he asked you again, “Do you love him?” 

“I want to,” you said, eyes closed tight against the tears falling, “I want to so bad. He’s good for me, we like each other, we agree on everything. It should be perfect,” you said, breaths coming out fast and ragged, your next words ripping from your throat unbidden, “But all I want is you.” 

You’re crying now, face burrowed into Michael’s chest, the scent of him overwhelming your senses. “I don’t-don’t know what to d-do,” you sobbed, the conflicting feelings of shame and relief pummeled into you full force. He ran his fingers through your hair, pressing kisses to your hairline, “It’s okay, baby, it’s gonna be okay. We’ll figure it all out,” he whispered. 

You’d never admitted that you didn’t love your husband to anyone–had barely admitted it to yourself. It was a secret you held close to your chest, one that you were going to take to the grave because you thought it was too late; you’d made your bed, and now you had to lie in it. 

But it felt so good to let it out, to have someone to share in that truth, to fully admit it to yourself. Things had gotten harder after the honeymoon, when things weren’t shiny and new. You both settled into routine, and it was harder to ignore the growing distance between you. You liked each other just fine, but maybe that was part of the problem. You felt more like roommates than lovers most of the time, your lives separate in so many ways. He hadn’t even asked you if it was a good time for his fishing trip–not that he had to ask for permission, but it would have been nice for him to consider you. Or maybe you’re just trying to lessen your guilt, to justify the unjustifiable. 

Either way, what’s done is done, and now that the admission has been made, you have a choice to make. But that wasn’t exactly easy, either. 

“How am I s-supposed to believe that you w-won’t do it again? Leave when things get hard?” you hiccuped, fear gripping your heart in a vise. You want so badly to believe him, to surrender to him, but you can’t stop that little voice in your brain telling you he’ll never stay. 

“You can’t,” he said solemnly, “and I’m sorry about that. That I’m not someone you can trust anymore, that you’re going to second guess my commitment to you for a long time. But I want to try, I want to be with you, and I can only hope that you want to be with me too.” 

“You make it sound so easy,” you said weakly. 

“Not easy. But I’m willing to do the work, however dirty. Because I love you.” 

Your breath hitched, teary eyes looking up at him in shock. His thumb brushed against your cheek, eyes honest as he looked you in the eye.  

“Yeah?” you asked

“I meant it, what I said in the library. You have bewitched me, body and soul,” he whispered, moving to hover over you. “And I love, I love, I love you.” He kissed you then, soft and slow and sweet this time, every unspoken sentiment making itself known between your lips. 

“I love you, too,” you whispered back, the words tasting sweet on your lips instead of sour for the first time in a long time. 

He settled between your legs, cock resting against your cunt, still wet with your combined cum. You winced, “I don’t think I can do another one, ‘m too sore,” you whispered, not wanting to ruin the moment. 

“Shh, it's okay, honey, just want to feel you, be close to you.” 

He slipped in slowly, savoring the way your walls wrapped around him, the warmth comforting. He buried himself in you, hips sitting flush against yours. He settled his head on your chest, ear resting against your heartbeat, his body a comforting weight on top of you. You sat there for a while, stroking his hair and replaying the night in your head. 

“Did you mean it?” you asked quietly, “about putting a baby in me?” 

He was silent for a moment, the air charged with uncertainty, both of you trying to suss out the other, neither wanting to upset the fragile peace between you.

Finally, “yeah, honey, I meant it.” 

You blew out a puff of air, “yeah, okay. Shit. We should talk about that,” you laughed, and so did he. 

“We have plenty of time, baby, plenty of time.” 

The tension eased, the silence between you comfortable. 

A million thoughts raced through your mind, not the least of which was you lose them how you get them. Things weren’t perfect–far from it–but he was trying, and you wanted to try with him. 

Maybe that was enough.

a/n: thank you for reading!!! this got way more emotional than I was expecting, so thank you if you actually made it all the way through <3

taglist: @thesandbeneathmytoes

[sweetestcowboy]

TWO AGAINST THREE

୨ৎ pairing .ᐟ.ᐟ  michael robinavitch x psych fellow!reader

୨ৎ summary .ᐟ.ᐟ there had been a shift between your relationship with robby. you weren't sure what to make out of that. it wasn't until trouble had stirred up at the PTMC, with you at the center of it, that you came to terms the type of man michael robinavitch was.

୨ৎ tags/warnings .ᐟ.ᐟ female reader, no physical description, no use of y/n, workplace violence, medical assault, discussions of violent assault, workplace harassment/verbal abuse, mentions of anxiety/ptsd/depression, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, trauma aftermath, slow burn, protective!robby, enemies to lovers, colleagues to lovers

୨ৎ authors note .ᐟ.ᐟ OKAY this is just a blurb reallyyy...wanted a little filler between the last part and what i have planned for the next, longer part. plus, this might set up this dynamic well (if it works out the way i want it to lol). also tried something new with the format…

୨ৎ word count .ᐟ.ᐟ 14 k

the slippage in the system >> a mirage on sand

8:00 AM

"Are you doing better?" The voice rang familiar to your ears. While typing at the workstation down at the Pitt, you didn't even see the figure strolling up from behind you.

Craning your head to the side, looking past your shoulder you noticed Caleb rolling up, parking his wheelchair to angle in your direction. Pausing your typing, you pushed the chair back, one hand still holding the edge of the desk. You gave him a smile, letting out a deep sigh, "Alright as I can be. Haven't exactly cleared it out of my system, but I'm here."

A stomach bug was no joke, you supposed. The last thing you expected was for it to keep you locked in your apartment for a week. It was an unsettling week, but you somehow survived. Walking into the PTMC this morning felt like riding a bike. Breezing in all while your feet did most of the work.

"You sound better. I was worried I would need to make a house call the last time we spoke on the phone." Caleb chuckled endearingly. The small grin was amused, but as he looked you up and down, he really was relieved it was milder than he thought.

“I had a friend drop off some things to ale me.” You stated, hoping to calm his worry.

Which was the truth—you wouldn’t dare lie to Caleb at this point. He was right about most things, and you were comfortable enough to relearn trusting your superiors. What you were omitting from him was that the particular friend was one he had a special interest in as well.

And as if the world enjoyed playing tricks on you, that ‘friend’ came strolling towards you, hands in his green fleece jacket pocket. His eyes landed on you before shifting to Caleb, your names slipping from his mouth with ease. He had dropped the ‘Doctor’ title from your surname a while ago, since the blind-dinner-date.

He looked you up and down, eyes crinkling with familiarity. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“Shoot away, Robby.” Caleb welcomed with a grin on his face as he examined you both.

He must have noticed your controlled expression. You were attempting to obscure the small, hesitant smile on your face with a quiet ‘hi’ as Robby stood across the workstation.

Truth was, you weren't sure how to act with Robby anymore.

The floodgates of your past had been opened, and at this point, there wasn't much Robby didn’t know about you—and that thought alone was chilling. You had never been this exposed, and with him having your home address, the urgency to run over rolled around your mind.

“I have a teenager in Central 14 whose mother is expressing concerns about her sudden lack of energy and inconsistent mood.” Robby shared, careful with his volume as he scanned around the department floor. “Mother stepped away for coffee. She was hoping someone could come down to talk with her.”

You hummed, nodding along with his words. Craning your head to the side, you smiled. “Let me finish up my notes for the patient in south 20, and then I will meet you with your patient.”

Robby gave you a silent nod, rubbing his hands together. “Thank you. It’s good to see you back.”

Clearing your throat, you agreed frantically, accepting the newfound compassion from him. Weird, you thought. Robby spared Caleb one last look before excusing himself. Without second thought, you bowed your head, typing away on the chart, hiding the heat rising on your cheeks from Caleb.

Caleb leaned one arm on the desk, bearing his weight to his left. You missed the not-so-subtle look he aimed at Robby who was standing by the nursing station, talking with Whitaker. “You never told me how the dinner went.”

You scoffed, playing it easy and cool. Internally, sirens were going off. It had been a couple of weeks, and you were still digesting the conversation over the meal. You both lasted longer than you had anticipated, laughing even, over your personal embarrassments like a couple of college friends—not that you knew what that felt like.

Since moving to Pittsburgh, you didn’t allot yourself time to socialize. Upon landing, you always assumed this would just be a stepping-stone to where you wanted to go. Now, it was settling too deeply in your heart for you to abandon it so mercilessly. Something too good to say goodbye to.

“I’m surprised you haven’t asked Robby yet.” You coolly deflected, your eyes laser focused on the words you were typing. Your fingers were moving fluently, but your brain was spiraling elsewhere.

It was as if the fogginess from being sick hadn’t completely left you. At least that is what you hoped it was. At least then, you could excuse yourself, more so than some sad excuse to hide your preoccupation. Why would it matter if Caleb knew? He’d be gratified that two coworkers he was invested in could mingle and bond over fact beyond their personal missions to improve patient care.

Caleb chuckled, his body rattling with the vibration. “Who’s to say I haven’t? Maybe I just want to hear it from you.”

“You make it a habit to set up people on blind-dates?” You rhetorically asked, not expecting any reply. Saving the changes on the chart, you swiftly logged off, and scooted the chair back across from Caleb.

“You made me resort to those methods.” Caleb shrugged a proud smile on his face.

God, you hated to admit he was right, especially when he was aware of the positive reaction of his actions. You rolled your neck, preventing him from reading your expression entirely. Caleb thought for a beat, before wheeling himself back. “Think of it this way: the likelier he is to endorse you, the likelier admin is to keep you. It’s convenient and logical. I thought that might appeal to your senses.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “You chose logos over pathos. Well played, Dr. Jefferson.”

Caleb bowed humorously, gracefully accepting the sarcastic compliment. You stood from the chair, playfully rolling your eyes. While looking up at you and preparing to wheel in the opposite direction, he called out for you. “This conversation isn’t over.”

“See you later, Dr. Jefferson.”

As you began walking by the nursing station, you sensed a taller presence strolling beside you. With practiced ease, you glanced beside you to see the device handed to you. Robby stared down, sporting his round glasses. “Jenny McGuire, seventeen, came in presenting abdominal rigidness. Mother expressed concerns over lack of appetite.”

“Apparently, the family experienced something traumatic, and Jenny has been secluding herself more than usual.” Robby swiftly shared, watching your fingers scroll through the annotations made by Dr. McKay.

“Did you or McKay get anything out of the mother about what happened?” You questioned, eyes peeking between your eyelashes, to guide your way through the bustling halls.

Robby hummed, shaking his head. “Nothing in specific, but she seems distraught from it, per her mother.”

You stopped before approaching the room, turning to stand in front of Robby. Eyes flicking across the floor, watching nurses and other ER personnel pass by briskly. “Based on that, it could be signs of depression or some form of PTSD, but won’t know for sure until I talk with her. Would you like to be present?”

Robby’s eyebrows shot up. His hands were on his hips and despite the green Patagonia he had, the muscles in his biceps flexed subconsciously. He stood there slightly puzzled. It wasn’t an odd question, nor a jab at the last major conflict the two of you had, but you did find value in his involvement.

Upon the blossoming trust you were slowly conforming between you and him, there were small epiphanies you had about the wise doctor he was. He was older than you were by a decade at least, which gave him an advantage you yet to have. While observing him (even sourly), there was a command he would always have in a room.

While speaking with the residents and med students, you have always noted the respect they had for him. The similarities in some of their forms of treating could be traced back to him. So even when you wanted to escape him, it was near impossible.

“If you’ve spoken with her before, I have no problem with you present. She may feel comfortable if you introduced us first, anyway.” You shared, offering some reassurance for his hesitancy.

After a beat, Robby allied with a closed smile. Mimicking the action, you spun around walking in the direction of Jenny’s room. Robby maneuvered around you, approaching the threshold of Central 14. Stopping at the door, he knocked lightly, putting on a soft smile and stepping aside once the door was wide open.

“Hi, Jenny, how are you holding up?” Robby asked softly.

Jenny, a small frail, blonde girl sat up on the bed, both hands bracing around her stomach. She tried to hide the grimace in her face, but you immediately noted the action. She shrugged, making no effort to vocalize her current condition.

While pulling up a stool at her bedside, you introduced yourself, mirroring the soft and mellow presence Robby emitted. You rested your hands still holding the tablet on your lap, providing your undecided attention to Jenny. She scooted over, staring at you with wide eyes.

“I am a psychiatrist here at PTMC. Would you like to tell me why you came to the ER?” The question came out inviting, ignoring the fact, you had already read over her chart. You figured if she could put into words what was wrong physically; it would be an indicator of whatever else was wrong.

Jenny sat there, her eyes observing you up and down. It was like she had seen a ghost, and when you turned to Robby, he caught the same vibe from her. Robby leaned forward, hands folded. “I know it seems intimidating, but sometimes talking to someone can help.”

The silence was deafening. She didn’t peel her eyes away from you, even as Robby tried to slip his presence in. Staring at her eyes, she was fixated on one physician; as if the only person that existed worth acknowledging was you. Right as you were about to continue speaking, you noticed the quick shift in her demeanor, sitting taller, face tightening.

“You were a part of my sister’s case.” She mumbled, trembling on the hospital bed. “I saw your name in an article.”

You furrowed your brows, straightening your posture. “I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.”

“Diana Richards.” She croaked out, her voice firmer as it bounced off the room walls. “My sister had acid thrown in her face right before Christmas.”

Your body froze, hands tightening around the device in your lap. Shit. You hadn’t expected your name to make national news, considering the court personnel was small, and those sitting in the viewing gallery were family and friends affected. Too distracted by the question thrown from both parties, you didn’t distinguish anything past the prosecution and defense tables.

When you double-looked the chart, ‘McGuire’ on the header, you never could have assumed relation.

“I did testify at the trial,” You confirmed, nodding your head cautiously. The palpable tension between you and the distressed teenage girl was something buzzing all around your body. With the weight like a ton of bricks, the pressure in the small exam room was crushing. “I am sorry about what happened to your sister.”

“Are you?” She quipped up, her furious glare firing up as she leaned towards you. The tension was no longer concerned over what to say, it was contemplation on how to deescalate a growing fire. “The man who did that to her should be in jail. You’re the reason he’s not!”

Before you could react, she aimed cold saliva at your face, landing below your right eye. You flinched from the action, your hand instinctively reaching for your face. Completely focused on the emotional teenager, you didn’t realize Robby had moved around the corner.

Hurriedly, he pulled you up from the chair by your shoulders. Without another word, Robby led you to the direction of the door, calling out for Princess passing by. As she saw you hunched forward, she rushed over, taking you in her arms. “What happened?”

“The patient spat in her face.” Robby hurriedly mumbled, standing in front of the room, turning back to look through the window. Jenny was now sitting back on the inclined bed, staring off to the side.

“Why?” Princess questioned with obvious apprehensiveness as to what might lead a meek teenager to act as vicious as some of the grown adults they have treated. This was abnormal and out of character for a patient of her demographic.

Robby sighed, watching you carefully as Princess directed you to an office chair. He followed along; close enough to remain a reachable distance to the patient’s room. She immediately grabbed a tissue, carefully wiping away the residue on your face. “It’s a long story.”

The soft plushness scratch the surface of your skin, causing your body to shiver. Stuck in daydream, it was a bad case of Deja vu. Instead of a man insufficiently aware of his actions in one of the behavioral rooms, a disturbed teenager was trying to consolidate with the current events of her life. Regardless, you were losing both fights.

Princess craned her head, standing right in your view as she furrowed her brows at you. “Did any of it get in your eye?”

Fumbling over words, you lightly shrugged your shoulders. “I’m not sure. It happened too quickly.”

When you were able to flutter your eyes open, Robby was standing from the distance, watching Princess work vehemently. His expression hardened by the events that just unfolded. This was the most emotional you had seen him at work.

When you walked out the behavior room with blood pouring out your nose, his natural caregiver instincts kicked in. He was ordering test and examining the integrity of the bones in your face. Although he was only monitoring from the distance, the natural instinct kicked into gear. You skittishly turned away, avoiding the darkness in his eye.

As if on cue, McKay was making her way around, casually waving her arms as she strolled around the desk. Princess and a couple more nurses gathered around you. McKay’s steps faltered, and before she could utter a word, Robby called her over.

You’d flutter your eyes carefully in their direction, mostly focused on McKay’s back. You could see the hush exchange of words. She craned her neck, peeking back at you with her face scrunched in confusion. No doubt, Robby was trying to form some intervention.

If this were any other moment or patient, you would have fought against being pushed aside. Tell Robby there was no need to coddle you or deem you incapable of staying committed to your work. Sitting with Princess still gently trying to wipe away the excretion from your face, you still tried to convince yourself this was something you could overlook.

Instead, you were succumbing to the idea you had screwed up.

Some girl was sitting on a hospital bed, completely overturned by the actions of a stranger whose paths crossed hers. It didn't have to be Dianna Richards, nor her family, but it was. You had unluckily been stuck having to repent for your involvement in the matter.

Your eyes caught the dirty blonde woman, approaching Central 14. With the coat she was wearing, two disposable coffee cups in her hand, you sense your stomach drop. It was a surreal moment from the second she peered into her daughter's room to the slightly panicked expression when she looked at Robby.

With his hands on his hips, he turned to whom you presumed was Mrs. McGuire. McKay stood back, eyes flicking between the two like she was preparing for a bad movie. You sat up straighter and Princess took a step back to follow your line of sight.

“You should stay here. Robby can handle it.” Princess whispered to you, one hand on your shoulder as she pressed her lips in a thin line.

You didn’t argue or make any sudden movement. Suddenly, you were in a state of catatonic shock.

Everything was blowing up in your face. A record of your actions suddenly taking a turn for the worse. A man who you had a conflicted relationship with was managing to interfere in your life even from miles away. What you had thought was a good idea was now souring like milk.

The patience Robby was displaying made it clear he was trying to calm her down. You had suspected she was overtly distressed as her daughter from the chair you were sitting in. It wasn’t until the voices started growing louder.

Everyone in the vicinity heard it.

“I don’t care what you think about what happened to my family. I don’t want her involved with my daughter's care.” She stated definitively. You could see her motion to you in the corner and you knew your entire cover was blown. “Find someone else or we will leave.”

If her eyes were daggers, you’d be bleeding on the linoleum floors. The glare of pure fury and disgust she sent your way was enough to bury you where you sat. Without another word, she made her way into the room, sitting at her daughter’s bedside.

Your eyes remained glued to the room, suddenly cold, enough so to elicit chills down your spine. Tugging onto the cardigan you were wearing, you crossed your arms over your chest. Robby spared Mrs. McGuire one last look before slowly approaching you. There was a hesitation in his steps, as if he were approaching a stray kitten starved and scared.

Standing a couple of feet away, hovering and obscuring your figure from the room, you flicked your eyes at him. “The mother?”

He confirmed with tight lips. Rubbing his hands together, his eyes roamed over you in the similar fashion as when Mr. Richman lashed out at you. It was only saliva, but he still examined you like he would any patient. He sighed, “Look, for your safety, I think it’s best we find someone else to cover the consultation.”

“We’re a bit understaffed today.” You mumbled, sagging your shoulders as you leaned back in the chair. Princess standing behind you excused herself. You could sense she didn’t want to be caught in any animosity between you and Robby.

She knew better than to intervene between two doctors who dominated their respective fields.

“We’ll find someone.” Robby assured, glancing at McKay who was fiddling with the zipper of her gray jacket. She remained quiet yet observant of the entire interactions. You noted the small narrow of her eyes, but made no effort to ask her about it. “Things seem tense enough. You probably shouldn’t go back there.”

You opened you mouth to speak, before shutting it completely. Was it worth it? Fighting nobly over the tired out issue when forces outside were telling you otherwise? You work was meant to be charitable, but you were finding it harder and harder to give it up so willingly.

“Let me make the call. I’ll explain it to whomever I find.” You explained to Robby. Willing to listen to his advice while you were still in a place to do so.

You stood up promptly, breezing by Robby and McKay and heading straight for the elevators. With your head down, you avoided the questioning side-eyes from those who were tempted by the scene. It was as if you were sacrificing your dignity every time you came down to the Pitt. You were barring yourself to every challenge, which was starting to chip away the brick wall around your heart.

It didn’t help that someone like Robby was watching the worst of it. From the argument over patient care and the revelation of your condition. Robby was finding his way through you blindly, but he was much closer than some.

Standing in front of the elevator, it had hit you that you were losing control of the separation you meant to have from your work and personal life. The life you were trying to preserve, sensitive to the details, was merging into the professional life meant to compartmentalize. Everything was hitting you like tons of bricks, and you were only hoping things change before they get worse.

10:00 AM

If you had more to do, you wouldn’t have felt the day drag. Considering Caleb was occupied with the patients in the behavioral health ward and you had been condemned to the Pitt, it wasn’t like you didn’t have work. There were patients popping up throughout the morning rush that needed menial attention from psychiatry. Basic consultations that didn’t require follow up.

However, your mind wasn’t as focused on the patients as you should be.

You stood at the workstation, digital chart in hand, as you wrote notes from your last consultation. It appeared as you were busy, but your eyes kept wandering over to central 14, like something was called upon you from inside.

It has been over an hour since Dr. Malek had entered; a fourth year psych resident who was more interested in forensic work than critical-care. You were gnawing away the inside of your cheek, practically mutilating your mouth from the riddle of anticipation. It wasn’t your place to judge whether Malek was capable of doing the work, despite having a year of experience over him.

Caleb was solely responsible for putting the residents in line, but that didn’t stop the doubt you sensed.

While staring intensely at the door, you caught it clicking open. Malek slipped through, gently closing it behind him as he whispered farewells to the McGuire’s. Your body jolted up. Waiting like a lion on the prowl, you joined Malek as he walked past you, stepping in harmony.

“How did things go?” You asked in a hush tone. He didn’t flinch as you settled beside him, shoulders partially brushing against one another. He was expecting the ambush from the small flex of his jaw.

He barely looked at you, preferring to scroll through the device in his hand. He kept trying to advance, swerving around people as he searched for someone other than you to speak with. “I don’t know if I should be sharing this with you.”

“Consider this as consulting a colleague.”

The quickness of your comment had him halting in his steps. He turned to you, slight frustration in how you pushed for the answer. Although being a few years his senior, he exuded an energy that was fit for someone your age. He let his hands fall to his side, exasperated at this point. “The girl is depressed. Hell, the mother too.”

You tucked the device under your arm, staring at Malek with desperation that he didn’t understand. It must’ve made you look pathetic from an outsider view as he rolled his eyes in frustration. “Jenny was with her sister and her husband when the assault happened.”

The deep breath you sucked in was stuck somewhere because the tightness in your chest didn’t decompress. Your eyes darted across his face, trying to make out more with the silence. It couldn’t have been a joke, that was distasteful, even for him. He had spoken it intentionally, trying to give you what you wanted while also warning you to stay away from where you shouldn’t be.

That was your fault.

“Thankfully she didn’t see anything, but she heard her sister screaming.” He sighed, pretty devastated even while he put up the front. “Imagine having to live with that sound for the rest of your life.”

“Outside of the fact her sister won’t be able to see or recover from the injuries on her face.” The vile taste in his mouth was evident as he scowled, personally hurt by the offense.

You faced away as he narrowed his eyes at you. With the tension, you were wishing Robby would suddenly need you for a consultation or pick a fight. Something of that sort would be better than the scrutiny of a colleague who was treading towards a scarily esoteric farce.

“None of us understand why you defended that man.” Malek shrugged, lips tightening in a thin line. His nostrils flared and he shook his head.

Lifting your head, you looked at him with a blank expression. What the hell? Cocking your head to the side, you scoffed. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“He assaulted a woman, and you, let us not forget.” He all but spat at you.

It was a reprimand for having come to ask questions. For lingering in a space, you knew better than to test. You should’ve known the repercussions of being a recluse, of not putting in an effort to be friendly enough was going to come back at you.

He took a step forward, and the hallway you two stood in started feeling stuffy. Retracting your neck slightly, you futilely attempted to put a boundary. Malek's forehead creased, “He had to pay for what he did.”

Smiling sarcastically, you chuckled dryly. “Because suddenly you care about my well-being.”

Malek chuckled coldly, the same detachment you had heard from Robby before. At least now, you assumed there wasn’t that animosity between you two. Malek had a fury that was unrecognizable, like he had spent time repressing that only you could pull out of him. “I think sometimes you forget you’re not as brilliant and perfect as you mistakenly think you are.”

“All because I refused to let a sick man go to jail? For a mental condition he has little control over?” You retorted. It felt obvious. All the reasons you could’ve possible defended anyone who put their hands and weight over you shouldn’t have existed,

Except, it wasn’t for you and everyone was missing the point, just as Malek was opening up wounds again.

“Because you believe you’re so virtuous. Too virtuous to put aside your beliefs and worry about how they might’ve felt about the verdict.” Malek motioned his head back to where the two of you came from. Where the McGuire’s were, confined in the same hospital Mr. Richman had unleashed a ruckus in.

Malek pointed a finger to his head, eyebrows furrowed down. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe he wasn’t the right person for you to enact your crusade of righteous indignity?”

Your head was telling you to walk away. With the sudden rise of his voice, uneasiness settled in your weak stomach. The fogginess from before was more than just brain fog from being sick. This wasn’t the typical arguments over patients and who presented the most competent plan of care. This was quite unsettling. Malek, who had kept his honest opinions about you hidden under sarcasm and cocky grins, was finally laying it thick.

“All of us tolerate you because Jefferson dotes on you, but you’d be surprised to find out how few of us want you as an attending after your fellowship is up.” He bluntly stated with no shame as he stared you in the eyes.

He was suddenly closer in proximity. From the tunnel vision you were experiencing, your body was suffocated by his .You urged your feet to step forward. To react as quickly as you did with Robby. Witty and decisive leaving no doubt of your confidence within yourself.

It was like being stuck in paralysis. You mind kept wandering at a hundred miles per hour but your body was tossed to the side of the road like a carcass.

“Dr. Malek,”

You welcomed the voice, turning away from your colleague to meet Robby’s hardened stare. Pulling yourself away, you stood meekly in between both men. If your legs hadn’t stiffened, you would’ve taken the chance to run. Instead, you stood there, in the midst of the silent standoff the two were having.

“Please show yourself out of my ED.” Robby ordered, crossing his arms and shaking his head. “I will not tolerate you degrading a fellow colleague in a department full of staff and patients to hear.”

Malek glared over to you, the tightening of his indifference to the entire situation. Chilling from the physical enmity, you learned Robby cutting swiftly through was a worse idea than you imagined. Robby inclined himself further, pushing his overbearing presence and standing prominently in Malek’s line of sight. “You can debrief with Dr. McKay once you get your fucking act together.”

Robby didn’t relent, and you were thankful once Malek resigned, huffing away with an agitated pace. You kept staring at his back, almost waiting for him to turn back and enforce himself again. When he disappeared behind the walls and into the rest of the chaos of the ER, you let a shaky breath go.

When you turned to look at Robby, he was already looking down at you. His eyebrows furrowed in the same effort he’d examine patients, sitting on a hospital bed, laying their health in his hands. You didn’t want to play that role. You weren’t defenseless as much as he saw you at the moment.

“I didn’t need you to save me.” You muttered, heading in the opposite direction of where Malek went.

Your arm barely brushed by him, and he swiftly recovered by maintaining an equal steady pace behind you. “I was mostly sparing him. I sensed you weren’t going to tolerate that shit for much longer.”

With a sour chuckle, you tried to hide how breathless you suddenly were. The stack of issues in the past three hours were losing its foundation. It was like the mountain of what was wrong with your life was crumbling with time, and you couldn’t hold up the front you had worked on for years. “Sounds a lot like an unwelcome intervention to me.”

With the speed you were walking, everyone could tell you were trying to evade Robby. Except, he was tailing you. A dog with a bone. Your eyes darted around, effectively trying to find some escape for the ER and everything reminding you of the shit-show.

“This is my ER, anyways. I should be entitled to cut bullshit when I see it.” Robby pointed up, still trailing behind you. It wasn’t a remark or sarcastic. It was a reminder that he was always aware of his department, and he didn’t take disruptions lightly.

Finally looking ahead, the elevator beside the trauma rooms was right in front of you. Stopping in frustration, you bowed your head. Your hands clammed up beside you and the weight over your chest as you tried steadying your breathing was like lifting a boulder. It came back down with each exhale unsteadily.

After a moment, you turned around carefully. Your eye landed on Robby’s feet, trailing up the dark cargo pants he wore. Eventually, when you stared directly back at him, you crossed your arm, hiding the trouble you had breathing correctly.

Shrugging, you scoffed. “He's probably right, you know?”

Robby narrowed his eyes at you, suddenly confused from the immediate switch. You let him think it was a deflection. It was easier than trying to explain why you froze up in front of a hostile colleague, when you had encountered worse patients. “Maybe I’m too holed up in my personal world to acknowledge the damage of my intentions.”

“About Mr. Richman?” Robby questioned, trying to make out from the cryptic look in your eye. He couldn’t make out anything at face-value, and you were hoping he’d just walk away. “I’m sure the judge based his decision on different testimonies made. None of us know what truly sealed the deal for him.”

“But I defended him, inside, and outside the courtroom. Morgan, you, even Jefferson warned me what might happen if I spoke out too much.” You explained, reminiscing over every occasion where you could’ve avoided this.

Mr. Richman was the catalyst for all these interactions. From Robby, to the McGuire’s, to Malek. You would never regret treating a patient, but you weren’t sure you wanted to go out on a limb ever again.

You frowned, holding onto the strings in your heart tugged into all directions. There was too much at stake, and the last thing you needed was for Robby to pull at them like a puppet master. With a shaky smile, you let your hands fall to your side. “I just wanted someone to walk away from the entire process with something positive.”

The rattle of your body scared you. It had you turning away, trying to hide in plain sight from Robby. He stood still, straightening his posture. His hands were now on his hip, and you caught the slight air stuck in his throat.

“I haven’t been able to stop looking over my shoulder since then.”

Your hand extended lazily in the direction of the patient's room. “But that girl and her sister may never be able to go out in public without fearing something of this magnitude may happen to them again.”

Robby’s stoic expression didn’t pave anything for you to rely on. It gave little insight of whether he opposed Malek’s words or found you amateurish in the face of conflict. You were hopeless. Standing in front of the one man who could ruin your position apart from Jefferson. He was right.

It was practical to play nice and feed into the role Robby would need you to act. You didn’t want to conform to giving into the challenge of the chief attending for the simple necessity of keeping a job. It was the only reason you had fought about Mr. Richman before, during, and even after the trial.

“Is it selfish to have wanted Mr. Richman to have the help he never did have?” You questioned, your wispy voice barely scratching through the noise of the ED.

Robby didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure you were searching for one. This was the one time he had seen you out of your depth in your facilitation in his department. Apart from the dinner, where you tested how close you could inch into the deep well of suppressed emotion, there wasn’t anything personal of you in your work.

There was no way you could treat patients if you were stuck in the flawed aspects of your life. Today was making all of that evident.

“The hospital where I did my residency has an outreach program. “ You explained quietly, reluctant to tell Robby.

You pursed your lips, and the heat in your cheeks contradicted the shivering down your spine and the frigid coldness of your fingers. “Their mission wasn’t just to treat- and-street patients but to meet them halfway for them to have some continuation of care no matter their circumstances.”

Robby shook his head, “Has anyone—“

“That’s beside the point.” You interrupted, fluttering your eyes close briefly. The raise of his eyebrows finished the question you cut off rudely. You didn’t need this to turn into another ‘bonding’ moment. “I was willing to do that no matter the danger of it.”

“That’s what I tried to explain to the judge and prosecution and they made it sound like I had some hero-complex I hadn’t resolved.”

The groan that escaped you was the subsided disappointment of your composure. Everyone around you had seen too much. There wasn’t much to hide from Robby at this point, and once this shift was over, you were committed to the idea of planning where to run once your fellowship was done.

Your ears were tingling from how quiet the ED became. The department was attached to your soul, which only knew how to prioritize patient care. In your years of training, you heard all about compartmentalizing as well as the consequences of burning out. You thought you had mastered the first part enough that you wouldn’t have to worry about drowning in a lake; but the rocks in your pockets were finally weighing you down.

“So, the incident with Mr. Richman had been the first time a patient had assaulted you?”

When he gauged your reaction, he had a wide eye stare that tried to hide the intensity of his personality and role in the ED. It worked with patients well enough to foster a safe space for them to grieve or release what they’ve kept inside them.

It worked on patients–but you weren’t one.

“I hadn’t been punched, pinned to the ground, and choked before if that’s what you're asking.” You scoffed, your lips curving upwards, but it missed the same sarcastic wit you would usually deflect him with. “Even when they spat, yelled, and fought the treatment, I reminded myself they were just scared people who needed help.”

Sacred. If you were treating yourself, maybe that would be the one word scribbled all over your chart.

Afraid of further repercussions from the Richman case. Frightened of how the rest of the staff would see you after Mrs. McGuire and Malek painted you out as a self-absorbed health-care worker unable to make out an indescribable debt. Terrorized by the idea Robby might concede to what he thought of you when you initially transferred to PTMC.

Months of unraveling to be burned by a spark and caught aflame.

The dinging of the elevator ringed behind you. Turning to the sound, you found a couple of respiratory therapists walking out, laughing at the conversation held. You pulled yourself aside, letting them past before stalking to the elevator.

When you faced Robby’s direction, he stood stiffly, uncertainty in whether to approach or forget the conversation occurred. You made the decision, pressing the button of your assigned floor. “Maybe, you won’t have to worry about me overstaying more than I'm welcomed.”

As the doors closed, the last thing you saw was the slight twitch of his eye

12:00 PM

In the last couple of hours since you spoke with Robby, you were almost hoping not to work with him for the rest of your shift. Not because you were offended or mad about his course of action earlier. With the buffer since Mrs. McGuire’s blowup to that of Malek’s, you came to the realization Robby was sparing your dignity from worse.

He could have thrown you into the wolves. Make you pay for all the times you blew up in his face over the executive action of patients in his ER, but treated by you. A part of you believed he should have. Maybe putting you in ‘contempt’ would teach you a lesson.

Instead, he was handling you like a box with a ‘FRAGILE’ label on the side. Wanting so desperately to open the gift, but too afraid to break it before he was safely able to.

Sitting in the ED, it was like an animal in a cage. You knew the staff passing by were likeliest engrossed in their jobs, patients, and lives to be distracted by you, but that didn’t stop the onset paranoia; sensing eyes pitying you while behind your back.

You tried to focus, rolling your shoulders rhythmically as you typed away at the workstation. Every time a resident came by to grab a device on the docks, you would flinch before refocusing on what you were doing. As McKay stopped, putting the tablet on one of the slots, her eyes found you. Attempting to hold onto the current train of thought, you continued flitting your attention across the screen.

“Mrs. McGuire is wondering when they can be discharged.” She mentioned casually, moving aside to not stand directly in front of you. She leaned forward on the nursing station counter.

When you lifted your attention from your work, she gave you a polite smile. You peeled your hands from the keyboard, which spent the better part of an hour stuck together. Returning the action rather stiffly, you tried easing your tense muscles. “I don’t know. I’m not the primary psychiatrist on their case, nor have I been updated on their plan of care.”

McKay stood there silently, letting her weight sit on the counter for a beat. She glanced around warily for anybody who might be looking for her. “I heard Robby kicked out Dr. Malek.”

Her words didn’t prompt a visible response, but from under the desk, your leg was bouncing. She leaned in closer, her voice huskier as she spoke in a hushed tone. “And I also heard what he said. What an asshole. And he’s supposed to be the girl’s psychiatrist—“

“I have another patient to check in with. Sorry.” You interrupted before McKay could utter another word.

Standing from the desk, you sauntered away as if your worst nightmare had walked into the ED. Hastily curving around McKay, you kept your head down. Your feet were practically guiding your decision. If you no longer wanted to face the music, they were moving before you could doubt the action.

Except, your feet weren’t your brain.

When you did finally bother to look up and across, you noticed they brought you by central 14 again. You cursed under your breath when you noticed the glass exposing the department outside the room. Before Jenny or her mother could assault you with their eyes, you turned your back towards them, opting for a stealthy escape.

Your brain said to ‘move forward.’ If you left up to the behavioral floor or found some other passion project to screw up, you would forget them long enough for them to leave. The hospital. The forefront of your mind. Your life.

Cutting them out like a weed in your garden.

However, your feet halted you once more. This time, you weren’t just stuck in place, you were turning back around to cross paths with central 14. With your feet moving disorderly with your brain, you hadn’t made up your purpose for having to confront the situation. You knew you had to decide once daring to step into the room.

It didn’t run as smoothly as you recklessly planned once confronted with Mrs. McGuire coming out of the room and running into you. Reacting rapidly to the intrusion, you stopped, stepping back a couple feet to provide space.

She firmed up in front of you, taking in your attire. Her eyes zeroed onto the badge clipped to the waistline of your black slacks. Hyper-aware of the conclusion she was reaching, you tried not to fuel the fire. You finally decided this wasn’t worth the fight.

“When can my daughter be discharged?” She questioned brusquely while crossing her arms.

Her stare was just as hardened as Malek’s was. A warning. You shouldn’t poke the bear and you shouldn’t have put yourself in this position again.

Clearing your throat, you shook your head. “I’m not sure, ma’am. I am not familiar with your daughter’s case. I can try to locate—“

“So, unless my daughter is a deranged lunatic, she won't be receiving immediate care here?”

Your mouth remained agape, words slipping from your mind completely. Your defenses had been at an all-time low. Every chance to defend yourself–where you would have shut down coolly and responded with the rapid professionalism Dr. Jefferson admired in you—-was just another trap to drag you through shrubbery and dirt.

This shift may just ruin you before you even make it to the end.

“With all due respect, the case was a little more complicated than that.” You mumbled in return, defeated over the same skipping record. It was painful having to remind yourself why you took an opposing stance. You could not cave in now.

Her sour scoff had you flinching slightly. “Actually, it isn’t.”

“You’re the reason that son-of-a-bitch is locked in some cushy mental hospital instead of prison.” She enunciated, one of her fingers wagging at you, like she was scolding a child. “The integrity of my daughter’s face was completely burned off by acid.”

“And all you see is some poor sick man? What about my daughters?” She begged, her voice trembling.

There were tears welling up in your tear ducts. You strained your jaw, containing the raw emotion. It had been reckoning brought by you. How dare you be sad now? Before you could open your mouth, respond with a weak excuse and weaker voice, you heard your name called from behind you.

“Is there a problem?” Robby questioned coming around you. He stood by your side, providing a shadow over your shorter stature.

You kept your eyes ahead, opting to let Mrs. McGuire paint the image. There was no repairing the damage to your reputation. It would have to linger and exist in the area, leaving everyone in the prerogative to make a narrative you had no control over.

She retracted herself, letting her arms fall to her sides in defeat. “I just want to take my daughter home.”

Knowing Robby, his eyes shifted towards you, hoping to read into the situation or possibly check in with you. The exhaustion had to feel as palpable as the bags under your eyes when you walked into the department. Avoiding his gaze shamelessly, he nodded to Mrs. McGuire. “I will go ahead and start the paperwork once I check in with behavioral health.”

Mrs. McGuire’s fury and desperation must have simmered as she dragged herself back in the room. Your body succumbed to the action of Robby, who was turning around and leading you gently away from the room. You sensed the presence of something lingering on your lower back, only hovering and not touching.

“You shouldn’t have been talking with her.” Robby warned, bringing his head closer to your ear. He remained even in his expression, just two colleagues conferring with each other closely. “That could’ve gone a lot worse.”

“I can control my emotions.” You muttered, flickering your eyes side to side. At this point, you were depending on Robby like a north star—allowing his burly body to hide and guide you elsewhere.

“That’s not what I was referring to.” He motioned softly, shaking his head slightly. “I’m not concerned over your objectivity more so her apprehension in a busy ER. You’ve dealt with enough for one shift.”

When you stopped by the elevators, the coldness of his hand coming away made you cower. It was as if the only form of physical protection from your mishaps was tearing itself away. You were a soldier stuck in a landmine without Robby. Sniffling slightly, you nodded in understanding. The meekest you have probably been taking something adjacent to a command.

“You should stay up there. I can handle whatever consultation comes in with Caleb.” Robby suggested politely.

He stared at you, taking in the daunting expression. You felt like a ghost, stumbling around the halls of the hospital, equally haunting anyone in your path. Everything you touch turning as sickly as you are. After a beat, you nodded cautiously. “This doesn’t make me incapable of doing my job.”

“I never said it did.” Robby assured quietly, the corner of his mouth twitched upward.

He reached over to press the up-arrow. With the glow of the button, he stood in wait with you. He was now sporting his black scrub top with a gray long-sleeve under top, stuffing his hands in the pocket. A silence settled. If this were any other person watching you slowly decompose, you would have escaped away and ran for the stairs.

Except this was the same person who you debated and reasoned about a plan of care for patients. Who, at times, made you feel alienated enough to push his buttons. You treated him with sarcasm and embittered his fizzling emotions, evoking responses unsuited for an attending physician who should have better governed his reactions.

He didn’t owe you kindness, and yet he was extending an olive branch for you to make peace with.

When the elevator dinged, he outstretched his arm, holding it open for you. Once settled inside, he reached in to press the numbered floor for you. Standing on the opposite side of the threshold, he smiled earnestly, lips curling upwards, crinkling the corner of his eyes. “Take care of yourself.”

Then the doors shut.

You weren’t sure that was a task you were capable of. If it were, you would have protected yourself from all the previous heartbreak. From your failed attempts at becoming a neurosurgeon, to coming to terms with your illness, to moving across the country with little emotional support. The lack of practice you had regulating your mind and body outside of working was making itself obvious and you hated the sensational need to be comforted.

When at the behavioral health floor, you walked around like a zombie straight from the ground. You beeline for the dictation room. At least you had enough charting to be done to keep you away from the public eye for the second half of your shift.

Situating yourself in the far corner of the room, you opened your laptop and went straight to the full inbox. Most of the messages you had been ignoring were requesting professional statements of Mr. Richman in a medical and observational sense. News outlets and publishing journals begging for statements to contradict one another.

You knew neither were worth participating for, with the current rising waters you were drowning.

The rest were administrative notices you’ve missed since you were gone. As you scrolled through the latest of your e-mails, you eyes landed on a new chain of a previous conversation that hadn’t existed before.

JEFFERSON, CALEB 6:46 AM (unread) FW: INTERNAL REVIEW W/ ADMIN Whenever you have the time, review the testimonies. Robby and I discussed scheduling a time to sit down to review timelines and order of events. With your unexpected absence, we were waiting until you came back to plan that out accordingly. Do not fret over the logistics. This is customary when an incident occurs, especially with the arrest of a federal crime. The objective is to protect other staff from this type of violence. This shouldn’t affect you finishing your fellowship (not if I can help it), but you will be interviewed alone with the compliance and risk management panel. They will reach out when they have the schedules available.

STILES, MORGAN 4 days ago To: ROBINAVITCH, MICHAEL, JEFFERSON, CALEB 42 attachment >>>> click to view all Attached are the current translated transcripts for the upcoming internal review. (I happen to know the stenographer closely, so appreciate this favor.) Please be made aware you will be asked about all aspects of the decisions made while Mr. Richman was under the hospital's care. Brace yourself for questions regarding the testimony of the victim and witnesses as well as those relating to the assault of hospital staff. Their testimonies were included. Thank you, Morgan Stiles, MHA, J.D., CPHRM PTMC - COMPLIANCE HEALTH ATTORNEY

ROBINAVITCH, MICHAEL 4 days ago To: STILES, MORGAN, JEFFERSON, CALEB Thank you, Morgan. Is there any legal repercussions either the ER or Psychiatry should expect up to this point?

STILES, MORGAN 3 days ago To: ROBINAVITCH, MICHAEL, JEFFERSON, CALEB The internal review is an evaluation of the course of events to analyze flaws in the plan of care for the patient (and defendant, in this case), in which the hospital may improve on. A compliance-focus meeting handled through the course of a few days by interviewing the involved personnel. The hospital will not contradict the judge’s ruling. As of now, they seem agreeable to the reason for the ruling. There are current discussions of the family suing the city for their failures during and after detainment, specifically in their failures to contain Mr. Richman while here. You will need to answer questions of the test, examination, and protocols applied regarding the incident. The hospital has been receiving criticism publicly for treating Mr. Richman. I do advise you and your staff to refrain from making public acknowledgment of the ruling, the defendant, or the actions whether they occurred in this hospital or not. I do not believe any explanation needs to be given about the matter.

JEFFERSON, CALEB 3 days ago To: STILES, MORGAN, ROBINAVITCH, MICHAEL All is appreciated, Morgan. We are mostly pleased Mr. Richman will be receiving the care he needs. We will be awaiting further instruction from admin regarding the reviews.

Your fingers scrolled up towards the attachments Morgan included. Each labeled with the name of the witness and the date of testimony. The ‘McGuire’ name stood out on the document titles. Jenny had testified a few days after all the expert witnesses including you, Robby, Jefferson, and the court appointed psychiatrist to reevaluate Mr. Richman.

The cursor of your mouse hovered over the files warily. Reproachfully, you swallowed a lump down your throat. To have access to all the testimonies as if they were secrets made you shift.

All court records are public, you reasoned.

After a beat, you decided on starting with what mattered most to the hospital admin. You did not need an awful replay of your amateur display of defensive strategy.

Your mouse moved to the right of your testimony, clicking onto the file ‘ROBINAVITCH_M.’

3:00 PM

To say your eyes were sore was an understatement. Two hours behind a computer screen, reading and logging every small detail you could devour through words was bound to do that. You hadn’t bothered to get up and do much. Once for the restroom, once to grab water, and the rest of the time you spent it stationed in the corner.

Some of the younger residents and interns came in, charted for a few minutes before leaving again at the sound of another page. None of them made too much noise to distract you, just a shy greeting as they walked in and then busied themselves with their work.

You had lost track of time as you stared down at the last few pages of Robby’s first testimony. You would have assumed you would be much farther in your preparation for the internal reviews, but the line of question and responses had you glued to the particular file.

It wasn’t questions regarding Dr. Robby’s ability to lead a department let alone his credibility as an emergency physician. They were punitive judgments they disguised as questions for Robby from the prosecution. All judgments made about you and the testimony you had given a week prior. With that understanding, you couldn’t just look away while the judge and the rest of the court had to listen to the prosecution tear your credibility without your knowledge.

Robby hadn’t bothered to bring it up either. You rubbed your eyes lazily as a way to reboot its ingrained focus. Scrolling towards the next page, you started on the first line.

MR. FOWLER: In your professional opinion, did any course of action taken by the psychiatrist involved with Mr. Richman’s care raise concern of her judgment? MR. HUDSON: Objection. Beyond the scope. Dr. Robinavitch is not a psychiatrist nor the chief of psychiatry. MR. FOWLER: Your honor, the witness is an emergency physician. His professional judgment is still pertinent to the psychiatrist involved. She is a fellow, who is specializing to work alongside the department Dr. Robinavitch supervises. THE COURT: Prosecution may proceed, but tread lightly, Mr. Fowler. Witness may answer. THE WITNESS: No. She presented reasonable judgment when she requested nurses to remain as witnesses while evaluating Mr. Richman. She consulted with the arresting officers before entering the room– MR. FOWLER: Whom she rejected the request to have inside the behavioral room the defendant was in, is that correct? THE WITNESS: I am unaware if the officers made an offer to be present. Whatever executive decision made complied with the type of care provided to any patient who comes into that ER. MR. FOWLER: But not every patient brought in is detained for a felony-level crime. Nor are they prone to having an outburst, which results in the assault of a healthcare worker, correct? THE WITNESS: Violence against healthcare workers is an ongoing issue with no resolution. Staff in my department do constantly fear the next time a patient may punch, scratch, spit, or shove them. It happens more often than I would like. MR. FOWLER: Please answer the question, Dr. Robinavitch. THE WITNESS: [pause] No. MR. FOWLER: So, did you agree with the approach taken with Mr. Richard, understanding the circumstances he came in? As you said, violence against healthcare workers is of utmost concern to you. THE WITNESS: I do believe that what occurred in my department was unfortunate, but it wasn’t an error on the decisions made in the plan of care. MR. FOWLER: [pause] Isn’t it true you and the psychiatrist involved have had previous conflicting opinions about patient care? THE WITNESS: Yes. MR. FOWLER: Enough so to question her judgment or her psychiatric opinion? MR. HUDSON: Objection. Beyond the scope, again, your honor. MR. FOWLER: Rephrase. Has it made you doubt whether the plan of care for patients, who have come to the ER needing a psychiatrist consultation, is in their benefit? THE WITNESS: No. My conflicting opinion isn’t a question of her competence, as you allude to. It is to challenge her recommendations, as I would any resident or consulting physician. That’s how we all learn. It is how I ensure enough consideration has been put in all aspects of a case. MR. FOWLER: So Mr. Richman, is what, negligence on her part? So much to ignore precautions in order to prevent the assault? What if it had been one of your doctors or nurses? MR. HUDSON: Objection. Assumes facts not in evidence. Prosecution is arguing with the witness over lack of foundation. THE WITNESS: Mr. Fowler, you are making a judgment from words on paper and images you do not have the comprehensive knowledge to understand. This delicate case was handled by someone who has more experience with patients of this caliber than you and even I have. MR. FOWLER: Your honor— THE WITNESS: Mr. Richman is an individual deemed to be in need of care from someone whose professional opinion I respect. If she sees it that way, so do I. What concurred from that was unpredictable, but in no way is it a representation of what she is incapable of doing. It should be a wake-up call about the issues in our healthcare system from those inside as well as outside the hospital. THE COURT: Please contain yourself, Doctor. [pause] Mr. Fowler, you were warned to tread light. Either move along or rest your case.

Before you could scroll to the next page, something vibrated on the table beside you. With the screen of your phone pointed up, you simply turned to the side to view the incoming message.

DR. KYLE MALEK now There are a couple consults down in the ER. Got tied up with Jefferson. Dr. Robby couldn’t reach you.

When you opened the call phone, you noticed no notification except from Malek. Pausing, you stood from the chair, wandering to where you had left your backpack across the room. When you pulled your personal phone out from the side pocket, you found the missed messages from Robby.

ROBBY 15m ago I didn’t want to bother you unless necessary, but Caleb got caught up in an emergency upstairs. Have a couple of other pediatric psych consults. Nothing urgent or serious. Just some concerned parents.

You knew it must have been a last resort if he messaged you privately. From the verbiage, he was probably agonizing whether to finally pull you down to the depths of the ER after two hours of solitude. It was considerate, which was more than anything you had received now and days.

When you made your way down, you headed straight for the nursing station, starting the manhunt for Robby. Stopping by the station, you picked up a device. Glancing around, your eyes caught Dana stalking around the station, glasses propped on the lower bridge of her nose.

She smiled when she looked at you, moving towards you. “Well, thank goodness you’re here. I have patients in need of a psych consult and we need beds.”

Trying to muster as joyous a smile as she had, you chuckled nervously. “So I heard. Who’s first on the list?”

“Central 12 is a 13-year-old boy. Dr. Mohan is the primary, but he is all yours, honey.” She instructed with a small wink.

You nodded, listening to the information. When you lifted your gaze, you noted the illuminating patient board. Fractured wrist was the primary complaint. Your eyes went further down the list to Central 14. Still occupied by the same patient.

Taking in a deep breath, you composed yourself to head in the dreaded corner of the ER. You were hesitant, hoping another altercation of some sort wouldn’t occur. That your paths would not cross to forsaken you again. Keeping your head down you thought would be a worthy way of disguising your presence.

From McGuire's accusatory stare. From Robby’s genuine concern. You needed to stay concentrated on the patient you could help. You were no use if you couldn’t unscramble your brain enough to do that.

However, to curse your already terrible day, you caught the exact people you were hoping to avoid exiting central 14 together. Slowing down your pace, you watched with careful eyes as Robby stood facing Mrs. McGuire, one arm draped across her daughter's back, standing shoulder-to-shoulder. They must have been discharging as Mrs. McGuire carried her purse with her and a packet in her hand.

Something told you there was no reason to linger. She had said her piece and there was no way to explain yourself to them. It wasn’t gallant to stumble over your words and teeter on the edge of breaking down when you came off vehement in court.

Except, despite that new look that you were sporting since then, Robby hadn’t changed from the time you met him. You had been focused too much on everything else to realize he extended that warmth towards you.

That’s when Robby’s voice cut through your indecision. His furrowed brows were trying to understand why you stood alone in the hall, device in hand. He instructed with his head to come closer, and when you woke yourself from the daydream, you approached cautiously. You tried not to zone in on the McGuire’s staring at you like a prey approaching a much smaller, weaker predator.

“Mrs. McGuire’s here wanted to speak with you.” He initiated, scratching the side of his beard. With one-step back, he let the attention be centered on the two of you, but he remained in the background. You could sense his presence like a bug on your shoulder.

Mrs. McGuire, with wet eyes, cleared her throat. She looked at her daughter before facing you with her chin held up. “I wanted to apologize early. What happened was uncalled for. You’re here to do a job.”

“Earnestly, I signed up to do this job regardless of what came with it.” You responded, hands gripping on tighter to the device.

If that hadn't been the case, you would've quit after Mr. Richman, and you wouldn't have willingly stood in front of her and Jenny--who was shrinking the pink hoodie and avoiding obvious attention on her.

She hummed, eyeing you carefully. Your body tensed, as if bracing for some blow yet to come. Your shoulder sat up higher as the silence fell. With your mouth agape, the words stopped as Mrs. McGuire sighed. “We won’t see eye to eye on the verdict made, but I am sorry he did that to you."

"In our grief of what occurred, I’ve forgotten that you also fell victim to his hands. I’ve been recently reminded of that.” Her eyes flicked to something behind you, and you knew she was staring appreciatively at Robby.

You put on a shaky smile, nodding in gratitude. The skin where the punch landed and his hands squeezed around your neck heated up. It was like his life marked you, but you did your best to hide the grimace. “Likewise. I am hoping for the best for you and your family moving forward.”

With a stiff nod, she glanced over at Robby, indicating a conclusion with actions only. You stepped aside, putting on a polite smile as Mrs. McGuire guided her daughter to where Robby was motioning. While he stepped behind them, he looked at you over his shoulder. The encouraging smile that was gently reminding you that it wasn’t ill will. There weren't huntsmen coming for you and your strong sense of identity in your work.

They were people who were confused and hurt, similar to how you were after the assault and with the reminder of the trial. He was still here telling you there was nothing wrong with you or the work, and you didn’t have to feel let down by the reaction alone. You sighed, before clearing your head once more to approach Central 12.

8:00 PM

“I don’t need to be safeguarded.” You sighed out, sitting across from Caleb in his office. You had managed to catch up with your charting at a decent time. If it hadn’t been for the emergency on the behavioral floor, you would’ve gone home an hour ago.

But you knew Caleb would need the help after sending home one of his residents.

“It’s not pity. He acted out of line for a fourth year resident and I won’t tolerate harassment in the workplace.” Caleb spoke definitely, staring at you from above the rims of his glasses. He was typing away on his computer. You didn’t want to know if it pertained to the discussion at hand.

You groaned lightly, uncrossing your legs while sitting up taller. “It's fine.”

“No, it isn’t.” Caleb emphasized, stopping his typing. He repositioned his wheelchair, before slipping off his glasses and letting them fall against his chest. “I wish you would stop pretending it is. It’s okay to be mad or upset over what he said. It was uncalled and unprofessional.”

“And he’s a fourth year resident with one foot out the door! It’s not personal, whatsoever.” You joked, chuckling tiredly as you stood up. Grabbing your backpack from the floor, you slung it on your shoulders. “His residency is almost over along with my fellowship. After that, neither of us will have to worry about the other ever again.”

Caleb sat pensively, hands folded in his lap. From the small scrunch of his face, you knew another question was brewing. He pushed his thumbs together. “And what do you plan to do after your fellowship?”

You scoffed with a tight grin on your face. “After the shit-show today? I don’t think you or Robby need me as a liability, let alone this hospital. I’ve brought on enough issues.”

“Is this about what Malek said? Or the McGuire’s?” Caleb questioned his voice softer as he probed. The same technique you used on Jenny that morning. It was a sad reminder of failures you should have been able to control on your own.

“And if it was?”

“I’d tell you not to fixate on these lapses alone.” He suggested firmly. “They are in no way an accurate representation of the type of character and work I’ve seen.”

You glanced away, the attention too centered on you for your liking. It wasn’t bad attention (compared to the scrutiny from earlier) but it was attention that focused on the part of you that didn’t belong in work. The insecurity you had walking PTMC that you had managed to keep wrapped under the fold of your personality. Cold and calculated while protecting the intimacy of your thoughts.

Or at least, what was once protected.

“I should probably head home. I have a night shift coming up soon.” You excused yourself by making your way to the door.

It was a somber conclusion, like you might never see him again. Your depleted energy had no effort to give to anything else--especially regarding your emotion convocation.

“You are good at what you do. Inside and outside of here.” Caleb announced, like it was a doorknob concern you joked patients always had. One last anchor thrown into the sea like a redeeming feature. The difference between walking out of the office with nothing and walking out with salvation from ailment.

Your hand grasped the doorknob, not turning back. You silently nodded, gesturing to him that you were listening. From the small twitch of your lips, you knew better than to turn around and worry him with your fractured emotional boundaries. Instead, you wished him a quiet ‘good night’ before closing the door behind you.

Your brain was running on autopilot and before you could process your decisions, you had taken the elevator down to the Pitt instead of the main floor to head to the parking garage.

When the elevator doors open to reveal the chaos of the night-shift settling in, you cursed under your breath. You had been too exhausted, bone-dry for too long, that you were questioning if it was a good idea to drive.

Thankfully, it was enough to obscure you from any lingering day shift. You merged around like high-traffic, curving around nurses and other ED staff. Whenever you catch wind of a night-shift doctor, you lower your head further.

Your eyes landed on Shen, who waved at you lazily while holding a Dunkin’ iced coffee. That’s when you scurried out towards the ambulance bay. As wide automatic doors slid open, the breeze hit your cheeks. Your eyes fluttered from the heaviness of the wind kissing your face.

The red lights from the ambulance glowed sitting stationary on the driveway. You proceeded carefully; making sure a couple of paramedics weren’t going to jump out the vehicle with some trauma patient. Looking around like a kid lost, you turned your head to the right.

Kneeling down, craning his head to the side, Robby was fiddling with something on a motorcycle. Despite the body of the two-wheeled vehicle, Robby taunt muscles still seemed wide in comparison to his ride.

“Do you wear a helmet with that thing?” You asked aloud, stopping away from the emergency entrance.

Robby looked over his shoulder, eyebrows raised. You flashed him a playful smile, tired albeit, hardly capable of synchronizing with your eyes. He still chuckled hoarsely. “Yes. I am an emergency physician. I know better.”

Tossed aside, you could see the durable backpack. Clipped to the handle at the top was the helmet in question. You hummed, nodding lazily. “So what? Your ride broke down on you?”

“Yeah. Perfect way to end a 12-hour shift.” He huffed out. “First time I test drive this thing and it fails on me.”

He cursed under his breath at the same time something clattered on the ground. You inched forward, standing beside the wall of the hospital, you could see the ratchet on the ground glinting against the light.

Scrunching your nose, you sat yourself slowly on the small ledge wide enough to sit. “This is your first time taking it out for a spin?”

Robby had grabbed the ratchet again, twisting it against something in the body. With a heavy sigh, he let go, letting his elbow rest against his one lifted knee. “Longer distance than from my house to my local grocery store. Figured it was about time to see how it ran before commuting over hundreds of miles with it.”

“You’re still adamant on that spiritual journey of yours?”

When Robby turned to look at you, he hesitated on his response. He put on a charming smile, even when his body would heave with every breath out, as if the weight of the shift was dragging him. “It’s the only thing close to a vacation I have to look forward to.”

Scoffing unconvinced, you narrowed your eyes at him. “Most people go somewhere tropical or at least choose not to bet against the odds.

“What odds?” He questioned the back of his exposed to you as he continued tightening something. His hands reached up toward the ignitions, twisting the key, the motor came to life. The low grumbled emitted loudly from where you stood. Robby smiled appreciatively at the sound, before shutting the ignition.

“The odds that the only thing guaranteed for us on this Earth won’t come get them first.” You crossed your legs, leaning forward slightly as your voice lowered. You knew the wind would carry the vibration of your voice, and Robby’s body gave him away as he squared his shoulders. “You should know the statistics of motorcycle accidents by now, Robby.”

“I’m a safe driver.” Robby assured, groaning as he pulled the ratchet off. He secured whatever area he tinkered with, standing up slowly. He reached down for his backpack, resting it over the seat of the motorcycle. “I wear my helmet. I don’t speed.”

“That’s not the point.” You mumbled. After putting the ratchet away, he slung the backpack on one shoulder, holding it up naturally. He turned his body in your direction, staring at you absentmindedly.

Sighing, you rolled your neck. It wasn’t the type of night to be picking a fight, not that you had the energy; but you’d shelf the conversation for another day when your mind wasn’t exhausted. Robby tapped one foot on the ground, watching your body slump back into the wall. “How did the rest of your shift go?”

With eyes closed, head pressed against the brick of the building, you snickered. “Fantastic. I’m excited to come back and do it all over again.”

When you opened an eye to gauge his reaction, he shook his head trying not to appear amused by your sarcasm. From the way he slouched, you assumed he felt the same after today. Playing mediator while running a department was not for the weak. You had proven you weren’t up for half the responsibilities he currently had.

“I’m sorry if I wasn’t much help today.” You apologized, while wiping your hands on the side of your pants. “I know I brought on more problems for you.”

Robby stood silently, the small crease in his forehead giving him away. He softly negated the statement with his head, “You couldn’t have predicted how today would go. I’m sorry this is how we welcome you back after being gone for a week.”

Your hands ran down your face, laughing out tired and still in denial of the entire day. Even if you had a magic eight ball that could warn you of the choices you made up to this point, you would’ve made them all over again. “I wouldn’t have expected it to go any other way.”

Cocking his head to the side, one hand gripping the strap of his backpack while the other he stuffed into his jacket pocket. “Are you starting to see the appeal of this place?”

When you pulled your hands away, you stared at Robby with furrowed brows. Over dinner, Robby had inquired of your plans. He knew you were planning to stay in a clinical setting, considering the fellowship you chose, but you made no affirmative decision of where you wanted to work.

You made it clear California was no longer an option, despite the fact you did your residency there. You could go back to Boston, where you went for undergrad or settle back in your hometown trying to remember old stopping grounds. Whenever you thought of the projection of a life like that, it didn’t align with what you had envisioned before.

Pittsburgh happens to have the best emergency-psychiatry fellowship. Even though you have spent less than a year establishing yourself, it felt more like a sanctuary than all the places you’ve been.

“I think I’ve dug myself a hole too deep to climb out of.”

Robby resonated with the statement. He examined you carefully. You were certain you looked exhausted. The bags under your eyes weighed heavier as you delayed your trip home.

Before Robby could follow up with some smooth distraction or deflect from your current disappointments, you sat up taller. “What did you tell Mrs. McGuire?”

He paused, inhaling a sharp breath. Glancing around warily, he considered his words. You chewed the inside of your mouth, bouncing the one foot on the ground rhythmically. The night was filled with dying anticipation, which sat much thicker than smog.

“You must have told her something. She was cursing my existence in the morning.” You tried to lighten the mood, but the joke didn’t land the punch.

There was a timidity in Robby as he stared down at his feet. He wasn’t the assertive chief of a bustling ER department outside under the glowing lights of the ambulance. He was irresolute because you were sitting in front of him about something. You feared he thought this was some ploy to dig venomous fangs in him.

“She asked me what I thought about your position during the trial.” He clarified, lifting his one free hand to rub the back of his head.

“And what did you tell her?” You questioned with a meek voice. The shaky breath released a clear indicator of the lump forming in your throat.

He let his head hang, the disheveled top of his head now clearly visible. “I explained that as someone who has worked with you for the few months I have, I don’t need to question your judgment.”

When he peered at you through his eyelashes, he saw you unravel your legs. Both hands grabbed the edge of the wall you sat on. You lean forward, eyes darting across his face. “Mr. Richman’s state of mind is complicated, and if anyone was more than capable of making a clear evaluation of his needs and rationale, it would be you.”

Instead of giving in to the misty sensation of your eyes, you composed yourself, glancing at a rock on the ground. “How did she take that?”

“The wound is still fresh and she may still hate him for what he did, but I think she came to terms we are all flawed individuals.” Robby’s words were melodic. It was like reading off a fortune cookie. A well-rested you might’ve made that joke out loud, instead you caved into yourself as Robby readjusted his backpack. “It won’t necessarily make sense now, but maybe in the future, when the tensions have settled.”

It was ironic, if anything. After what Malek said, it made it clear that Robby’s incessant indifference came from what he interpreted as defiance. The perfectly educated persona you put on while in the hospital to make patients trust your easier was all he saw.

He had found a weak spot, though. Even through the immaculate professionalism, he realized there were attributes within yourself you let weigh you down. It somehow didn’t confine you to the ‘FRAGILE’ box. It made him more attentive and invested in watching you succeed.

“I saw Morgan’s email this morning.” You mentioned casually, standing up tall. You inched one-step closer. “I read over the transcript.”

He simply nodded, making no indication he noticed the hints you were dropping. I know what you said about me. I know how you truly see me. “I read over the transcripts of your testimony. Most of the prosecution's questions, at least.”

With the truth out in the open, Robby straightened himself, curtly nodding. He awkwardly chuckled, finally understanding the subliminal message you were sending him with your wide, eye gaze. With his silence, he was inviting you to criticize him, even if he wasn’t sure he wanted honesty.

The part you read was familiar to the Robby you faced while in the ED. Unrestrained when pushed. Brutal honest if necessary. Except, he wasn't fervent. He didn’t tell you he pushed you while fully convinced of your training and competence to treat patients. That he never questioned whether a patient was safe under your care. He trusted you to enact respectably, and he let the court know that too.

“You shouldn’t have stuck out your neck for me.” You scolded gently, sighing in defeat.

“I didn’t do it just for you.” Robby countered, as if attempting heroism while too overworked and beat by the day would convince you both of the noble effort. He meant it though. The way the corner of his eye crinkled while his cheeks flushed a color too crimson for the spring air.

“And the stuff with Mrs. McGuire? Malek?” The questions came out like digging with desperation. You had to find something more, because you couldn’t accept the charity from a man whom you tortured for his respect.

It was as unethical as lying on the stand, swearing an oath to attest to the truth of the facts and events. You knew Robby wouldn't have lied about that. He was aware of the risk to himself and the hospital if he tried to spin what occurred, because he had thought about being in the room with you.

And if you had known what you did now, you might've initiated that conversation.

“Dr. Malek was out of line and frankly, I’ve never liked him.” Robby laughed dryly, his shoulder shrugging. You rolled your eyes at him, head cocked to the side. He scratched the side of his beard, eyes fluttering lightly. “And I was simply having a conversation with Mrs. McGuire.”

Simple. Nothing about that was simple, you thought. When you finally reached a point to be professional partners, it was like the universe was reminding you that ‘partnership’ wasn't in your vocabulary. Trusting so blindly to let yourself guide by the reasoning of another man. You hadn't given Robby an inkling of that impression. He must have known that from the times he stared at you once something else blew up in your face.

He considered turning his back and looking the other way, but some line and hook sunk him into the cold waters of your pond. It was temperatures he was learning to survive in, and you were adjusting to sharing the vast, sparse space with something other than your thoughts.

You turned to the hospital walls, scaling the sides with your eyes. He classified you the most competent person to do the work. Even when you doubted it, and even after admitting psychiatry was never your first choice. Despite that, your judgment was the one he relied on without your realizing it. “You’re making it harder to settle on where I want to go once I’m done with this fellowship.”

You raised your eyebrows at him, noticing the grin. His eyes sparkled, playfully wounded by the words. “Would it be so bad if you stayed?”

“After today, it might be.” You tried not to mellow the energy. Maybe he took it as a joke, but you knew he was reading in between lines to understand your shrewdness.

“I disagree.” Robby responded automatically. It was instinct. After spending most of his shift listening to the strong superficial beliefs of your character and intention, he must have been too used to speaking nicely about you.

Clearing your throat, you started slowly making your way closer, wrapping up the evening to just rot in the same bed you had been forsaken to a week prior. Reaching towards the side pocket of your bag, you pulled out your keys. “We shall see what the hospital review brings. Maybe then I’ll change my mind.”

“It won't be as bad as the trial, that’s for sure.” Robby assured you. With the red lights still flashing, his freckled skin stood out more with each crease and wrinkle accompanying every time he stretched his lips into a smile.

“Like I said, we shall see.”

You flashed him a tight smile, the fabric of your cardigan brushing against the thicker, canvas material of his dusty, brown jacket. Before you could disappear into the darkness of the side of the hospital, you spun back around.

Robby was already looking at you.

With your hands clasping onto your keys, you tried focusing on the smell of the metal and the cold material stabbing into your skin. “If it doesn't pan out, I still appreciate all of it. Just thought you should know.”

You didn’t clarify what ‘all of it’ was. In eight months, Robby made an everlasting mark. Whoever was supposed to follow him wouldn't get to taste the bitter sweetness of your inner soul. Robby fought for that satisfaction, and you didn't think anyone except him could attempt to do so again.

He stifled a boyish grin on his face. “I hope it isn't the last of it.”

taglist: @duchesz @thesandbeneathmytoes @my4ncy @proudlyvastlake @generation-zero @finco99 @heydoc @pastawoman @realwhoreforfictionalmen @swag13r @ifyoubewooedingoodtime @outpostsworld @koreyswrld @lovesreality @cecybluee @not-a-glad-gladiator @readinghobby @disappearintofanfiction @thesnugglingduck @expreissionism @aleemendoza2425-blog

[ho-ii]

Shawn Hatosy As Paris. The Bygone (2019)

[annsfics]

NEXT UP ON MY TO BE WATCHED AWOOOO

[rickgrimes-cupid]

Back to you - Dr Robby x fem!reader

Pairings: Ex Boyfriend Dr Robby x Senior Resident Fem!reader

Author's Note: So I hope you like this one!! It’s my first Robby fic, As a warning, I have NO medical knowledge or experience I am a heritage major!!

Word Count: 4.5k!!

Warnings: 18+ Rude Robby, slight injury mentions, kissing, light touching, teasing? Robby secretly pining after Reader, boss and coworker relationship, exes back to lovers, tipsy Robby, late night sex, vaginal fingering, neck biting, neck kissing, hair pullings, reader on top! slight fisting? handjob and slight blowjob, unprotected p! in v!,dirty talk, late night confessions. Denial of feelings!

Tags: @kyrasworldd @bees-library3 @robinavitchgf @robinavitchslut

M.R Masterlist | The Pitt Masterlist | Dividers: @cursed-carmine

You were late to your first day shift since your breakup with Robby, and adrenaline was already running high. Phone in your hand, headphones blasting music loudly as you stepped into the ambulance bay.

It wasn’t like you were new to the area, you worked here everyday. So the sirens should have alerted you to move out the way but you didn’t.

His arms came around your torso so quickly that you didn’t have time to scream, bodies falling together towards the curb.

Eyes locking as his hands hovered on your lower back, your scrubs raised from the fall. The roughness of his hands against the softness of your skin made you quiver.

“Why would you be so stupid?” He spat at you, his large hands roughly pulling you onto your feet.

Cheeks tinged pink with embarrassment and awkwardness at the situation, you brushed yourself down without looking up at him. His eyes were on you for a second longer, as you opened your mouth to reply. Robby was pulled away before you had the chance.

The comment stung, being the first words to be exchanged in over six months.

You sighed heavily and began to walk inside the ER, the rush behind you of a new patient. Robby announced for help but not before pulling you aside.

“Get yourself checked over before joining Santos” he said, eyes flickering behind you before staring at you.

“I’m fine…” you hissed, pushing your shoulder into his stomach.

You didn’t get checked over, you felt fine as you entered South 15 and checked on the next patient of the day. Thankfully it was nothing too stressful, allowing you a moment's peace after the incident earlier on. 

As you stood at the board looking at the increasing list above you, his presence was felt instantly.

Standing in as much silence as you could get in the loud and busy ER, his arms were crossed. His body was so close that he was almost touching you, your breath shuddered as you locked onto a patient.

''Wanna help me with the next patient that comes through the door?'' His voice was quiet and soft, his glasses hanging out his pocket.

Those eyes burning into yours as you diverted your attention onto him, accidentally scoffing at his question.

It wasn't that you hated each other; the break-up was fairly amicable and the transfer onto night shift had helped significantly  but standing next to him. It felt as if nothing had ever happened, and the look in his eyes was something that haunted you. A combination of sadness and affection.

''You sure?'' you sighed, knowing that Dana was pretending not to notice you both.

His tongue scraped his lips, dampening them as he chuckled slightly. A soft nod of his head as the next patient was announced loudly and the moment disappeared.

“Patient, 35 years old. Got hit by a moving car whilst crossing the road. No prior injuries. Heart rate and BP fluctuated on the drive over” the EMT spoke loudly.

Taking hold of the gurney, you and Robby started pushing it towards the room ordered by Dana. Thankfully, you weren't alone with Robby for the nurses, med students and R2S surrounding you were enough to mask anything.

But in typical Robby fashion, he addressed you and only you. As a senior resident, it made it difficult for anyone else to take complete charge. His eyes locked onto yours as you spoke, which made your voice shake.

''We are going to start the ATLS protocol before anything else. Can you assist me with that Dr Javadi'' you swallowed and smiled politely.

Her widening at the mention of her name, taking a step back as the other doctors continued to monitor his BP and heart rate. Your eyes instantly meet Robby's, who mumbles under his breath.

''Good, very good'' the crinkle of eyes as he smiled towards you.

Stomach flipping at the subtle encouragement from Robby, it had been a while since that had met your ears.

Any further compliments were placed on pause with the arrival of Dr Garcia, Robby took a step back to allow her room. She looked between the pair of you with a grin,

''Wow, look here. I didn't think I'd see you and Robby in the same room again'' she teased, staring directly at you.

Your cheeks flushed red, eyes meeting Robby's. As they fit onto his face, like they always used too. Any noise from your surroundings disappeared and for a split second, it was only the two of you.

Breath taken from your own lungs as you were pushed out of the way, the sounds of Dr Garcia brought you out of the daze. His eyes flickered from you and onto the patient as you blushed with embarrassment. His eyes found your body once again.

Always the same, the main cause of your distractions without saying a single word. 

“Bp is now showing 130, which has increased since arriving’’ Dr Garcia states, advising the team. 

After adjusting your focus back into the room, you realise your support is no longer needed and begin towards the door. His arm firmly blocking your way, his eyes fixated on the top of your head. 

”Robby, we have other patients to discharge’’ you sighed, folding your arms across your chest before looking up at him. 

Heels digging into the sole of the shoe, a quiet huff escaping your lips in defiance. At his own refusal, you rolled your eyes and leant forward to whisper. 

“You can’t do this anymore’’ eyes staring at him with little sympathy. 

There was no closure between you, the feelings clearly hadn’t fizzled. His actions were the same as they always did but you knew it wouldn’t work. You felt him sigh and he dropped his arm, looking at the beeping patient machine as the door opened and closed behind him. 

“You okay hun’’ Dana’s voice echoed in your ears. 

Taking a heavy inhale as the familiar scent of Robby filled your nostrils, the look in his eyes circling in your mind. You promised yourself you wouldn’t be affected by him, it had been months. But Dana’s voice broke something inside you.  

Shuddering as you opened your mouth, beginning to talk about the day. Working with Robby when once again, you were interputted. 

“How are the ex lovers? ” the boom of Santos’ voice filled the air as she leant on the counter. 

Dana tutted in her direction as she slightly rubbed your shoulder, shrugging her hand away and rushing towards the hospital stairs. It was empty as you leant against the orange wall, cool against your forehead. 

Hands pressed hard into the concrete, it wasn’t easing your pain but it was a distraction. The stairway was bright but quiet, finally allowing you some peace. 

Not hearing the quiet footsteps until the figure was hovering next to you, a heavy exhale as tears stung your eyes. A laugh escaping your mouth at the scent of him. 

“Of course” you mumbled into the wall. 

His hand came up to brush the hair from your face, gentle and soft. The scrap of his thumb down your cheek, wiping away the pooling tears and skirting around your mouth. 

Eyes flickering at his touch before daring yourself to make eye contact, time slowed when your eyes met. Like they always did. Your heart heavy as you looked at him, the pain tight to your skin. Eyes dropping briefly to his lips, wet and pink. It seemed to be the trigger that he needed in order to kiss you. 

Passionate and rough, hands curling in your hair and tugging slightly. His breathing shuddered against yours, the tears still falling but at the sound of a soft moan. Your eyes snapped open, breathless with his lips on yours.

Panning in on your surroundings, the feel of your scrubs and the doctor badge clipped onto his pocket. 

“Robby” you whispered, hands slipping off his body. 

His forehead resting against yours, a soft nod in agreement but his words were stuck in his throat. As if admitting them would break the moment, his lips moved away from yours and onto your forehead. 

Taking one look at you, hands lingering on your body for longer than he should before disappearing through the grey doors. Your head tipping against the wall with a heavy sigh, emotions bubbling in your chest. 

Lips making a circle as you focus on your breathing, wiping the dried tears off your cheeks as you peeled yourself off the wall. Unaware that your hair was more frazzled now than when you left the center board, Santo eyebrows wiggled in your direction. 

Dana didn’t speak a word, fixing your hair subtly with a smirk as Robby was observing Whitaker and a new med student in BH2 but his attention kept flickering to you. 

“So darl, you’ll be in North 14 with an interesting patient’’ Dana smiled, looking up from her ipad. 

It was obvious that she was placing you away from Robby for a distraction and as you took the chart notes, you overheard Santos and Dana. 

“So, you reckon something happened in the stairwell” Santos implied, wanting to know the gossip. 

“I suggest you focus on your charting and leave the personal relationship of your attendings alone” Dana said firmly. 

This filled you with relief, at least one person wasn’t spreading rumours even if Santos was right. Something did happen. 

The feeling of his lips still stung against your lips, touching them before pushing the clear door of North 14. Nurses attended to the machines, updating you on their status. 

The loud noises throughout the  ER continued when you stepped away from North 14 and onto the next patient on your list, too busy reading the chart on the hospital Ipad to realise that Robby was already in the room. 

“Oh—I’m sorry Dr Robby.” You stuttered, starting to turn away. 

His hand came up to touch your wrist, moving you deeper into the room. The patient was heavily medicated, focusing on the flickering lights above them. 

“I need a senior resident with me” he demanded, letting go of the hold on your wrist.

Clearing your throat, you began to check the patient's pupils and breathing before turning your attention to Robby. He was seated on a swivel stool, expression unreadable as he brought up the recent xray. 

Leaning over his shoulder to get a close look, your faces inches apart only brought even closer as you reached your hand towards the Ipad. Zooming in on the specs white clouding the lungs. 

As you divulged the information on the screen, your eyes landed on Robby’s. Losing yourself in those brown eyes was one of your downfalls and even now, it proved difficult to tear yourself away. 

“We need to prepare for the next step, whilst the patient is sedated” Robby sighed, standing up from the stool. 

The nurses hovered awaiting requests, you watched as Robby addressed the situation and his orders. Turning to look at you for approval, your stomach flipping as you nodded in response. 

Since gaining your senior resident status, you had yet to work with Robby. And during your relationship he never once asked for your approval, he supported and believed in you but this was different. 

“I’m going to order some tests so we can find any underlying issues and then request that the patient be taken out of sedation” you said, leaning against the monitor as you processed the orders. 

“Anything else?” Robby’s voice was calm, 

“A possible Bronchoscopy after examining the patient once awake?” You asked, your voice unsteady. 

He nodded at your response before voicing his own orders on top of yours, as you finalized the notes on your chart he tilted his head towards the door. 

The nurses could supervise this patient further and you were anxiously squinting towards the board. 

Mr Jones was groggily lying in the hospital bed when you slipped through the door, the nurses had just replaced the sedation with 2 cc of morphine. As you checked his pupil dilated and asked a few simple questions, the door opened and Robby appeared beside you. 

He didn’t interrupt you or move around the room. His shoulder pressing against yours, the screen was blocking Mr Jones’ view when Robby’s fingers came to brush your left arm. 

The soft touch of his fingers against your skin made you stutter on the questions which caused Mr Jones’ to look at you rather confused. Robby’s fingers were resting on your left elbow as he faked a smile and interpreted your question. 

Looking over at Robby in slight disbelief, you never had any issues with patients on the night shift. This was due to him, unable to forget that you weren’t together anymore. Acting exactly as he always had. 

This was confusing you, more than your question had affected Mr Jones. 

Robby began to check Mr Jones’ breathing, nodding after checking his chest and back. 

“Prep him for the OR and the Bronchoscopy” Robby whispered to you and the nurse standing by. 

Walking back to the board with Robby, multiple residents and doctors presented their cases to him as you stood near him. Falling into the familiar pattern from all those months ago as Robby didn’t dismiss you or instruct you to go elsewhere. 

You knew that this shift would continue to undo everything you had worked on during those night shifts without Robby but you weren’t exactly stopping him. 

As the rest of the day flew by in a flurry of patients, you managed to dismiss more beds than you expected. With the medical students, Javadi and Oligve by your side, the bodies of doctors were given the chance to train more aspiring doctors. 

Robby’s eyes followed you as he supervised your training, cheeks flushing red everytime. His eyes flickered towards the edges of your collarbones before meeting your eyes and holding the gaze. The day continued just as well as it could in the ER and by the time the night shift clocked in you were shattered. Your eyes were heavy and your feet ached. 

Standing at the lockers with the rest of the day shift, your head pressed against the metal door. The faint sounds of Whitaker and Santos calling their goodbyes, leaving you completely alone. 

Until the sound of his footsteps echoed in the small locker room, shakily exhaling as you felt his body next to you. Something shifted in the air at the pregnant pause before he aggressively opened his locker with a sigh. 

“What an exhausting day” he sighed, swinging his grey backpack over his shoulder. 

“Yes, at least we can relax now right?” You forced a laugh as you retied your hair in the small mirror and closed your own backpack. 

You stole a small glance in his direction, he looked tired with his glasses tucked into his top pocket. His eyes found yours which made you squeak at being caught. 

The corners of his lips quivered before he straightened his posture and cleared his throat. Reminding himself where he was. 

“Are you coming for a beer with the group?” His voice was gruff, taking a step away from the lockers and you. 

Swallowing to steady your breath, you considered the invitation. The prospect of spending time with Robby outside of work? 

Definitely not a good idea….

“I think I am going to go home, day shifts are a killer” you chuckled again. 

He accepted this and walked with you through the ER, it was starting to get busy as the night shift hurried about around you both. You were thankful to be finishing. 

Robby gave you a tiny smile as you walked across the car park and made your way home. 

It was dark when you awoke in your own bed, the yellow flickering of streetlights outside snuck between the gaps of your blinds. The repeated hammering on your front door made you stumble out of bed. 

The hallway light bright against your tired eyes but you softened at the sight of a disgruntled Robby still draped in his work clothes. He wasn’t drunk but the faint scent of beer filled the air as he leant closer to you, an arm hanging onto the doorframe. 

His other hand sliding up your face and gently sliding his thumb down your cheek, this subtle action made you shudder. Eyes fluttering closed before his thumb slid into your mouth. 

You felt powerless under his touch, your hands reaching to pull him closer. A soft groan escaped his mouth when his lips met yours, kicking the door closed behind him. 

His hands never leave yours, lips never breaking as clothes begin to drop onto the floor around you. 

“We shouldn’t be doing this” you panted against his rough lips. 

“I don’t care, I need to check you over” he groaned, biting his teeth into your lips. 

You laughed lightly at this as if he knew you didn’t get yourself checked over all those hours ago. 

This desperation made you feel all soft inside and you didn’t push him away when his hands snaked around your waist and picked you up. 

The shadows of your bodies dancing on your bedroom wall, his muscles tight as his hands slid down. Pulling you onto the messy bed, the familiar place where his scent once lingered. His rough skin against your recently moisturised skin. 

As he kissed your body, goosebumps peppering across your skin. You fall into the natural rhyme, his beard prickling just above your clit. 

Hands digging into your hips as he moved your legs over his shoulders, holding you in place as you began to wriggle underneath him. 

“Robby, feels so good” you whined, heading falling hard onto the pillow. 

He mumbled something that only vibrated against your throbbing core, his nails pinching your skin. Chest raising as your own hands gripped onto the bed covers with each moan. 

Body tingling at the shocks of pleasure, tears prickling your eyes as his lips began sucking over your clit. His fingers sliding between your wet pussy, starting with one finger and then another until three of his fingers were thrusting in and out of you. 

Your hands sliding down his back, sharp enough to leave marks as you grinded yourself against his mouth and fingers. Feeling wetter and wetter with each movement. 

“Need you inside me” you panted as his lips came up to meet yours. 

Tasting yourself on them, the familiar chuckle vibrating across your body as he curled his fingers inside you. 

“Yeah? Use your manners, your doctor hasn’t finished yet” he mumbled, a moan escaping from both your mouths. 

His cock was pressing against your inner thigh, feeling hard and painful as he didn’t remove his fingers any time soon. Your legs were shaking slightly as his fingers reached your soft spot. 

“Robby” you whined, head pressing into the bed as you felt the sensations across your whole body. 

Tingling in your fingers as they were now palming towards his cock which was desperately needing to be freed, you wanted to cum with his cock inside you but Robby had other ideas. 

“Please, I’m close. Need you” you quivered, pleading with no luck as your eyes rolled back. 

His tongue on your clit and his fingers moving quicker and quicker as he felt your pussy clenched around his fingers, a loud groan and his hips began to grind against the bed. Feeling desperate himself now. 

Just as you felt the bubble in your lower stomach burst, your legs shaking aggressively. Eyes rolling back, your hands gripping onto his head as you ground yourself against him. Increasing the pressure as you trembled with each movement until you felt yourself let go. 

You came hard, Robby always knew how to make you. 

The wet patch grew under your ass as the combination of sweat and cum slid down your legs, your body still shaking as Robby didn’t remove his fingers until the very last second. Watching you revel in the aftermath, eyes tightly closed and your breathing was heavy as you lay there. 

“You did so well baby” he groaned, freeing his cock from the grasp of his boxers. 

Fluttering your eyes open, a lazy smile on your face as you pulled him closer. Kissing him softly, hands smoothing his hair as you focused on his hand movements. 

Hand wrapped around his cock, pre cum leaking out of the end of his tip. His eyes pulsating and dark as he groaned and shuddered, regaining some form of energy. You slide yourself down the bed, pushing yourself up onto your knees and in between his legs. 

His eyes widened slightly as you replaced his hands with your mouth and one hand, the groan that fell off his tongue made you feel all weak. 

Dampening your thumb in your mouth before rubbing his tip over and over until you hovered your lips around his cock, his hips already thrusting to close the gap between you but you didn’t give in to him just yet. 

Your hand tightening around his shaft, thrusting upwards as your tongue circled just below his tip. You could feel him throbbing in your grasp, the teasing was sending him over the edge as you tasted the pre cum on your tongue. 

Roughly his hands came around your sides and instantly switched the positions, your hand forcefully removed from his cock and he was holding you above him. His back was pressed into the mattress, you were lowered between his legs. 

“Sit on top of me, let me do all the work baby” he sighed, allowing you to reposition yourself. 

Lowering yourself slowly, teasing him further as you angled his tip directly at the entrance to your pussy. Not sinking yourself further until you watched his hips buck underneath you. His hands pressing into your hips, he was desperate to push himself into you but he didn’t. 

When you finally gave in to his pleading expressions and those lustful eyes, you let his cock slide deeper and deeper until you could feel it pressing into your stomach. Stretching you out as you sat there for a second, he pulled you in closer, tighter. 

Kissing your neck, your ear lobe and your collarbones as he felt you wetten around him. 

“Don’t move, let’s see how long you can last before moving” you teased, a gasp escaped from your mouth as he sucked on your neck. 

A ‘hmm’ came out of his mouth but you knew he would struggle, it felt as it had always and in these moments you didn’t care to stop or point it out. You stayed as still as you could, the urge to move yourself was painful but Robby kept kissing you. 

After what felt like an age, his arms tightened around you, his hips digging into yours as his cock began to thrust inside you. It felt good to have that feeling again. You had slept with one other person during the breakup but they were never as good as Robby. 

As his pants echoed in the small bedroom, skin to skin as sweat built up around you both. Your head buried into his neck, moaning into his ear as you listened to yourself get wetter with every thrust. Mumbles of the word ‘Fuck’ mixed between kisses and moans. 

Lifting yourself up from his grasp, his arms falling to his side and his fingers hovering near your clit as you bent backwards slightly. Beginning to rock yourself up and down on his cock, practically grinding his tip against the top of your pussy. Moans falling off your lips as your eyes stayed on his. 

You stayed in this position until your legs began to grow weaker, leaning back into his embrace. He held you as you began to slide your pussy up his cock, his tip grinding against your entrance. The ‘pop’ sound as the pace grew quicker and quicker until your legs shivered and you felt dangerously close to your second orgasm of the night. 

“That’s it baby, cum on my cock” his words hit your skin as your head fell into the crook of his neck. 

Panting heavily, you stopped moving and let Robby take over as his cock was hitting every nerve inside you. Nails digging into his back as your moans continued to fall out your mouth over and over as he mumbled words of encouragement. 

Legs and body shaking as you focused on the sensation and as you quivered, nails digging into his back as he groaned into your ear, the comment made every part of you tingle. Hands sliding up and down his back until they reached his hair, tugging on the soft strands of his hair. Your pussy sounding wetter and wetter, his pelvis hitting against your clit. 

"it's you. it's always been you" Fell out of mouth as his cock buried deeper and deeper inside you. 

If you weren’t on the verge of an orgasm, you would have questioned his words seriously but in these moments, everything felt intense and you kissed him. Hard.

Hands moving away from this hair, grasping his face as you both melted into the kiss. The words “I’ve never stopped loving you” lingered in your mind and your eyes rolled back. 

Sensation ripped through you, your forehead on his as you felt your body relax. He held you as you came in his arms, his hips still thrusting inside you. His cock hitting your soft spot, as your clit pulsated against his pelvis. 

His eyes fluttered, his focus never leaving you. 

“Fuck, the sight of you cumming on my cock has me so close baby” his deep voice whining into your ear. 

He was closer than you both thought, with a groan he lifted you up off his cock and held you onto his chest. His cock twitching as his body shuddered, his fingers were digging into your skin hard but you didn’t care. Wiping the loose strands of his hair off his face, kissing his sore and damp lips. 

His cum oozing out of the tip of his cock, splattering onto your ass and lower back. As his body stopped shaking, he pulled you in as tight as he could. Squeezing you and kissing your cheeks, neck and lips. His eyes were full of lust. 

Lying together until Robby got up for a second, leaving an empty space in your bed. Overwhelmed with feeling, the twang in your chest grew bigger as the realization sunk in. 

You had just fucked your ex boyfriend after 6 months of not seeing him, your therapist was going to have a field day. 

Ignoring the thoughts in your head, you beckoned him back into the bed and let his hands move down your body as your eyes flickered shut. Relaxing into him, as you always did. 

“I meant what I said” he whispered into your ear, pushing you into his chest further. 

“I know” you sighed, not wanting to breach the nagging thoughts in your mind. 

Focusing your attention on the rise and fall of his chest and letting the feelings wash over you as you both fell asleep. Hoping that the questions on the tip of your tongues would be held off for another night.

Reblogs and comments are much appreciated <3