notes: Hi! I wanted to say thank you all for the engagement on my last couple of fics. I used to write for YellowJackets on one of my old blogs. 😭 Now I look back and cringe at all my works, but The Pitt has inspired me to give writing another try!

Dior, Miu Miu, Tom Ford, Chanel, and Prada are all brands that have somehow invaded your bedroom. Perfumes stacked neatly on a sterling silver stand on your dresser. Charlotte Tilbury palettes on your vanity, and Tiffany diamonds sparkling on your jewelry tray.

Despite your best efforts to tell him you really don’t need any of it, Jack Abbot buys you quite literally everything you show the tiniest amount of interest in.

It isn’t that you can’t afford it, you absolutely can. Years of medical school and brutal residency shifts had earned you a salary you were more than proud of, which made Jack’s habit of paying for everything simultaneously frustrating and endearing.

It started small. You’d pause a second too long in front of a perfume display, eyes widening at the price tag as you muttered something about how insane it was. The bottle would appear on your bathroom counter the next morning.

You’d complain that your work tote was falling apart. Three days later, a brand new leather one arrived at your apartment with your initials hand-stitched on the side in dainty gold thread.

You’d compliment a necklace in passing, and somehow Cartier already knew your address.

At first it was sweet. Then it became excessive. Which is why you now have enough designer items in your home to pay off someone’s mortgage.

And somehow… that still wasn’t enough for him.

・・・۶ৎ・・・

You’re standing in the Sephora checkout line, fully intent on spoiling yourself for once. Jack stands close by your side, seemingly distracted by his phone, squinting down at a text from Robby. You make a mental note to increase the font size later when he isn’t looking.

As the person in front of you finishes, you see his hand slip into his pocket out of the corner of your eye, reaching for his wallet.

“Jack,” you huff quietly, no real heat behind it.

“Hm?”

“Put your wallet away. I told you, I’m paying.”

He glances up from the screen, expression perfectly innocent. “Why?”

You turn to face him fully, arms crossed. “Because these are my things. I can buy my own makeup, Jack. You’ve already bought me three things today.”

His eyebrow lifts just slightly, that calm, steady doctor look settling over his features. He steps closer until his chest brushes your shoulder, voice low and warm against your ear.

“I like taking care of my girl. Why wouldn’t I?”

The cashier is smiling politely, pretending not to listen. Your cheeks are hot, fairly certain that they’re tinted a faint shade of red.

“Jack,” you warn, softer this time.

“You gonna stand here and argue with me, baby?” His hand settles lightly at the small of your back, thumb stroking once, slow and deliberate. “Or are you gonna let me pay?”

You exhale a defeated laugh, cheeks burning.

A small, satisfied smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth. “That’s what I thought.”

He slides his card into the reader before you can make any move to protest again. While the cashier rings everything up, his arm stays looped around your waist, holding you close like it’s his favorite thing in the world.

・・・۶ৎ・・・

The drive home is quiet at first, city lights sliding across the windshield. You keep glancing down at the heavy Sephora bag in your lap, then over at him.

“You promised you’d let me pay today” you say, gently poking his arm.

Jack’s hand leaves the gear shift to rest on your thigh instead, squeezing gently.

“I said I’d try,” he corrects, voice low with amusement. “There’s a difference.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. “You’re ridiculous. We’re both doctors, y’know? I don’t need you dropping half your salary on me every time we leave the house.”

He’s quiet for a moment, thumb brushing back and forth over your leg as he drives.

“You work harder than anyone I know,” he says finally. “Longer hours than me sometimes. You come home exhausted and still make time for us. Let me take care of you, sweetheart. It makes me feel good. Like I’m doing something right.”

Your chest flickers with undeniable warmth. You reach down and lace your fingers with his. “You do plenty right, Jack. You don’t have to buy me half of Sephora to prove it.”

“I know.” He lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles without taking his eyes off the road. “But I want to. And I like seeing my baby have pretty things.”

The words settle warm and heavy in your stomach. Your eyes are soft as you study the side of his face.

・・・۶ৎ・・・

Back at your apartment, Jack carries the bags inside like they weigh nothing. You kick off your shoes and start unpacking the new products on your vanity, admiring the sleek packaging.

He leans in the doorway, arms crossed, watching you with that soft, focused look that always makes your heart feel 10 pounds heavier.

“You’re staring,” you tease, fighting off a genuine smile.

“Can’t help it.” He pushes off the doorframe and comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. His chin rests on your shoulder. “You happy?”

You lean back into his chest. “Yes. Thank you… even though you have no self-control.”

He chuckles, the sound vibrates low and warm against your neck. “Good.”

You turn in his arms, looping yours around his neck. “But next time, I’m paying. I will hear no arguments.”

Jack hums, pretending to consider it. “We’ll see.”

“Jack.”

“Alright, alright,” he says, lips brushing your forehead. “I’ll behave.”

You narrow your eyes. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

・・・۶ৎ・・・

Forty minutes later you’re curled up on the couch together when your phone buzzes. A notification from the jewelry store you’d walked past earlier on the way to Sephora.

Order confirmed. Your custom initial pendant will be ready for pickup tomorrow.

You sit up slowly, staring at the screen, then turn to look at him.

Jack doesn’t even have the decency to look guilty. He just pulls you back against his chest with a lazy grin, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your neck.

“You said you’d behave,” you whisper, half-laughing, half-exasperated.

“I did behave,” he murmurs, pressing a slow kiss to your temple. “For a whole forty minutes. That’s gotta count for something, right?”

You could eat your boyfriend. Seriously. Maybe it’s the reading glasses perched on his nose. Or the way his fingers press so firm yet so gentle against the paperback novel he’s reading. Either way, it’s unfair.

He sits with his back to your headboard, brown eyes focused on the page, paying you absolutely no mind as you shuffle around your shared bedroom in your little white slip. Getting ready for bed, searching for your moisturizer, but definitely not focused on the task at hand.

Instead, your eyes wander, probably longer than they should. Robby notices, of course he does. He’s got that doctor’s sixth sense for being watched. But, unfortunately for him, his finely tuned instincts now had to be used on his girlfriend.

He glances up, crow’s feet crinkling slightly as he offers you the smallest, teasing smile. The kind that slips through when he looks at you, even when he’s bone tired from another brutal shift in the ED.

“You’re staring, sweetheart.”

Your cheeks flare, flushing a soft rose color. You don’t deny it, instead, you smile back.

“Can you blame me?”

A quiet laugh slips past his lips, shaking his head a little as he returns his attention to the novel, flipping the page with practiced ease. Used to your antics by now. That’s enough of a reply for him. But definitely not enough for you.

You shuffle closer, skincare be damned. He’s got your full attention now. Lifting your knee onto your side of the bed, you hoist yourself up beside him. Scooting closer… closer… until—

“You’re hovering.” He glances back up, peering at you over his lenses, painfully smug. You’re almost certain he’s not actually reading anymore. Just pretending, the way he sometimes zones out looking at charts at work when his mind’s elsewhere and he doesn’t want to admit that he needs a break.

“Am not.” Weak denial spills from your lips as you reach up and snatch the paperback from him, dog-earing the page and carelessly dropping it onto your bedside table.

Robby just stares at you, unamused in that dry, exhausted way he gets after fourteen-hour days. That long-suffering look he’s perfected over the years of working in emergency medicine.

But he’s not suffering at all. Not with you. Far from it. There’s a playful spark behind his weariness.

“You done, baby?” His voice is low, a little rough, almost condescending. The same tone he uses when he’s trying to talk someone (you) down.

A grin threatens to spread across your face. Already prepared with a sarcastic quip on your tongue, you tap your chin, pretending to think.

“Don’t think so.” You beam, entirely too pleased with yourself. “Besides, you obviously weren’t reading anymore.”

Robby lets out a tired sigh, dramatic and completely unnecessary, the kind he saves for when residents push their luck or when you’re being particularly bratty.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, but there’s no real heat in it. “You’re really on me tonight, huh?”

You shuffle even closer on your knees, the mattress dipping under your weight as you swing one leg over his lap, settling yourself on top of him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

The hem of your slip rides up your thighs, cool air brushing bare skin, but you don’t bother fixing it. Not when Robby’s hands automatically find your hips, steadying you with that familiar, grounding grip. Fingertips pressed into the plush of your skin.

“…You know,” he says, “most people just ask for attention.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” You shrug, entirely unapologetic.

He tilts his head back against the headboard, brown eyes half-lidded now, the earlier feigned exasperation melting into something warmer, sweeter.

“You’re a pain in the ass,” he says, but his thumbs are already tracing slow circles over the thin fabric covering your hips. “You know that?”

You lean in, bracing your hands on his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath your palms.

“You love me,” you whisper, brushing your nose against his. Close enough to catch the faint scent of his bodywash.

“Admit it. You were just waiting for me to come steal your attention, pretending to read for the last twenty minutes.”

Robby’s lips twitch. He slides one hand up your back, fingers slipping beneath the thin strap of your slip and tugging it just enough to make it slip off your shoulder.

“Maybe I was,” he admits, voice low and rough. “Or maybe I was hoping you’d let me get through one goddamn chapter before you started.. this.” His other hand settles on your thigh, squeezing once. “But here we are.”

You laugh softly, the sound vibrating between you, and rock forward just a little, pressing your chest to his.

“Too late for that. Book’s on the nightstand. You’re mine now, Dr. Robinavitch.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, the sound tired but genuine, and cups the back of your neck, pulling you in until your lips hover just shy of his.

“Yeah? Prove it, sweetheart. I’m right here.”

Without a pinch of hesitation, you close the distance, kissing him slow and deliberate, savoring the way he melts beneath you almost instantly.

His grip tightens, a quiet groan rumbling in his chest as he kisses you back like he’s been waiting hours for this instead of minutes.

Your soft fingers thread through his hair, tugging gently, as he nips at your bottom lip in retaliation. The kind of playful bite that ensures that the night is only just beginning.

When you finally pull back for air, both of you breathing a little heavier, Robby rests his forehead against yours. His glasses are slightly askew. You reach up to fix them with a fond smile.

“Still think I’m hovering?” you ask innocently, tilting your head an inch to the left.

He chuckles, deep and warm, hands sliding down to grab a handful of your thighs.

“Baby, you’re doing a hell of a lot more than hovering.” His gaze drops meaningfully to where you’re settled against him.

“Keep it up and I’ll never finish that book.”

“Good,” you murmur, already leaning in for another kiss. “Wasn’t planning on letting you read anyway.”