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.”
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Summary- Michael overhears you complaining about your love life. All he wants is to help.
Contains- 18+ SMUT MDNI, fingering (f receiving) oral (f receiving), age gap relationship, attending x nurse relationship, hooking up at work greys anatomy style, public(ish?) sex (foreplay on da rooooof), crazy sexual tension, Robby with a 'sir' kink let's gooo
A/N- so it turns out i have need to fuck that old man disease and it’s incurable | divider from @uzmacchiato | very briefly proofread as always <3
The fluorescent hum of the ER lights beat down on linoleum tile. Your head pounds, hour seven of twelve of your shift settling in with its typical symptoms- headaches, exhaustion, feet pain. The harsh glide of something canned slides its way over to you, and you look up to see Santos, offering one of the Alanis you keep stored in the staff fridge.
"Drink up, you still got a long shift ahead," she remarks, eyebrows quirking.
Relief washes over you, your eyes falling closed in gratitude as you crack the can open. The tangy, fizzy liquid slides down your throat, the caffeine flooding your veins, electrifying you from the inside out.
"Thank you," you mutter, rubbing your eyes. "I was up late, another horrible date," you admit this shamefully, your coworker knowing full well how long you've struggled with dating.
"Oh shit," you hear another voice approach from your left, Javadi resting her elbows on the desk you and Santos occupy.
"Yeah," you grumble, downing another sip like it's a shot. You wish it was. "Just another asshole wanting to get in my pants, only for him to care just about himself when I so stupidly let him."
You roll your eyes at yourself, your need for validation, any sort of affection taking over and picking these clowns against your better judgement.
"Classic," Javadi says, her own eyes rolling back, knowing all too well what you've been going through.
You've been able to bond with the newer staff in the past year over this, the trials and tribulations of your love lives. Whitaker joins in too sometimes, albeit against his will.
"You could always follow my lead," Santos suggests sarcastically. "Y'know, hook up with someone you work with in secret."
You stifle a chuckle, tipping your can back to your lips. You shake your head incredulously. "I can't believe those are my only options," you groan, your forehead falling to your hands.
"I just feel like there's nobody for me, you know?" You ponder aloud. "Like, if this is all that's out there, then I don't even know if it's even worth it? Ugh, that sounds so stupid and melodramatic," you massage your temples with your fingers, embarrassed by your out-flux of emotion.
"No, it's not," Javadi says in comfort. "I feel the same way sometimes. It's exhausting. These men- sorry, boys- have no idea what they're doing. All they care about is getting their dick wet."
You nod in agreement, another sardonic laugh escaping your lips. "Seriously," you mutter. "I don't even know why I keep trying. I have my vibrator, I might as well just use that for the rest of my life. At least those actually get me to finish."
Your heart stops, regretting your words immediately as you watch Santos' eyes widen, her posture stiff, a telltale sign that one of your superiors is behind you. You can only pray it's someone understanding, like Mohan or McKay.
Of course, you're not so lucky. You turn to find an achingly familiar navy hoodie, paired strong, veiny arms sticking out of the pockets.
Your face burns, your heart beating against your chest as you try to process that your boss, the senior attending partially responsible for your employment, just heard you talk about vibrators and orgasms.
"Sir," you breathe, unsure of what else to say.
His gaze flits to the ground the second yours finds him, and you swear you can make out just a bit of red on the apples of his cheeks.
He clears his throat, a hand coming up to the back of his neck before saying, "I can only assume this is not work related."
The look on his face is pointed, an awkward tension filling the space between you, the girls, and your boss. You shake your head, a pathetic, "sorrysir" spilling out of your mouth.
You watch him adjust on his feet, once again avoiding your gaze. He runs his finger in a circle, referencing the busy ER in which you stand.
"Get back to it," he huffs out, and the three of you scatter like he'd just dropped a bomb.
You flee with Javadi, your arm linking through hers as you keep your heads down, stifling giggles like school children.
"Oh. My. God," you breathe, embarrassment flooding through you like a tsunami.
You part ways when you make it to a turn in the hallway, splitting up to check on your respective patients, eager to run away from whatever just happened.
Hour eight comes and goes, as busy as ever. The only difference, though, is in the way Robby is treating you. Each bark of an order, every harsh correction like tiny needles pricking at the back of your neck.
It starts in triage, where you pop out to spot any incoming traffic. It feels nice, the fresh summer air wafting through the ambulence bay, a welcome contrast to the stuffiness of the ER.
You jump when the door opens behind you, Robby rubbing hand sanitizer into his skin. You avert your gaze, anywhere but the manipulation of his large hands. Santos' words from earlier ring in your head, 'just date someone you work with in secret.'
It feels ridiculous, thoughts of your senior attending ping ponging around your head. You feel dizzy at the consuming thoughts, unwilling to believe that this is where your disastrous dating life has led you- fantasizing about your senior attending while he's standing a foot away from you.
His closeness brings you back to life, the sharp exhale he exudes making you flinch. His eyes widen at your reaction, brows raising like he's waiting on you.
"Well? Did you hear me?" He asks, crossing his veiny forearms over his chest.
You will yourself to look away, your heart picking up speed at the flex of his muscles.
"I'm sorry, what was it?" You ask, your voice flighty and airy.
You fiddle with your hands, desperate to outrun this Molotov cocktail of embarrassment and desire. He's going to kill you by the end of this shift, you're convinced.
"I said," he starts, pointedly, "that you're staying with me for the rest of the day. Word on the street is that Pittsburgh Memorial is at max capacity. Something to do with a pile up on the service drive. So, you're on my team until you clock out," he grumbles into your ear.
His proximity stuns you, the deep growl of his voice crawling down your spine, settling low in your belly. A certain realization dawns on you, then, a chilling reality that settles deep in your bones.
Is this because of what he overheard earlier? Does he feel the need to keep an eye on you, so you don't go off embarrassing the team with your loud mouth? The possibility straightens your posture, tightens your jaw.
"Okay," you mumble, unable to meet his gaze. "We're on the first patient that comes through?"
You work up the courage to actually look at him, your gaze dragging along the scruff of his beard, the tint of gray weaknening your knees. An unsettling frustration rests at the base of your throat, threatening to burst through, to demand he says what's on his mind.
He just nods, though, his eyes trained on the entrance of the bay. Your breath comes out in short puffs, a fuzziness taking over as Robby's forearm grazes yours. The tickle of the hair on his body unzips a chill down your spine, so overpowering you have to close your eyes, to shake yourself out of this feeling.
He sees. You know he does. His gaze is peripheral, catching the way you react to him out of the corner of his eye. Though it's just a glance, it's enough to set your veins on fire, the want to reach out and touch him electrifying.
Silence blankets you, thick and suffocating. You rock on the balls of your feet, he wrings his hands together. You glance over at him again, unable to really keep your eyes off him for long. He doesn't look back, but his cheeks turn pink. You face foward once more, your lips curling into a smile.
The wail of an ambulance slices through the tension wafting through the bay, a wave of relief briefly washing over. You immediately snap into action, assessing the patient rolling in on the stretcher.
Robby is relentless in his questioning, and the world starts to spin around you as you flit from patient to attending, from asking to answering. Regardless of the familiar chaos, your stomach manages to flip at Robby's approval- the validation he gives at each right answer.
It's addictive, the way his brown eyes find yours, the subtle nod of his head. Time stops when he looks at you, you're convinced.
Once the patient is assessed and stabilized, you manage to document the patient's history and current symptoms without interruption.
You turn from the computer, looking over to see Robby, completely engaged with the patient. It's an older woman, a few years more so than Robby, who is putting on the ultimate display of charm. She's eating it up, as they all do.
You can't help but smile at the show, your heart speeding up in your chest. His ability to connect with those that are hurting, in pain, never ceases to amaze you. In moments like these, you remember why it is you decided to stay in emergency medicine. The teaching. The teacher, to be more specific.
A crash from the other side of the hallway pulls your attention away, and you whip your head around to see Langdon's hands full. He maneuvers around a stressed family, trying to care for his patient as best as he possibly can.
Without thinking, you take off to the other side of the room, putting on your best smile as you approach a teary mom, stressed father, and shy little girl.
"Hello!" You chirp, as cheerful as is appropriate when a family is watching their son be assessed in the ER. "I'm going to ask you give Dr. Langdon some space so he can work at the best of his ability. Please follow me and I can show you to our family room."
You start toward the exit, Langdon offering you a nod in thanks as you lead the family away from him. You catch Robby's gaze as you lead the family away, his teeth gritting at your disobedience. His eyes don't leave yours as you walk through the hospital, his cheeks glowing red like the human embodiment of anger.
You lead them through to the family room, your smile never leaving your face.
"Can I get you guys anything? Water, coffee, a snack?" You ask in the doorway. The gaunt father shakes his head, unable to look away from the tiled floors. You know this feeling, seen it many times in this room alone.
You turn to leave, when the mom speaks up, a tiny "uhm" leaving her lips. You stop on your heel, turning to her, your smile still there.
"Would you be willing to take Leah here for a snack?" She asks, referring to her daughter.
Your eyes find the little girl, a bunny stuffie clutched to her chest, a nervous thumb between her lips. Your heart softens at the sight, so you nod gently, offering your hand.
She only takes it when her mom gives her the okay, and she waddles to you dubiously. You take her hand in yours, offering her a soft greeting.
"Hello! It's so nice to meet you, Leah. Want to come see what snacks we have?" You ask, and can't help but giggle at her eager nod. "Okay, let's go, honeybun."
You lead her back into the ER, wavering through the chaos to get to the kitchen. You see Robby again on your way there, his eyes flitting to your new friend as you pass. His jaw does that tick again, though the rest of his face softens at the sight.
Annoyance flashes through his big brown eyes, frustration taking over his features. Your heart starts beating again, a rapid pitter pat against your ribcage. You keep your eyes forward, picking up your pace just slightly, as if you're escaping the flame of his gaze.
You shut the door once you're in the kitchen, and you stand on your tip toes to grab the kids' snacks that are stored in the top shelf. You lay out an array of goodies, from fruit snacks to Goldfish to Teddy Grahams.
Her eyes widen at the selection, the first smile you've seen from her curling her lips. You smile back, and she points at the fruit snacks.
"Good pick," you nod, opening the packet for her. "Here you go!"
She accepts the snack gratefully, munching on the gummy snack as she rests her head on the table. Poor thing, you think. Who knows how long she's been up.
The silence is cut by a tap on the glass window. You startle, causing Leah to sit up abruptly. You see that it's Dana, relaxing just slightly. You walk over to the door and pop your head out.
"Hey, what's up?" You ask.
"I'm takin' over with sweet girl over here. Get back to the boss man, he's not happy with ya," she tells you, and your heart sinks.
"Oh, okay," you open the door wider to let her in. "Hey, Leah," you start, and she looks up, her eyes widening at the new guest. "This is my friend Dana. She's going to be staying with you, okay? She's really nice. You guys will have fun with each other." You smile, turning to exit the kitchen.
"Mmph!" You muffle against cotton as you collide against a broad, rigid chest. "Jesus, Robby," you breathe out, taking a step to the side. Anything to escape the woody smell of his cologne.
He scoffs, the incredulous smile on his face flipping your stomach like a pancake. "Yeah, Jesus," he repeats, annoyance lacing his tone. "Find me in Exam Room 2 in five," he orders before stalking off.
You watch him walk, studying his frame as he saunters through the ER, using his broad shoulders to maneuver the crowd. It's pathetic, the way even his walk causes sweat to prick at your brow, your face heating with nerves. Curiosity pokes at your gut, Exam Room 2? It's a bizarre request from a senior attending, and you can only imagine how much trouble you've gotten yourself in.
You make your way to the exam rooms, your heart pounding louder with every step. You wring your hands together, the sweat accumulating there creating a slippery resistance. You let out a sigh as you reach the second room of the exam hallway, a green light indicating it's free usage.
You turn the knob, cracking it slightly to find Robby, hands on his head, facing the back wall. The door creaks as you push it open, and you clear your throat lightly to announce your presence. You press yourself against the door when it shuts, nerves so palpable you're surprised Robby can't feel it, can't taste it.
"Dr. Robby," you start, voice shaky, knowing he's about to hand you your ass. "I'm sorry I disobeyed your instruction-"
"Damn right you did," he cuts you off, arms crossed over his heaving chest. "You had a direct order to stay with me, so why did I find you with Langdon?" He stalks closer to you, just a step or two, though it feels like more.
"I-I just-" you fumble over your words, that damn cologne wafting through your nose again. "I saw a family, I thought I could help." It's a weak answer, but at least it's honest.
He nods, lips pursing together in thought.
"Guess I can't stay too mad about that," he admits, though his tone is clipped. He runs his palms over his forehead, his glasses pinched between his thumb and pointer finger as he rubs at his eyes.
You're not sure what to say next, treading carefully in the small, tense room. His silence eats at you, each second passing in agony. You watch your boss take deep, heavy breaths, committing the rise and fall of his chest to memory.
God, you wish you could rewind to a time where you weren't completely enthralled with Michael Robinavitch. Not being locked in a confine space with him would be helpful, too.
You shove your hands in your pockets, about to turn and leave when he stops you.
"Wait," he orders. You do as he says.
"I-about what I heard earlier…" he starts, and the breath is stolen from your lungs.
Your jaw drops, white hot embarrassment boiling deep in your stomach. This is what this is all about? Your cheeks burn, and you cover your face with your hands to escape his upending glare. You wish the ground would swallow you whole.
"Dr. Robby, I am so, so sorry about that," you stress, your eyes turning glassy. "It was entirely unprofessional, any patient could have heard me, and we shouldn't have been talking about that on the clock. I sincerely apologize, Sir-"
He cuts off your rambling with a sharp inhale, squeezing his eyes shut, almost as if your words pain him. He holds a hand up, glasses still in his grip. You take a moment, study the way his long, thick digits wrap around the metal.
"You can't- you can't call me that," he breathes out, a sarcastic laugh escaping his lips.
Your brows knit together in confusion, your mouth partially opened, unsure how to respond.
"I'm sorry?" You say, dumbly. It's all you can manage, shock at this new side of your boss taking over.
"You can't call me Sir. Not anymore," he avoids eye contact with you, the vein in his neck bulging.
"I'm sorry, did I do something to offend you, Dr. Robby? I promise I had no intention-"
"No-dammit," he cuts you off again, sweat starting to form at his brow. "Of course you didn't. You're one of my best nurses," he gruffs, almost annoyed at that.
"Thank you?" You respond, and he chuckles. It's a real one this time, a glint in his eye as he takes you in. Your own lips turn up in a smile.
"I just- I know it was a conversation I wasn't supposed to hear. It's just-" he plows five fingers through his hair as he struggles for the words. "All I've been able to think about since then is how I want to- you don't-you deserve so much better than that."
The last few words come out a whisper, and the world stops on its axis. Your mouth fully drops open, shock electrocuting your veins. The past few hours play back as a montage in your brain, his hesitation in the ambulance bay, the need to have you near him, his anger that you went to help Langdon.
Then, another realization dawns on you. A knowing laugh escapes your throat, and you palm your mouth closed. His brow quirks at you, red tinting his cheeks.
"Is that why I can't call you 'Sir'?" You ask, flirtation lacing your tone. "Because you want to help me out so badly?"
He pulls the collar of his sweatshirt away from his neck, fanning himself some as he once again avoids your gaze.
"Fuck!" He exclaims, ten fingers now raking their way through his mussed hair. "I can't- this is ridiculous, you're my nurse. This is entirely inappropriate-"
He rushes to the door, if only you weren't in the way. You stop him, a gentle hand on his forearm. The proximity is lethal, now. He's so close, you can hear his small pants, the tapping of his foot against linoleum.
"I mean, it would be inappropriate, yes," you start, allowing your fingers to graze his skin lightly. He shudders, and your smile is sinful. "If only I wasn't thinking about you all day, too."
His eyes snap to yours at the admission, and you can't help but flit your gaze to his lips. They're slightly chapped, the nippy fall air starting to mark its territory on his skin. They're plump all the same, though, and you wish you could brand the way he licks them onto your skin.
"Robinavitch!" Dana shouts, and you two flinch against each other.
The reality of this situation dawns on both of you, panic now taking place of the tension rumbling between you. Robby presses his fingers to his temples, eyes falling shut for a brief moment.
He pushes you toward the corner of the room, where you'd be hidden once the door opens.
"Stay here," he whispers, and the shoulder where he grips you may as well be on fire. "Give it five minutes. Then go. We can't-I-I'm sorry. I shouldn't have…" he murmurs under his breath as he swings the door open, his quick gait finding Dana at the end of the hallway.
Silence settles over you like a winter's chill. You roll your shoulders, attempting to shake out any remnants of Michael Robinavitch. You take your hair out of its clip, mussing it lightly to try to at least appear like you've been working.
You take a deep breath in, pushing it out before swinging the door open yourself, finding Robby once again delighting a patient in his special way. Your stomach churns with desire at the sight. Now that you know he wants you, too, all bets are off.
The rest of your shift is a blur, darkness soon settling over PTMC like a blanket. Your tasks feel menial, painfully routine when Robby looks at you the way he is. He's living in the back of your mind until hour twelve blissfully arrives.
It all replays in your head as you walk to the lockers, the glimmer in his eye when he looks at you, the way his knees buckle when you continuously call him 'Sir'. You swing the door open, nodding to the night shift nurses while you collect your things.
You're halfway through the vestibule, the parking lot in near distance, the sweet freedom of home calling your name. Something calls louder, though, and your head swings to the noise.
It's the door to the roof, shutting abruptly. You hear heavy footsteps clunking up the staircase, and you know all too well who it is. You stand there, the angel and devil on your shoulder debating whether or not to follow him.
You think back to the moment you guys had in the exam room, his breathlessness when you called him sir, his knees buckling when you grazed his arm with your fingers. Hell, the man blushed. More than once. You follow him.
You take a moment to appreciate the view once you're up there. The colorful leaves paint a beautiful autumnal skyline. You huff out a breath, a small puff wafting through the crisp air.
You set your bag down, slinking your arms through your pink sweatshirt. It's cold up here. Sobering. You can tell why Robby likes it up here.
"Hey," you start, and he jumps.
It makes you giggle, the pressure of being on the clock no longer pushing down on the two of you.
"Jesus Christ," he mutters, rubbing his forehead with his palm. "How'd you find me up here, huh?" He asks, a playful glint in his eye.
"Just a hunch," you smile sinfully, eyes trained on the October sky in front of you. "It's beautiful up here," you remark, as if the tension isn't suffocating.
"Yeah," he remarks, his eyes burning a hole through your cheek. "Yeah, it is."
You have a feeling he's not talking about the view.
"Robby-" you start, but it's not long before his lips are on yours.
The kiss takes your breath away, the firm press of his soft lips is a delicious contrast, enough to make you dizzy. You grip his biceps, your fingers squeezing the tough muscle there. He grunts against your lips and you ease up a little, rubbing soothing circles in apology.
"Do you know," he mutters between kisses, his hands finding your skin under your sweatshirt and scrubs, "how much," he kisses down your cheek, your neck, "I want you?" He pulls away at this question, his eyes finding yours, bewildered at his confession. He presses a kiss to your nose before pulling you closer to him again.
Your head buries into his chest, his hands relentless, exploring every square inch of your body he can reach, his lips following suit. It's you that kisses him this time, gripping his jaw and pulling him to you with a whine.
"You taste so fucking good," he groans, tongue peeking out, testing the waters.
The slide of his tongue against yours is delectable, butterflies flooding your stomach in record speed. You grip the hair at the nape of his neck, pressing him even closer to you. Your knees buckle, falling further into him as he wraps more of himself around you.
He sighs into the kiss as he hoists you around his waist, pulling you out of sight behind a wall lining the roof. Your back hits the hard cement, and Robby's hand resting on the area beside your head. His forehead presses into yours, his breathing coming out quick and shallow. Yours matches his, and you can't help but rake your nails up his stomach to his chest, reveling in the way he shivers at the contact.
"I want you so fucking bad," he grumbles, rocking his hips into yours against the wall.
"You have me," you mutter, "I'm yours."
He groans at that, a loud, pained sound that rumbles somewhere deep in your stomach. He shakes his head, then, and your heart drops.
"Not here," he pants, pressing his body further into you. You moan at the contact, his hips jerking in response. "Fuck."
He kisses you once more, then again, and again. "After what I heard today…" he trails off, pressing kisses all over your face, "about how you're only satisfied with your vibrator…" more kisses, "it made me crazy. Can't believe these idiots your age don't know what to do with a woman like you."
Heat rushes through your veins at his words, desire burning at dangerous temperatures. His kisses grow more frantic as you feel him plumping up through his pants. Your knees buckle around him, and you thrust your own hips up to meet his.
"Robby, please. I need you to at least touch me," you whisper, not above begging for this man.
Your heart clutches when he shakes his head no, though his brows are knit together in pleasure, his lips parted in a perfect 'o'. He's on the brink of snapping, you can tell. You think you know exactly what'll get him, too.
"Sir, please. I need it," you plead, widening your eyes and jutting out your bottom lip.
A groan rips out of Robby's throat, his frantic hands pushing your scrubs down just below your ass. His fingers find your folds in record time, slowly sliding up and down, collecting your wetness. You bite your lip at the contact, your eyes never leaving his.
His brows jump at your pained expression, fingers stopping for a brief moment. "This okay?" He ensures, and you nod, whining and desperate for him to move again.
"Nuh-uh," he swats your thigh and you yelp. "Is this okay? Yes or no," he demands, and you fall even limper in his arms.
"Yes, it's okay Robby," you breathe out, your hands gripping his wrist, guiding him back to you. He smiles sardonically as he finds your clit, his index finger rubbing slightly.
"Oh God," you moan, arching your back off the wall. "Faster, please faster ohmygod," you whimper out, keening when his speed picks up.
"Yeah?" He asks, a faux pity lacing his tone. "This where you use your vibrator?"
You moan in response, and he chuckles.
"Yeaahh," he draws out, a teasing gasp leaving his lips at the jerk of your hips. "You press it on this pretty clit? Make yourself cum after some asshole can't do it for you?"
You nod shamelessly, hands reaching for his biceps once again. "Please Robby, make me cum, please Sir."
A finger enters you at that, pushing a squeal out of you. He breathes another chuckle, moving his middle finger in and out slowly, trying to find a rhythm. It's hard, given your lack of space, and you wiggle your hips to try and give him a better angle.
He huffs out a breath, muttering "fuck it," before dropping to his knees, pulling your scrubs down to your ankles. You squeal at the sudden movement, his arms scooping under your legs and ass, holding you upright as his tongue finds your clit.
Heat boils in your stomach as he swirls circles into your clit. His spit and your arousal create a tantalizing friction against your most sensitive spot. You bury your hands in his hair, gripping and tugging, the vibrations of his groan against your pussy like a reward.
"So fucking delicious, holy shit," he mutters against your skin, his middle finger able to slide in easier now at this angle. He sucks your clit into his mouth, letting it go with a wet pop.
"God, Robby. Feels so good, never been this good," you whine, scraping your nails through his scalp. He shudders at this.
"Yeah? These fucking boys don't deserve you. I don't even fucking deserve you, shit-" he palms at his pants, pressing a kiss to your clit as he adds his ring finger. "Least I can do is make you cum."
Your eyes squeeze shut as white hot pressure builds in your stomach, almost too much to take. Your legs flail involuntarily, and he shushes you with sweet kisses to your clit.
"Shh, shh," he soothes, lessening his assault on your pussy. "You're okay, you can let go, I love the taste of you. So fucking delicious, can't wait to taste you."
You snap, intense waves of pleasure relentless as you writhe in his grasp, a high pitched moan wrestling its way out of your throat.
"Oh God Sir, I'm coming," you exclaim, his own groan vibrates against you, pushing you farther off the edge.
Your vision is spotty as you come down, taking advantage of the cool night air you breathe in. It takes a moment for you to set yourself back down on the ground, shaky legs beneath you like a baby deer.
Tension settles over you two once more as you take each other in. He's gorgeous- hair mussed, lips puffy, nose shining from your wetness. You can't help but smile, prompting his own in return. You take a small step forward, eyeing the obvious bulge in his pants. You raise your brows once, twice.
"Well," you start, reaching for him, "can I return the favor?"
"I can't believe I'm going to say this, but no," Robby says, and it stops you dead in your tracks.
Tears spring to your eyes, and he's quick to the damage control.
"No, no, no, it's not like that," he reassures, his hands coming to rest on your shoulders.
"I just-" he shakes his head, eyes finding his feet, then flitting back to you, "if I get my dick out in any way tonight, I'm going to end up fucking you."
You throw your hands up, unsure what the problem is there. He chuckles again.
"We're not fucking until I can treat you to a proper date. I'm not going to be one of those assholes that's just trying to get their dick wet. Can I take you out?" He asks, and it's almost bashful.
Butterflies erupt in your stomach again, your cheeks heating at his loving gaze. You nod your head, lips pursed together.
"Yeah," you mutter, "yeah. That sounds nice."
He leans in to kiss you gently on the lips. You pull him back for one more, which turns into two, three, four.
"Can I pick you up Friday? Are you working then?" He asks, and you shake your head no. He smiles, pressing another kiss to your lips.
He slips a piece of paper out of his pocket and places it in your hands, wrapping your fist closed around it.
"Text me your address. I'll be there at 7. Don't be late," he punctuates this with a kiss on the cheek before walking off.
You breathe out a sigh of disbelief, your heart racing as you unfold the number of Michael Robinavitch in your palm. This is, by far, the most unexpected outcome of your boss overhearing your conversation about vibrators. You can't complain
summary: you and robby have managed to keep your relationship a secret from your coworkers for sometime with zero complications. that is, until the new attending and a positive pregnancy test threaten to ruin everything. (6.6k)
pairing: michael robinavitch / fem!pitt crew!reader
contents: established relationship, secret relationship, implied age gap, angst, hurt/comfort, jealousy (dr. al-hashimi wants your man BAD), protective!robby, domestic bliss cw for mentions of pregnancy & pregnancy complications, brief mentions of blood, very brief mentions of puking, very brief mentions of surgical procedures, smut 18+ (MDNI): mirror sex, fingering, overstimulation, hand jobs
“Want a coffee?”
You hear Robby’s voice behind you, half-muffled, like it’s coming from underwater. The bitter stench of a fresh brew finds you a second later, followed by the man’s familiar cologne. You blink hard to remove the glaze from your eyes when his towering warmth looms behind you. Only then do you realize that you’ve been staring at the chart before you for some minutes now, still blank, with only a blinking black line looking back at you.
Robby knows you could use the pick-me-up. He can see it in your heavy eyes, still not all the way alert, even when you turn slowly to face him. You are neither pleased nor dissatisfied by his presence — and this foreign indifference from you has been haunting him for some days now. He extends the paper cup of steaming coffee to you like a peace offering, and pretends it doesn’t hurt when you snap the proverbial olive branch in half.
“Not particularly,” you answer, a little more deadpan than you mean to be, because you can feel the exhaustion down to your bones now.
You think you need coffee right now like you need to breathe, in truth, but all the websites and forums have scared you off of caffeine for the foreseeable future — or, at least, for the next seven to eight months.
Robby nods through his own coffee, which singes the tip of his tongue and stings going down just the same.
“Okay…” he lilts and clears his throat as he sets his coffee cup on the desk next to your untouched one. “Then do you wanna tell me why you’ve been avoiding me lately?”
He drags his glasses from the pocket of his dark scrubs and slides the black rims over his eyes in one fell swoop, pretending to examine your empty chart just to be closer to you. Your heart lurches into your throat when you feel his crossed arms rubbing against your back. Your skin crawls in annoyance a second later, when his warm breath fans across the exposed skin of your neck.
It’s a tug of war your body has been battling for weeks — you love everything and nothing all at once. It’s driving you as crazy as it’s probably been making the man behind you.
“I live with you, Robinavitch,” you murmur lowly, fingers click-clacking on the clunky keyboard as you type on borderline autopilot. “I couldn’t avoid you if I wanted to.”
“Well, that just makes it sound like you want to avoid me,” he scoffs.
“If I wanted to, I wouldn’t be letting you breathe down my neck right now, would I?”
Robby laughs, a sharp exhale through his broad nose. You can hear the smile in his voice as he quips, “Well, now I’m gonna stand closer just to piss you off.”
Dana watches from the other end of the circular work station, peering at the two of you over the top of her clear glasses and shaking her head to herself. Because, sure, you work with some of the smartest people the world has ever seen, but she’s the only one perceptive enough to see how lovesick the two of you are.
(It took her less than a month to find out the two of you were dating, after your return from a less-than-subtle shared week off, with your scrubs smelling less of your perfume and more of Robby’s expensive laundry detergent).
“And they say romance is dead…” the woman lilts in a gritty deadpan.
Robby laughs under his breath in response.
The distant frown on your face never wavers.
The sight finds Robby like a knife to the chest.
His brows pinch as his brown eyes squint behind his glasses. “What is with you?” he hears himself ask, a little more blunt than he intended to be. “You’ve been acting weird for days now. It’s like ever since—”
“Dr. Robby?” a familiar voice calls from the otherside of the bustling work station.
Your heads whip over your shoulders in tandem to where Dr. Baran Al-Hashimi stands at the edge of the hall. Her plush lips curl into a smile as she smooths a rogue curl back behind her ear, with the hand not clutching her tablet. The polite grin sparkles in her eyes, so brown they’re almost black against the soft canvas of her olive skin.
As if it weren’t already abundantly clear that the universe despises you, the unmerciful gods have sent the most beautiful woman on this side of Pennsylvia into the Pitt. She was older than you and far smarter than she probably realizes. The combination of her being both closer to Robby’s age and intellect has given you a complex you’re too ashamed to admit to.
“Are you busy?” she asks, dark eyes flitting between the two of you. “I don’t want to interrupt.”
Robby opens his mouth to speak, to turn her down.
You answer for him.
“No, we were just wrapping up, actually,” you tell her, plastering an artificial smile on your lips that makes Robby’s brows furrow when your dull eyes dart back to his. “Right, Dr. Robinavitch?”
He takes the hint in stride and your distant rejection on the chin.
“Uh, right…” he drawls, nodding slowly and parting from you with a huff. “What do you need, Dr. Al?”
“Well, I think there are still a few things we need to go over before we…”
Their voices disappear as they walk down the long hallway.
You mourn his warmth when he leaves. Your chest deflates with a wavering breath you didn’t know you were holding.
“So…” Santos lilts as she leans on the desk in front of you, drumming her palms on the surface. She flashes you a smile, but the wide look in her green eyes makes it look more like a grimace. “Dr. Al-Hashimi… Do we… like her?”
You shrug, still typing. “She seems nice. I guess.”
“Oh, yeah. She seems real nice…” Santos lilts in a gritty monotone, then scoffs at the look you give her. “You don’t see how close she is with Dr. Robby? Yeah, she wants a taste of that tall glass of skim milk real bad.”
“Haven’t noticed,” you respond, despite the jealousy burning like rolling lava in the pit of your stomach.
“Ew,” Whitaker blurts from the desk over, pale features screwed in disgust. “Why would you choose the worst type of milk?”
“Because men are the worst type of milk,” Santos answers like it’s obvious.
Whitaker doesn’t exactly understand her meaning, but to be fair, he rarely ever does most days. He just nods with a confused look pinching his face. “Touche…?”
The interaction from earlier that morning weighs on you all day. You can feel it physically, a heavy swirling in your stomach, that rises inevitably into your throat some hours later.
You were in the middle of performing a particularly bloody cricothyrotomy in a busy examination room with all hands on deck when it finally hit you. You were just barely able to ask Langdon to take over before the nausea could strangle you.
With Robby manning the camera shoved several inches down the sedated man’s throat, he was forced to watch you storm out, ripping off your bloody gown and gloves as you went.
“Is she okay?” Dr. Al-Hashimi wondered aloud, passing Langdon the thin blue bougie and helping him ease the instrument into the man’s open mouth.
It took Robby a second too long to realize she was asking him specifically. He blinked hard, clearing the glaze of concern from his eyes, and shook his head. “No idea…”
“Looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning,” Dr. Garcia crooned from the head of the room with a knowing smirk and a mischievous twinkle in her eyes behind her safety glasses. “Kept her up all night, didn’t ya, Robby?”
“Not the time or the place, Garcia.”
“I was just asking if you had her working late,” the woman shrugged with a feigned air of innocence. “That’s all.”
“Oh, I’m sure you were…”
Robby didn’t see you again until the procedure was done. By then, you had already puked up your breakfast and brushed your teeth with the hygiene kit typically reserved for patients. You’d gotten some of your color back, too, from where the sudden wave of nausea had you corpse-like and clammy-skinned.
“You okay?” he’d ask with concern sitting heavily in his dark brown eyes behind the glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He peers over the monitor, following your form as you pump hand sanitizer from the dispenser on the wall.
“I’m fine,” you answered instinctively, rubbing your palms together. “It was just… a lot of blood.”
“Never bothered you before.”
“I know. Weird, right?”
Robby opted not to press you on the obvious at the time, just told you to take a break for a while —“if not for you, then for me,” he’d pleaded, and thought you might listen to him for a change.
You’re much too stubborn for any of that, though, and you’ve never been entirely sure what to do with yourself when you aren’t doing something useful with your hands. It’s two of the main reasons he fell in love with you in the first place — and, coincidentally, two of the main reasons you constantly stress him out.
Robby stops suddenly in his tracks, shoes squeaking against the tile, when he passes by the security room window. He sees you through the glass, sticking post-it notes to the wall with Ahmad, the security guard, at your side.
The dry-erase board has since been cleared and labeled: “How come? How long? How many?” with various other specifications scrawled in your neat handwriting to make a makeshift grid.
The man shakes his head despite the soft smile on his face and doubles back for the door.
“You know, when I said ‘take a break,’ I meant an actual break,” he says in lieu of any real greeting. His arms strain against his scrub sleeves when he crosses them over his chest. “I didn’t mean helping these bozos out with their gambling ring.”
“Well, this bozo is about to be $100 richer, Robinavitch,” Ahmad says with a wide grin, flashing him the wad of cash he’s been collecting from miscellaneous bets all day. “Don’t worry— I’ll throw the Pitt a pizza party or something. I’m not totally heartless.”
“Good to know,” Robby nods before his eyes flit back to you.
“I like organizing,” you tell the man, when you feel his gaze boring into the back of your head. You press each of Whitaker’s bets into the proper squares — outage, $40. “I’m good at it. It helps take my mind off… everything…”
You exhale a heavy sigh and smooth the bright blue post-it onto the board.
Robby frowns, though you aren’t looking at him to see it. “Like what—?”
“How’s the grid coming along?” Dr. Al-Hashimi wonders aloud as she saunters into the security room.
Robby notices that you don’t turn your head to answer her question or to otherwise acknowledge her presence. Your shoulder just tense instead, like she’s startled you, or like her being there alone has you holding your breath. To be fair, though, Robby doesn’t turn to look at her either when she walks to stand at his side.
“Why?” Ahmad asks with a teasing grin. “Wanna get on the books?”
“Yeah, actually…” the woman lilts in a pretty voice as her dark eyes scan the slowly building grid before her. Her lips curl into a teasing grin when she finds Robby’s name scrawled along several neon orange sticky notes. “Put me down for… Flooding, four hours, and thirty patients.”
Robby scoffs to himself — it’s an exact copy of his bet, just a bit more dialed up. His eyes follow the woman’s form as she passes Ahmad a creased twenty-dollar bill. He scratches at the gray patch in his beard and jokes, “Well, that sounds awfully familiar, doesn’t it, Dr. Al?”
“Don’t worry, Dr. Robby,” she shrugs. “I’ll buy you a drink with my winnings.”
You can hear the quiet smile in her voice, even though you aren’t looking at her to see it. You can practically feel the look she’s giving Robby, too — all doe-eyed and glittering, like she knows some sort of secret she isn’t willing to share just yet.
What you can’t quite figure out, though — and what you’ve struggled to figure out for days now — is how Robby might be looking at her. He’s too secretive. Too stoic. A brick wall in every sense of the word.
His squinted eye expression never wavers, and never truly does when he’s looking at her, but you wonder what he might be thinking behind him. Does she annoy him? Does he like that she annoys him? Is her constant teasing attractive to him the way it used to be with you?
The nauseous feeling returns to your stomach in that instant, along with a distant cramping that makes your heart drop — a ring of dull, red-hot pain you can feel up into your back.
“That is… very presumptuous of you,” Robby responds with an air of indifference that borders on playful.
“Well, I happen to call that confidence,” she retorts with a similar playfulness that’s far more obvious in her pretty voice.
Your mouth parts to gulp for air when the nausea starts to strangle you once more.
“Have you talked to Dana yet?” you hear yourself ask Ahmad, though your voice sounds much further away than that, like it’s coming from someone else entirely. “I haven’t seen her name.”
“Not yet,” the taller man answers, still scribbling down Dr. Al’s bet with a pungent Sharpie you can smell from here. “I meant to catch her in the break room, but it slipped my mind—”
“I’ll go find her,” you blurt before the words have properly left the man’s mouth.
You spin on your heel, fighting back the dizziness and stumbling back a step when you find Robby much closer than anticipated. His dark eyes soften with concern; yours widen like you’re looking at a stranger.
“Excuse me, Dr. Robby,” you murmur, polite and half-strangled, as the cramping sensation swells. You duck your head from the quiet looks of worry all around you and hurry out of the room.
Robby watches you disappear through the window, unsure of whether or not to follow after you. The dilemma glues his feet to the floor.
You don’t want him near you now but, at the same time, you hate him for not coming with you. The contradiction makes you feel like puking.
Your vision goes red. The sight of blood stains your retinas, as though you had been looking at the sun for too long and are blinded with every blink. The deep crimson blotched in your panty liner was too dark and much too heavy to be the normal spotting you’d anticipated. Your mind reels for what might be the cause — the worst case scenario and then some — and you get lost in the spiral for several long minutes, all alone in the narrow stall of the E.R. bathroom.
A knock on the door brings you to life again.
A call of your name makes your heart drop to your cramping stomach.
“Robby?” you call back, rushing to pull up your scrub pants and flush the toilet behind you, despite not having actually used it.
The stall door clicks open and fills the tense quiet of the bathroom. You step out and find the man peeking through a crack in the ajar door, with only a sliver of his face on display. Despite not having the strength to smile, you manage to joke in a strangled voice, “Do you have any idea how creepy you look right now?”
Robby exhales sharply through his nose in place of a laugh. His eyes are still heavy with worry as they follow your form to the sink, where you drench your hands in foamy soap and warm water.
“Just wanted to make sure you didn’t keel over in here,” he tells you, only partially joking. “Why didn’t you tell me you were sick? I wouldn’t have let you come in today.”
“I’m not sick,” you say, definitive but still a little vague, as you reach for the paper towel dispenser at your side.
“No?” he calls when you turn your back to him. “What are you then?”
Hopefully still pregnant, you think cynically to yourself as you shut off the running faucet and chuck the crumpled paper towel in the bin. Because apparently I can’t even do that right—
“It’s just been a long day, Robby…” you confess with a heavy sigh as you close the distance between you.
“It’s barely noon,” he says.
“I know.”
You don’t look at him as you walk by, knocking gently into his shoulder as you slide past him in the doorway. The chaos of the Pitt finds you immediately — muddled conversation, constant beeping, and three nurses chasing a naked psychiatric patient down the hall. There is a strange comfort in the noise, but there’s a never-ending panic in it, too.
You struggle now to find the balance as you weave through the crowded emergency department with all the effortlessness of someone who’s mastered the sea of chaos. Robby tries to follow you, but loses you first behind a patient in a wheelchair, then another in a gurney headed for the morgue downstairs, and then by—
“Everything okay, Dr. Robby?”
He flinches when Dr. Al-Hashimi appears suddenly at his side, seemingly everywhere all at once — which is probably the exact reason why she’s one of the best attendings to ever touch this floor.
“Jesus…” the man huffs when the fleeting panic passes.
“You think you’d be used to meeting me this way by now,” the older woman jokes with a quiet laugh. Her pretty smile wavers with a flickering look of confusion when Robby’s eyes dart over her shoulder, flitting over the crowd like he’s searching for something within it. “Are you sure you’re okay? You’ve been acting off all morning.”
Robby chokes back the immediate anger that rises in his throat like bile. He understands why you’ve been dismissing him all day, now that the same suffocating concern he’s been giving you is now being pointed at him.
“Great observation, Dr. Al,” the man quips in a gritty monotone.
He steps to the side to walk past her. She steps back in front of him a second later, always so stubborn in her way. Her doe eyes harden while Robby’s widen in confusion.
“I can’t help out around here if you cut me down with something snarky every time I try to talk to you, Dr. Robinavitch.”
Robby concedes with an exhaled breath through his nose. He nods slowly to himself, raking his calloused palms down the length of his scruffy face. Muffled behind his hands, he says, “You’re right. I apologize—”
“I forgive you,” the woman nods.
“—But you can’t come in the middle of everything and expect to fix it,” Robby continues with a sterner look.
“I can try.”
“But not everybody wants you to,” he says, far kinder to her than he’s been since she got here, despite the harsh truth in his words.
She’s left stewing in them when he walks away from her and after you.
It takes Robby another five minutes to find you. You’re not with Dana at the work station, or with any of your patients, or getting a coffee in the breakroom. He’s almost certain you’ve disappeared entirely until he starts checking empty rooms. He finds you in Central 20, catches the back of your form through a sliver in the drawn curtains.
He raps his knuckles against the glass door, which squeaks quietly when he pushes it ajar. “Yell at me all you want, but I’m coming in,” he says to announce his presence, before stepping past the threshold.
He says it mostly in jest, and with a smile you can hear in his gravelly voice. The distant playfulness ebbs at the sight he finds before him — you, in front of an ultrasound machine, with tears glittering on your face beneath the white-blue fluorescent lights overhead, which you wipe haphazardly away with the back of your hand.
You drop the wand into place at the sound of Robby’s voice, stepping back from the screen as if it had burned you. Your black top falls into place over your stomach a second later.
Whatever was on the screen before has since zapped to black.
Robby’s eyes dart between it and you. A distant panic flashes across his chest. He crosses his arms as if to stifle that feeling, and clears his throat to keep it from strangling him.
“What’s… What’s this?”
You sniffle, blinking wildly at him with wet eyes and dark lashes clumped together with tears. “I… I can explain.”
He nods slowly, feigning an air of composure despite his racing heart. “Please do.”
“I, uh… I took a pregnancy test,” you confess for the first time out loud, voice wavering under the weight of your emotion. “A few weeks ago now, I think—”
“Weeks?” Robby hears himself blurt with his brows raised to his hairline. “Why… Why are you just telling me this now?”
“Because I don’t know how,” you shrug, voice cracking, as you wring your hands into a knot and ramble in a single breath: “You told me you didn’t want kids. We agreed that we didn’t want any— So I thought I’d just get rid of it, you know? So we wouldn’t have to worry about it. But I didn’t want to do that without telling you first, but I… I didn’t know how you’d take it, or the pregnancy, and so I just siked myself out—”
“Breathe,” he tells you, ducking down to meet your watery gaze as he takes slow steps towards you. He can feel the panic radiating off of you like steam.
“I was scared you were gonna leave me either way, and then Dr. Al came—”
The name gives him great pause. “Dr. Al? What does Dr. Al have to do with this?”
“Everything!” you answer, a little louder than you mean to be in your hysteria. “She’s perfect! She’s smart, she’s your age, and she’s not actively carrying your child after we agreed that’s not what we wanted— Don’t laugh!”
Robby hides his smile behind his fist.
“I’m not,” he says, struggling to choke back his laughter. “I’m not, okay? I just— I love the shit outta you, you know that?”
He closes the distance between you in a few short strides. He wraps his arms around your shoulders and pulls you into his chest, swaddling you in his inherent warmth and musky cologne. Your hands wrench in the stiff fabric of his scrubs, like you’re worried he might slip away at any moment. Your tense form deflates with a wavering sigh.
“You don’t hate me?” you wonder, muffled into his shoulder.
Your words make his heart ache.
“I couldn’t,” he tells you.
“I just… I feel so bad…”
“Why?” Robby asks with his lips against your hair, right before he presses a chaste kiss there.
“‘Cause I… I didn’t think I wanted a baby. Like, at all. And then I went to the bathroom, and there was blood, and I thought—” You cut yourself off when your voice breaks. “I thought that maybe I lost it, and it made me realize that I do want it— The baby, I mean. But that scares me even more than not having it, ‘cause I don’t know what that means for us—”
“Doesn’t have to mean anything,” he shrugs. “Doesn’t change a thing— whether you want to keep it or you don’t.”
You jerk back from him, flashing the man a teary-eyed scowl. “Don’t just say that ‘cause you don’t wanna hurt my feelings.”
“I’m not,” he promises through a chuckle you can feel rumbling in his chest. “If you don’t wanna have a baby, we’ll take care of it here. But if you do, I’m not going anywhere. I’ll even sell my motorcycle in solidarity.”
“Oh, thank god—” A teary laugh sputters from your mouth before you can stop it. It feels like it’s the first time he’s seen you smile in days. He leans in to press a kiss to it, but you keep him away with your hands to his chest. “Do you really mean it?”
“About the motorcycle?” he presses.
“About having this baby? With me?”
Robby inhales sharply through his nose, calculating his words because he only knows one thing for sure: “I wanna spend the rest of my whole life with you… I’m in it for the long haul, alright? Whatever that looks like.”
When he ducks down to kiss you again, you let him.
You exhale slowly through your nose and savor the feeling of his beard against your skin and the taste of his mouth, a mixture of coffee and spearmint and something without a name but still achingly familiar. Your fingers wrench in the collar of his scrubs to pull him impossibly closer.
The feeling of him against you is louder than the familiar voice outside.
“20 is open. Why is nobody—”
The door swings open again. The two of you just barely manage to pull away from each other when Dr. Al-Hashimi peeks in. She stills suddenly in the threshold, wide eyes darting between the two of you. She gains her bearings in a flicker of a second and calls over her shoulder as she shuts the door behind her.
“Never mind. It’s taken…”
You and Robby hold your breaths until she’s gone.
“Do you think she’ll…?”
“No,” Robby shakes his head. “She won’t tell anybody.”
Your lips curl into a quiet, crooked grin that glimmers mostly in your wet eyes. “Well, I was actually going to ask if she’ll finally stop flirting with you now, but… Good to know.”
“She’s not flirting with me,” Robby scoffs.
“She literally asked you out for drinks earlier. She couldn’t be less subtle if she tried—”
He tilts his scruffy cheek to his shoulder, dark eyes squinting in time with the quiet smile that pulls slowly at his mouth. “You get real pretty when you’re jealous. You know that?”
“Well, I’m about to get real damn adorable, Robinavitch—”
You survive the rest of your shift, but only barely.
It pains you to turn down beers with your coworkers after the fact, but you feel the exhaustion of the day down into your bones, and you opt to save yourself the embarrassment of having to come up with a lie about why you’re not drinking with the rest of them.
Robby hangs around for a bit, just to make it a little less obvious. He sips at his can of beer just long enough for you to walk out of sight before following behind you, where you wait for him at the bus stop around the corner. You make the trek to your shared home together like you do every day, and nobody’s the wiser.
The rest of them are left betting on how long it’ll take for you and Robby to finally start dating while you’re getting ready for bed alongside each other.
“Did you hear me?” the man calls over the drumming shower faucet behind you.
“Mhm,” you hum through the toothbrush in your mouth. “Something about… moving something?”
Your freshly washed hair dampens the collar of your oversized t-shirt, borrowed from Robby’s side of the closet, when you bend over to spit toothpaste into the sink.
“Moving out,” Robby corrects.
“Why would we do that?” you ask, and then, muffled through the toothbrush, say, “We’ll just turn the guest room into a nursery, and then we’ll be set. It’s easy.”
“You say that now, but I know you,” he says with such conviction that it makes you roll your eyes. Without looking at you from behind the opaque shower curtain, he continues, “And don’t roll your eyes at me, either. This baby is gonna be here before we know it, and by then, you’ll wanna get out of here and move somewhere more permanent—”
The hissing shower faucet turns off to a slow, steady drip. Robby reaches blindly for his towel, wiping it down the length of his face before wrapping the fluffy white nettle around his waist. The curtain opens with a faint swishing sound.
Your eyes remain locked on his form through the steamy bathroom mirror as he steps out onto the plush bath mat — pale skin flushed, dark hair wild on his head, scruffy chest dripping, pudgy stomach hanging over the towel.
“And, trust me, honey. The last thing you’re gonna wanna do while you’re nine-months pregnant is move,” Robby continues, meeting your glassy gaze in the mirror. “Or much less with a newborn. Could you imagine?”
You forget to respond for a long beat, with your toothbrush still caught in your mouth, softly jutting out your cheek
Robby’s brows pinch at the glassy-eyed look on your face. His lips quirk into a soft smile behind his glittering beard. “Are you even listening to me?”
“Mhm…”
“Yeah?” Robby grins wider as he closes the distance between you, bare feet padding on the tile. Warmth radiates from his freshly washed skin, which smells distinctively of sweet musky bodywash. You lean further into him, letting his towering body dampen the back of your t-shirt.
He presses his nose to your hair and leaves a chaste kiss to your temple before he mumbles there, “What’d I say then, huh?”
“You said that…” You drag the toothbrush from your mouth, talking through the spit on your tongue and the foam on the corner of your lips. “…My pregnant girlfriend is really hot and super turned on right now, so I should probably take care of that for her before the moment passes and she hates everything again.”
You feel Robby’s chuckle rumbling in his chest. “Yeah, close enough—”
He ducks down to press a longer, wetter kiss to your neck. You giggle quietly when his beard brushes the delicate skin there, shrugging him off with your shoulder as you bend softly at the waist to spit toothpaste in the sink. Robby keeps you at that angle with a wide hand smoothed over your shoulder.
“Oh, we’re doing this here?” you lilt, rinsing off your toothbrush and dropping it back into the cup beside the faucet.
“Well, I’m nothing if not proactive, honey…”
You wipe your mouth off with the hand towel beside the sink and rest your elbows on the counter’s edge. You have only a partial view of Robby’s body in the steamy mirror from this angle — a sliver of his soft stomach, the expanse of his scruffy chest, and the attentive gaze he points at his free hand that trails down your spine and over the curve of your ass.
Your breath catches when his pointer and middle finger run over the most sensitive part of you through the thin cotton of your underwear — from your drooling cunt to the top of your throbbing clit. He presses the pads of his fingertips there, and your exhale leaves in a quiet whimper as you hang your head on your crossed arms.
“Look how sensitive you are already…” Robby hums, almost sympathetically so, as he rubs his fingertips up and down the length of your clothed pussy. “I bet I’ll slip right in… What do you think?”
You nod slowly, wordlessly.
Robby grins to himself at the sight of you, already half-gone, and he’s barely even touched you.
He hooks his fingers around the hem of your panties, dragging them to the side to put your glimmering cunt on display for him. His middle finger slots effortlessly between your folds, slippery like silk under his touch. It slides within your velvety walls with little effort as your cunt clenches around him, subconsciously suckling him further inside.
Another whine sounds in the back of your throat despite yourself as the stress of the day ebbs from your body. Robby can feel it under the palm he keeps curled around your shoulder. He knows you’ll cum for him any second now with how sensitive you’ve gone, but he doesn’t say that out loud. He just keeps searching for your sweet spot as your honey leaks into his palm.
“You shouldn’t have let yourself get all pent up like this, baby…” he mutters in a low voice, slipping in his pointerfinger beside his middle with a similar ease. “Should’ve let me take care of you.”
“I’m sorry,” you hear yourself say — apologizing not just for now, but for earlier that day, and for all the days before when you refused to be open with him.
“Don’t be sorry,” Robby coos in a gravelly voice, too sweet for the sinful words that follow. “Just cum for me.”
You mourn his grounding touch when his hand leaves your shoulder. The protesting whine gets caught in your throat a second later when he curls his left arm around your waist and presses his fingers to your clit again, rubbing mercilessly at the sensitive button.
His touch is unrelenting. A honeyed pleasure starts to bloom within you almost instantly. A coil in the pit of your stomach threatens to snap, wound tight from a week or more of not being touched.
“Please fuck me,” you hear yourself beg through panted breaths as you lift your heavy head to meet Robby’s gaze in the mirror. Your eyes glaze over with pleasure. Your thighs start to tremble around his hand. You whine again, “Please fuck me…”
“This isn’t the only time you’re gonna cum tonight,” Robby promises you, warns you. “So just go ahead and cum for me. I got you.”
Your head drops back onto your arms again. Your hips buck against his fingers, chasing the pleasure and running from it all at once. You rise to the tips of your toes when the buzzing pleasure crescendos. Your body tenses, trembles, then releases when the orgasm finally hits you. You cage your bottom lip between your teeth when your leaking pussy flutters around Robby’s fingers.
“There you go…” you hear him praise through the heartbeat in your ears. “C’mon. Give it to me. I want all of it. C’mon…”
His fingers never let up, even after the high has come and gone and left nothing more than tremoring aftershocks in his wake.
Your blissful moans turn into strangled whines as the sensitivity increases — a pleasure you crave, but a pleasure that terrifies you nonetheless.
“It’s okay,” Robby rambles in a gentle coo. “I got you— It’s okay. Just give me one more. I got you.”
You whimper when his fingers drag out of your cunt. You’re left clenching around nothing when he hooks his right arm loosely around your neck, dragging you up against his scruffy chest, still damp from the shower.
Your head tips back against his shoulder as your hands curl around his biceps. You watch through lidded eyes in the foggy mirror as Robby sticks his middle and forefinger into his mouth, licking your honey from his skin and sighing at the familiar taste of you. You whine at the sinful sight, and at the man’s fingers on your clit that refuse to slow down.
Your right hand slips from his arm and reaches blindly behind you, slipping in between your bodies. The towel unknots and pools around Robby’s barefeet when your hand wraps around his stiff cock. He’s softer than velvet in your fist, and leaking pearls of precum that your thumb swipes over.
A groan sounds deep in Robby’s throat. A dazed grin tugs at your mouth.
“Cum for me,” you tell him through labored breaths.
“You first,” Robby huffs, then commands. “Put your leg up.”
You bend your knee and rest your foot on the shelf below the counter, opening yourself up for him. You sigh a low moan. Robby exhales through his nose in place of a laugh.
“You’re close again, aren’t you?” the man pants in a gruff voice, gritting his teeth through the distant stinging in his wrist — ‘cause he’d sooner lose the feeling in his hand than stop now. He smiles lazily when you nod against his shoulder, digging crescent shapes into his bicep with the hand not massaging his twitching cock.
“Hold it.”
Your breath catches at his command. It makes the warmth in the pit of your stomach swell all at once. Your body tenses instinctively to hold it off.
“Wait for me,” Robby says, breath fanning against your cheek. “I’m almost there— Fuck.”
You turn your head, and he catches your mouth with his own. He kisses you like he’s trying to swallow you whole, licks into your parted lips like he’s tasting you for the very first time. His tongue feels like velvet as it ruts against yours — you can feel every grunt that rumbles in his throat as his orgasm nears; he can feel each of your whimpers as your second one sends shockwaves down your spine.
Your thumb swipes over the sensitive head of his cock, collecting the drools of precum there, and using that as lubricant to jerk the rest of him in your fist. Robby exhales a low grunt just before he parts from you with a quiet smack.
“Cum,” he pants, eyes heavy and lips kissed. “Right now. Cum right now. Shit.”
You cum for him again, not as quick or as powerful as the one before, but still enough to bring you to your knees if it weren’t for Robby’s strong arm keeping you to his chest. You whine as the coil in your stomach unknots itself, and as Robby’s twitching cock spits warm cum along the top of your fist.
He ducks down to bury his face in your neck, nipping at the burning skin while he groans through the waves of his own orgasm. You bury your nose in his damp hair as your high comes and goes, inhaling the sweet musk of shampoo in his silky brown locks.
There’s a lazy smile hinting at the edges of your mouth when Robby catches your eye in the mirror.
You hold his gaze when you release his softening cock, flashing him the glittering pearls of milky cum on your skin as you bring your hand to your mouth. Your pink tongue darts out to lick the salty tang away. Robby exhales a rumbling groan against you at the sight.
“Just give me a second…” he says through labored breaths. “And I’ll fuck you like you want…”
“Nah, you’re down for the count, Robinavitch,” you quip with a smile, parting from him for the first time in several minutes to flip the faucet back on to wash your hands. “You’ll be asleep before you can get it up again.”
“Hey,” he scolds, feigning offense, as he reaches for the discarded towel on the floor.
“It’s okay,” you shrug with a knowing glint in your eye. “It was a long day.”
“Well, if you weren’t so greedy, I’d have you face down in the bed right now,” he says, only partially playful, as he tucks his towel into place around his hips.
“Ooh. That sounds fun,” you lilt, flicking water from your fingertips before you turn the sink off again. “Raincheck?”
“Raincheck?” Robby scoffs in amusement. “Get your ass in that bedroom.”
The act of dominance makes your chest flare with a warm feeling. You smile all giddy as you walk by him. “Think if you fuck me good enough, we’ll have twins?”
Robby laughs at your stupid joke, a sharp breath through his broad nose. “I guess we’re about to find out…”
minors, do not interact-- please! -- explicit content!
a lil drabble about jack abbot... thinking about how he'd apologize after a fight... in his own way ofc. this is all a lil sad and angsty whoops. somnophilia w/ established consent
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finally. finally, you and jack had a night lined up. a night in. no hospital, no emergencies. just the two of you.
you'd dressed up nice in that purple satin dress he bought you last month. the one that clings to your curves in all the right ways. you looked beautiful. you felt beautiful.
and you'd spent the last hour in the kitchen making his favorite: the perfect seared ribeye with garlic and rosemary, mashed potatoes, mac and cheese on the side.
the kind of meal that says i love you without needing words.
he was supposed to be here twenty minutes ago.
when the door finally opens, your heart lifts, but it sinks just as fast when you see him. he's exhausted. dark circles under his eyes, shoulders slumped, jaw tight. he grunts a greeting as he kicks off his boots, barely looking at you.
"hey," you say softly, trying to keep the disappointment out of your voice.
"hey," he mutters back, running a hand through his silver hair.
you finish plating the food, hands trembling slightly as you set everything on the table. he sits down heavily, staring at his plate like he's not entirely sure what it is.
"jack?" you try again.
"hmm?"
"how was your shift?"
"long."
that's it. that's all you get. you swallow hard, blinking back the sting in your eyes as you sit across from him. this was supposed to be your night. your time together. and he can barely look at you.
but then his eyes lift and he sees it—the way your face has fallen, the way you're trying so hard to hold it together. something in him shifts.
"i'm sorry, baby," he says quietly, his voice rough with exhaustion. "long shift. little sleep..." his eyes find yours, and there's so much guilt there it makes your chest ache.
he stands, moving around the table to cup your face in his hands. "you look beautiful," he murmurs, his thumb brushing your cheek. "i don't deserve you, sweetheart."
he leans in, kissing you softly. so sweet and tender. he holds you like you're a sacred treasure he found, like you're the only good thing in his life.
he deepens the kiss. you feel his tongue press to your bottom lip—
then his phone rings.
the sound echoes through the room, loud and jarring. he groans, pulling back reluctantly.
"don't," you plead, your voice breaking. "please, jack. don't answer it."
"i have to," he says, already pulling the phone out of his pocket. "i have to answer."
he walks into the hallway, and you hear the muffled sound of his voice answering. "abbot here."
there's a pause. a woman's voice crackles through—urgent, clipped. "dr. abbott, pile-up on the 376. multiple traumas. you're the only doctor on call tonight."
you hear his voice murmur a response. the line goes dead.
you sit there staring at the meal you made. the dress you wore. the effort you put in. and you know. you know what's coming.
when he walks back in, the guilty look on his face confirms it.
"no," you say immediately.
"sweetheart—"
"no."
tears prick at your eyes, hot and angry. "i gotta go," he says quietly. "they got multiple MVCs. they need me."
you look down at your dress again. the meal, the dishes now piled up in the kitchen sink.
"go," you say flatly, refusing to look at him.
"honey—"
"go." your voice is louder now, sharper.
"you can't expect me to stay. that's not fair. you know it—"
"oh, i know it alright," you snap, standing abruptly. "go. leave like you always do. it's what you do best."
the words escape you before you can stop them.
jack's eyes widen. for the first time since you'd met him, he looks genuinely caught off guard. "you're being cruel," he says, his voice low and dangerous. "stop it."
"yeah, i'm the one in the wrong here— while you go and leave me again."
"you're being fucking selfish," he bites back, his voice stern now. "acting like a goddamn child."
"i'm selfish?" you laugh bitterly. "because i want you to stay here with your girlfriend? got it. glad to know."
"fucking stop it," his voice roars through the room.
silence.
you can't fight the tears falling now. they spill down your cheeks in hot, angry streams as you stand there in the purple satin dress. the one he bought you, the one that was supposed to make tonight special. it feels like a costume now. a cruel joke.
you move to the kitchen on shaking legs, your vision blurred. the ribeye sits perfect on the plate, the garlic and rosemary still fragrant, the mashed potatoes smooth and buttery. the mac and cheese golden. all of it, a monument to your stupidity for believing tonight would be different.
with trembling hands, you scrape the food into the trash, watching the meal you spent an hour preparing disappear into garbage. something inside you breaks completely.
he watches from across the room, stunned into silence. neither of you willing to speak. neither willing to concede. the air between you thick with all the things left unsaid. all the nights he's left. all the promises that meant nothing.
"i'm leaving," he says, surprisingly soft. like he's already gone.
you don't reply. can't. your throat is too tight.
you watch as he walks toward the door, his boots now thrown on, heavy on the hardwood. he doesn't look back. he doesn't hesitate. he just opens the door and leaves. again.
the sound of it closing behind him is the loudest thing you've ever heard.
you stand there for a moment, still in the purple dress, surrounded by the wreckage of the evening. then you move, pulling the fabric over your head with shaking hands, letting it fall to the floor like it's poisoned- leaving it there.
you run to bed and curl up under the covers, your whole body shaking. the tears come harder now, the kind that make it impossible to breathe. your face burning hot and wet.
you cry yourself to sleep. exhausted and devastated, your heart still hammering against your ribs even as unconsciousness finally pulls you under.
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———
you sleep through the sounds of jack coming home.
the keys rattling in the lock. the boots on the hardwood floors. the rustle of fabric as he undresses quietly in the dark.
you only feel the dip in the bed from his weight, the heat of him now behind you, curled around you.
"hey, honey," he coos softly in your ear.
you're still out of it. still asleep.
"i'm home now... i'm here."
his hands run up and down your side, your arms. he softly turns you toward him. when he sees your face- the puffy eyes, the pink of your cheeks, his chest tightens.
he's devastated. guilty. wrong.
the dried tear stains streak down your cheeks like war paint, some still wet at the hairline where they've soaked into your hair. mascara smudged and running in dark rivulets down to your jaw. the makeup he loved seeing you in now ruined, destroyed by hours of crying.
your breathing is still shaky, still catching every few seconds like your body hasn't quite recovered from the breakdown.
this is what he did. the physical toll of his selfishness written all over your face.
"baby..." his voice cracks. "i'm so sorry."
his hands find your hair, pushing the strands away from your face. you stir, starting to wake.
"i'm so, so sorry, baby... so sorry."
he places a gentle kiss on your cheek, then your forehead.
"jack?..." your voice is wobbly from tears and sleep.
"hey, sweetheart... i'm home. i'm home now..."
his kisses move to your neck, soft and reverent. you're still too out of it to really reply, your body heavy with the emotion and exhaustion.
he pushes you softly onto your back, his hands gentle but purposeful.
"don't worry, baby," he whispers against your skin. "i'll make it all better. i'll fix this."
his mouth trails down to your collarbone, your stomach, between your thighs.
you cry softly as he settles between your legs, his breath warm against your skin. "i know, baby," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. "i'm sorry. let the bad man take care of it. i'll fix it all up."
his tongue finds you slowly, making deliberate strokes. you gasp—sad, relieved, confused. the pleasure mixes with the ache in your chest, and you don't know if you want to push away or pull him closer.
"jack—" you whimper, your hands finding his hair.
"shh," he soothes, his hands gripping your thighs to hold you steady. "let me make it right, sweetheart. let me show you how sorry i am."
he works you with his mouth, slow and worshipful, like he's trying to apologize with every roll of his tongue. your body responds despite everything, your hips winding against his face as the tension builds.
"that's it," he murmurs against you. "let go, baby. i got you."
you come with a broken cry, your whole body shaking as the pleasure crashes over you. he doesn't stop, working you through it until you're trembling and oversensitive.
when he finally pulls back, his lips are wet. eyes dark with need and guilt.
"i'm sorry," he whispers again, crawling up your body. "i'm so fucking sorry."
he kisses your forehead first, lingering there for a long moment. then he pulls back just enough to look at you, really look at you. his hand coming up to cup your face with surprising tenderness.
"you're everything to me," he says, his voice low and raw. "everything. and i've been treating you like you're nothing. like you don't matter. but you do. you matter more than anything— more than the hospital, more than my job, more than my own goddamn life."
he kisses you then, slow and deep, pouring every ounce of devotion into it. "i'm never doing this to you again. never. i promise you."
it's a lie. a promise that will inevitably be broken again.
but you let yourself listen to it for now.
he lines himself up, sliding into you slowly. you're still waking, still caught between sleep and overwhelming sensation, and the stretch of him makes you gasp.
"fuck," he groans, his forehead pressing against yours. "you feel so good, baby. so perfect."
he starts moving, deep, tender thrusts that make your toes curl. his hands frame your face, his thumbs brushing away the fresh tears spilling down your cheeks.
"you feel how sorry i am, baby?" he whispers. he takes your hand and guides it down to your lower belly, pressing your palm flat against your skin. "you feel it?"
you can feel it—the subtle bulge of him inside you, the way he's so deep that you can feel the shape of him through your own body.
"that's me," he groans, his hips rolling forward to make you feel it even more. "all of me inside you, baby. feel how deep i am? how much i need you?" his hand stays over yours, pressing down gently as he moves. "this is how sorry i am. this is me showing you that im righttt here. that i'm never letting you go."
"yes," you whimper, your hands clutching his shoulders.
"let me make it right," he murmurs, kissing you softly. "let me show you."
his hips roll forward, pressing himself hilt, and you can feel every inch of him. it's overwhelming. the pleasure, the emotion, the way he's looking at you like you're the only thing that matters.
"jack—" you gasp, your nails digging into his back.
"i know," he soothes, his lips brushing your temple. "i know, sweetheart. i'm here. i'm not going anywhere."
he picks up the pace slightly, his thrusts deeper now, more purposeful. you're whimpering his name, your body arching into his as the pleasure builds again.
"that's my girl," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. "so beautiful. so perfect. i don't deserve you."
"jack—" you cry out, your body trembling.
"come for me, baby," he whispers, his hand sliding between your bodies to find that sensitive spot. "let me feel you."
you shatter around him, your whole body convulsing as the orgasm rips through you. he follows with a broken groan, spilling deep inside you as he buries his face in your neck.
for a long moment, neither of you move. you're both breathing hard, tangled together in the dark.
finally, he pulls back just enough to look at you, his hand cupping your cheek.
"i'm sorry," he whispers one more time. "i love you. i'm so sorry."
you close your eyes, fresh tears spilling over. "i love you too," you whisper back.
and in that moment, wrapped up in his arms, you believe him for now.
until tomorrow. until the next call.
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----
just a lil note: i really do think canonically- jack would have this problem...
if he loved again. if he found himself in a relationship.
he would be fighting against drowning himself in work, or spending time with his partner. maybe guilt, maybe something else to it.
his work kept him afloat all these years after his wife died- so im sure he'd be fighting the instinct to work nonstop- to slow down and actually spend time with his partner. idk. just food for thought.
pairing: Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x graphic designer!afab!reader
w/c: 8.3K words
summary: You're learning how to live without him (kinda). Robby is learning what that actually means.
warnings/tags: age gap (I imagined r around 27, but I didn't specify. Robby was her first serious relationship, though), jealousy, angst, longing, language, depression, therapy.
A/N: I really hope you enjoy this part! I won't lie, I was a little nervous while writing it because I kept second-guessing where the story was going. Let me know what you think, and whether you'd ever like to see an alternative ending! (I found the Robby pics on pinterest, so credits to the owners) + Thank you @lavenderhaze967 for proofreading!
He used to wake up wishing he felt nothing. Wishing he was surrounded by darkness, by emptiness. Wishing for something close to... death.
Now he wakes up checking his phone.
He checks it on the way to the Pitt, at work between cases, even when he goes to the bathroom after washing his hands. He checks it while eating, while listening to Jack, and before going to sleep. Sometimes he even wakes up in the middle of the night, turns the TV volume down a little, and checks it again.
It has become a habit he can't seem to break. Maybe even an obsession.
He almost answered the same night he received your message, but never came that close again. He doesn't even open the keyboard anymore.
But that night?
He must have picked up his phone a dozen times. His thumb hovered over the reply button until the screen dimmed. He unlocked it again and stared at the words until they became blurry.
He knew you hadn't actually gone home with someone else. He knew exactly why you'd said it. You wanted him to picture it. To wonder. To hurt.
The worst part was that it worked anyway.
He thought about what he could possibly say. There wasn't an answer that didn't sound like a lie. Or an excuse. Or the kind of desperate confession that came too late. He came so close to begging when he finally understood how deeply he'd hurt you.
But in the end, he locked the phone and reached for a bottle instead.
One drink became another, then another, until thinking became impossible. The next morning he woke up with a splitting headache, still dressed, his phone lying exactly where he'd left it beneath his pillow.
So, for the first time in more than a decade, he called off work.
He had never done that. Not from exhaustion, not after thirty-hour shifts, not even when he probably should have. But that morning there was no chance he could walk into the Pitt and trust his own hands.
So yes, he can feel it. He feels it every fücking day of his life.
*
Jack notices before Robby realizes he's been caught.
It's after a chest tube. One of those shifts where the department hasn't stopped moving for nearly six hours. A three-car pileup on the interstate had flooded the Pitt with patients all at once: broken ribs, collapsed lungs, a shattered femur, enough blood to make the trauma bays feel too small. Robby had called Jack in early, and even then they'd barely managed to stay ahead.
By the time the last patient was stable, his scrubs were streaked with dried blood and antiseptic. His shoulders ached.
He steps into the ambulance bay, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he tries to catch a full breath. The cool air does little to clear his head. For a second, he remembers you.
You always knew the difference between a busy day and a bad one. On the bad days, you never asked questions first. You'd just come up behind him, work the tension out of his shoulders with your thumbs while he pretended to complain, then wrap your arms around his waist and stay there for a minute without saying a word.
Somehow, you always knew exactly where it hurt.
Maybe you had a gift. Or maybe you just cared.
Robby spent so much of his life expecting people not to that he'd mistaken being loved for being understood.
His phone vibrates.
Not a message, an email.
He knows that before he even looks.
Still, he unlocks it. Still, his thumb opens the same conversation. Still nothing has changed.
Can you feel it?
"You okay?"
Robby doesn't jump. He should have. Instead, he simply locks the phone and slips it into his pocket.
"Just peachy."
"You know," Jack says, "I've watched you unlock that phone at least twenty times today."
"So?"
"So you're lying."
Robby crosses his arms over his chest and drops his gaze to the concrete beneath his feet. It's an old habit, one Jack learned to recognize years ago.
"I've got patients."
"So do I." Jack sighs. "You gonna answer her?"
For half a second, Robby's first instinct is to play dumb.
Who?
He could ask it... pretend he has no idea what Jack is talking about. But it wouldn't work. Jack has known him too long for that.
"There isn't anything to answer. It's just a message."
Jack doesn't argue, like he'd expected that answer.
He just nods toward the doors, and they head back inside.
The department swallows them immediately: monitors, a trauma pager going off somewhere down the hall, Langdon and King making their way to a patient together. The usual chaos.
They stop at the nurses' station, where Dana is buried in charting, too focused to pay them any attention.
For a minute, neither of them says anything. Robby pretends to study the patient board, following the names across the screen without actually reading them. Jack watches him long enough to know it's an act.
"Okay." Another beat. "Then why haven't you deleted it?"
Robby's jaw tightens. "I don't know."
"Liar."
Robby lets out a dry laugh that doesn't sound anything like amusement. "I've never seen you this interested in my personal life."
"I'm not."
Jack folds his arms. "I'm interested in the fact that one text message has managed to get under your skin more than any patient, lawsuit, or attending ever has. More than Janey and even Collins."
Robby doesn't say anything. He doesn't even flinch when Heather is brought up.
Can you feel it?
He glances once toward where Dana had been a moment ago, finding the space empty now, as if she'd stepped away without him noticing. Then he looks back at the patient board, and the names blur into each other.
"I don't know, man," he says finally, quieter than before. "I am the one who ended it."
The words hang there a second longer than they should. He did. And it's supposed to be the right choice. The good, honorable choice. He's doing her a favor after everything she's done for him.
Robby swallows.
It's the closest thing to an admission Jack is going to get.
For now.
"Alright."
He pushes off the counter, and Robby thinks it's over.
"Still in therapy?"
It isn't.
"Yes." He went there three times in the last two weeks. Three times he'd sat in a chair and avoided talking about you directly… like keeping your name unspoken made it easier to stay in control of what he was actually feeling.
"Good," Jack says, like it's the most normal thing in the world, as if it isn't something Robby has to actively choose every week just to keep himself from slipping. "Then I'm not gonna give you my opinion."
He pauses.
"Hmm."
"What? I'll keep it to myself."
Robby almost laughs at that.
Jack has never been particularly good at keeping anything to himself. He made it very clear how he felt when he called him "dumb as fück" for breaking up with you.
They move toward the locker rooms before either of them has to think too hard about anything else.
It's one of the rare days they're on shift together. Jack is pulling a double to cover for Al-Hashimi; her kid is sick again, last-minute call-out.
Robby changes on autopilot, like his body knows what to do even if the rest of him is somewhere else entirely.
It's that familiar work-state where everything personal gets filed away for later.
And it almost works. He almost feels normal.
Can you feel it?
Can you feel it?
Can you feel it?
Almost.
"You know," Jack says, glancing sideways at him, "I saw her yesterday."
Something in Robby shifts... small, immediate. A tightening in his chest he refuses to name, refuses to let settle into anything as vulnerable as anticipation. It stays contained, buried before it can surface or, worse, explode.
He doesn't let it reach his face.
But Jack didn't even say your name.
He didn't have to.
"I saw her yesterday," Jack repeats, carefully, like he's making sure Robby actually hears him this time.
Robby's hand twitches at his side before he can stop it. An old reflex, almost unconscious.... the urge to reach for his phone, to check it again even though there's nothing new there. Just the same message he's already memorized.
But he doesn't move. He stops himself and keeps his voice even.
"What do you mean, you saw her?"
Jack glances at him.
"Outside work. She was with Santos."
That makes no sense.
Why would you hang out with Santos?
"Santos?"
"Yeah." Jack shrugs, like it's nothing. "She's been around her a lot lately. Whitaker too. Don't read into it."
Robby's jaw tightens anyway.
"I'm not reading into anything."
"Sure."
A beat.
"How…" Robby starts, then stops, recalibrating. His voice comes out more controlled the second time. "How did it happen? How did they even properly meet her?"
Jack adjusts his pace beside him, like they're still just talking about schedules and not something else entirely.
"She came by on your day off after she got her stitches removed," he says. "Brought food for everyone. Day shift and night shift."
His shoulders rise and fall.
"You know how she is. She stayed and talked to people. She thanked them and..."
A pause.
"She kind of… won them over," Jack continues. "Park too. He was here for an amputation consultation and still ended up almost laughing. She offered him a cookie like it was the most normal thing in the world."
Something in Robby tightens at that.
Park. She actually got through Park.
"Don't read into that either."
He huffs under his breath, almost amused, but it doesn't land.
"I'm not."
Jack doesn't push it.
He just keeps walking, shoes squeaking faintly against the polished floor, while changing the subject. But Robby stops listening.
Because something has already taken shape in his head, and it drowns out whatever Jack is saying.
You... not where he left you, outside his world. But inside it.
And he doesn't know what to do with that. Because in his head, it was never meant to work like this.
When you were together, he always assumed, without ever saying it out loud, that you'd remain on the edge of his work life forever. Close enough to hear about it, but never truly part of it. Kept away from the parts of his world that made him feel like a failure… the parts that left him wondering whether he existed as anything other than a doctor.
Not because he'd made a conscious decision. It was simply how he'd always lived.
Compartmentalized and contained.
Work stayed here, you stayed somewhere else.
It was easier that way. Cleaner. As if keeping the two apart meant neither could poison the other.
So when it ended, you were outside of it and he was inside.
Except you didn't stay outside after all.
You're there anyway. And somehow, that hurts more.
Most of them probably don't even know you were ever with him.
They like you because you're… you.
Even Park. That part twists something lower in his chest.
Of course you'd get through to him. Of course you'd sit in front of someone like that and make it easy, make it human, make it... normal.
Robby looks ahead, jaw tightening once before easing again, like he's trying to physically undo the thought.
For a moment, he doesn't speak.
Then, quieter to himself:
"I'm not reading into it."
But even he can hear how it doesn't hold any weight anymore.
*
He almost cancels.
He sits in his car for ten minutes, engine off, hands resting on the wheel, thinking about nothing and everything at once.
Then he goes in anyway.
"You're distracted today."
"I'm fine," he says again, but it's weak. His fingers curl slightly into his palm, like he can physically keep himself from slipping.
"How's the breakup been sitting with you this week?"
He breathes in through his nose. Too slow. Controlled in a way that takes effort.
"I made the right decision."
"That wasn't my question, Robby."
He presses a hand down to his knee instantly... like the pressure will quiet whatever's building. God, he thought he's better at this.
"I don't know what you want me to say," he says, but it comes out sharper than he meant.
"I want you to answer the question. If you can, of course."
"I'm not-" He stops, swallowing whatever he had in mind and starts again, quieter. "I'm not going to keep going over it."
The silence stretches.
Then- "What comes up when you think about it?"
"I don't feel guilty."
The response's immediate. Too immediate. Like if he says it fast enough it won't turn into anything else.
She doesn't react.
Just waits.
And that waiting does something worse than pressure, it gives him space to hear himself.
His shoulders drop a fraction before he catches it, like his body is betraying him without permission.
"I feel responsible," he says instead, quieter.
"For what?"
"For how it ended."
For hurting you.
"I was protecting her," he says, but it comes out rough, like it scraped on the way up. Like he needs to convince himself it's true.
"From what?"
That question is so simple, yet it feels like it rips something open inside him.
There's a moment where he can feel the words sitting behind his teeth, pushing forward whether he wants it or not.
"Me."
Jennifer doesn't react, and that somehow makes it worse.
Because they both know it isn't just an answer to this question.
It's something he's been carrying for longer than he wants to admit.... something he's just finally said out loud.
He looks down at his hands, like if he stares at them long enough, they'll feel like someone else's.
His chest feels tight again, like something pressing inward from the inside.
The thought comes anyway, unwanted but familiar.
He breaks things.
Not in theory or in vague, distant ways.
People.
Relationships.
Everything and everyone that gets too close for too long.
It doesn't happen all at once, it never does. It just… wears down quietly, until there's nothing left that holds.
And the worst part is he knows the pattern well enough now to see it coming before it finishes.
You would've been next.
Not because he doesn't love you.
Because he does.
Too much.
Enough to know what happens when he stays close long enough for it to matter on that level. He's not worth it.
He chose distance because staying would've meant waiting for the moment he ruined you too. He couldn't bear the thought of it, of seeing you like that... of you looking at him like he'd finally become exactly what he was afraid of being.
And now that he's said it, it doesn't feel like a justification anymore.
It's just a fact he's been avoiding naming for a long time.
Something in him has always felt like it doesn't stay contained. Like it spreads. Quiet, slow, inevitable. Like cancer. And people eventually step back before it gets worse.
He swallows, jaw tightening.
He couldn't let it reach you. Not like that...
Can you feel it?
Can you feel it?
Can you feel it?
But maybe he already waited too long anyway.
By the time he reaches home, he barely makes it past the entrance door as he leans into the wall, shaking, then sinks to the floor. His legs just stop working and his breathing turns uneven almost immediately, like his body forgets how to regulate itself.
He breaks into sobbing before he can even fully register it, his hand going to his neck, gripping his necklace like it's the only thing left to anchor him.
And right before he starts praying, all he can think is how much he misses holding you.
*
He doesn't even look away from the ceiling as he reaches over and silences it. For a moment, the apartment settles into silence.
Well, almost. The television murmurs softly in the background, left on sometime during the night as usual.
He sits up slowly and presses the heels of his hands against his eyes until the sting eases.
And for a while, he stays where he is, elbows on his knees, listening to the television fill the empty apartment with voices he isn't hearing.
Eventually, habit takes over.
He reaches for his phone.
Nothing.
No messages. No missed calls. No notifications, just an email reminding him to distribute a petition.
He almost laughs as he opens your conversation.
I'm really sorry.
Too late.
I'm not with Noelle.
Not enough.
I still love you.
Selfish.
He locks the phone.
*
The Pitt smells exactly the same, and Dana is already arguing with someone on the phone before he's even finished clocking in, waiting for Shen.
Whitaker walks past, barely balancing four coffees, and flashes him a quick smile.
"Morning, Dr. Robby."
"Morning."
Santos laughs down the hall as Dr. King nearly trips over her own feet.
Normal.
The department never stopped moving.
Somehow, he did.
*
The first few hours fly the way they always do.
He intubates, explains, reassures, documents.
His hands never hesitate.
It’s his mind that does.
Twice, he reaches for his phone between patients before remembering there won't be anything new there.
It's been almost three months. There is never going to be anything new.
By noon, he's angry at himself for still noticing.
*
"...I'm telling you, she cheated."
"She did not. You just lost after you tried to cheat."
"I only adjusted my position because-"
Whitaker snorts. "That's literally cheating."
Robby doesn't look up from the chart he's working on.
The conversation barely registers at first. Whitaker and Santos always bicker over something, and somewhere along the way, he'd grown fond of it.
Of them.
"I'm serious, though."
"I haven't laughed that hard in weeks"
"I knew she'd fit in."
Robby stops writing when he hears Dana.
"Fit in?"
Whitaker laughs.
"I still can't believe she got Park to order that drink."
"He actually ordered two."
"No."
Robby looks up just in time to catch Dana shaking her head.
No, they're talking about someone else, he tells himself.
Someone funny. Easy to be around. The kind of person who remembers everybody's names, who brought pastries because she wanted to thank the staff... who somehow managed to make even Park smile.
They have to.
"Everyone spent years trying to get that man to loosen up. And she does it in one evening."
Robby lowers his eyes to the chart again.
The station fills with quiet laughter as Santos mentions her nickname for you, and Robby's stomach twists before he understands why.
Nobody knows about you two.
Nobody is talking carefully... Nobody is choosing their words.
No one is avoiding your name or glancing his way to see if he is listening.
To them, you're just the new person everyone likes.
You're Jack's VIP.
You didn't tell them.
*
Later, he finds himself on the roof for the first time all shift. He's telling himself he just needs a break from all the crazy shit he's been doing all day. He's so lost in his thoughts he doesn't even realize Jack joins him.
"They like her."
Robby jumps a little but keeps looking ahead.
"I know."
"You never wanted her here."
"No."
"Why?"
Robby lets out a slow breath.
"I thought..." He searches for the words. "She'd be happier away from all this."
He can feel Jack's eyes burning the back of his head, but he just can't turn around. His eyes burn.
"All this?"
"The hours, and the death, and the fücked up version of me that works here."
Silence.
Robby closes his eyes as Jack sighs.
"Shame nobody thought to ask her what she wants."
Robby isn't asleep.
The television is on, of course. A documentary he's already seen three times plays quietly in the background, more noise than entertainment.
He tells himself it's nothing as he opens Instagram.
He almost never uses it. He only downloaded it months ago so he could like your photos, your posts, the little campaigns you did for brands. He never comments or sends anything. He just scrolls and closes the app again.
He scrolls once.
Twice.
Then Javadi's story appears.
He hesitates.
He shouldn't care.
He definitely shouldn't be following any of his students or former students, anyway.
The first story is exactly what he'd expect.
Coffee.
Someone filming Santos trying -and failing- to explain baseball to Whitaker.
Laughter from somewhere behind the camera.
He almost skips the next one, but then it loads.
A shaky video. Victoria turns the phone toward herself before swinging it around the table.
"There she is!"
The camera lands on you.
You're already laughing at something Santos has just said, the kind of laugh that catches you completely off guard. It lights up your whole face before you even notice Victoria is filming.
"Oh my God, stop."
You lift your coffee cup to hide behind it, smiling anyway.
"You look adorable."
"I look exhausted."
"You always look exhausted."
"That's because I keep hanging out with a bunch of emergency physicians."
The table erupts in laughter, and someone tosses a sugar packet at you.
You throw it right back.
The story ends.
Robby watches it again.
Not because he's trying to catch the conversation.
Because you're laughing.
Really laughing.
Not the careful smile you gave him while he checked your stitches. This laugh is effortless.
It reaches your eyes and it lasts barely seven seconds.
He watches every single one.
The next story loads automatically.
A group photo: Javadi, Whitaker, Santos, King, McKay, and even Langdon.
We adopted her❤️
Before he realizes what he's doing, he's already screenshotting so he can zoom in.
You're sitting beside Santos, shoulders loose, your hair tucked behind one ear.
Your healed hand curls around a coffee mug.
You look… comfortable. Like you belong there.
His gaze lingers, and something catches his eye.
The hoodie.
For one absurd second, his heart stumbles.
You're wearing his sweatshirt.
No.
Not his. There is no stain on this one.
Yours.
The oversized green hoodie he'd bought because you kept stealing his until he finally gave up and bought you one of your own. Yet you still stole it.
"You realize this defeats the purpose, right?"
"Sure. Keep pretending you don't love it."
He smiles before he can stop himself.
And it's gone just as quickly.
He closes the story.
A few seconds later, he opens it again.
Coffee.
Santos.
You laughing.
The thought comes before he can stop it.
You look lighter. Not whole (at least yet).
He knows grief too well to mistake it for happiness.
The shadows beneath your eyes tell him that much.
But you're surviving. Without him.
He sets the phone beside him on the couch.
Only five seconds pass before he picks it up again.
His chest tightens.
You're not replacing him. You're just living.
He'd spent weeks telling himself this was the point.
Leave.
Break your heart now so you'd have a chance to build something better later.
Now he's watching it happen, and he should feel relieved.
Instead, he can't seem to get enough air into his lungs.
He jumps out of bed, phone still in his hand, and wanders into the kitchen.
He opens the refrigerator, stares inside for a long moment, then closes it again.
He has no idea why he came in there.
The apartment suddenly feels too big, and quiet, and empty.
He braces both hands against the counter.
Breathes in.
Out.
Again.
Just like Jennifer taught him.
But it doesn't help.
His phone vibrates.
For one impossible, ridiculous second, hope punches him square in the chest, and he reaches for it before he can stop himself.
Jack.
Can you come in a little earlier tomorrow?
Robby lets out a laugh: short and flat. Almost embarrassed.
"Good."
The word echoes through the apartment.
Good.
This is what he wanted… you surrounded by people who make you laugh, finding your place. Building a life for yourself.
Good.
So why does it feel like something inside him is being slowly pulled apart?
Before he tries to sleep again, he opens Instagram one last time.
But the stories have already expired.
Gone.
Just like that.
*
He almost turns around twice on the drive there.
The first time at a red light, and the second when he passes the exit.
Instead, he keeps driving.
By the time Jennifer opens the office door, he already looks tired.
"You made it."
He nods.
"Barely."
A small smile crosses Jennifer's face.
"It still counts."
For the first several minutes, they talk about work.
A teenager who coded. A difficult intubation. A family he couldn't save. Anti-vaxxers refusing treatment until it was almost too late.
It's easier. Medicine always is.
Jennifer lets him speak until the stories run out.
"How have you been sleeping?"
"Fine."
"You look tired."
"I picked up a few extra shifts. Helped the night team. But I'm sleeping."
He looks toward the window before speaking again.
"I've been thinking."
"About her?"
His fingers twitch against his knee before he catches himself, but Jennifer notices.
"Whenever you are ready."
A quiet breath leaves him.
"Yes." He looks away. "Jack mentioned she's been around."
"The hospital?"
He nods.
"Around the day shift. People keep talking about her."
She doesn't ask him if he thinks it's intentionally because he's spoken about you quite a few times before.
Even though you sent that message that haunts him, Robby knows you are not a revengeful person.
"What do they say?"
"That she's funny. Kind." He lets out a sigh, eyebrows raising. "They like having her around."
Another moment of silence that Jennifer's careful not to interrupt.
Because she can see there's more.
Eventually, Robby looks at her and continues.
"It bothers me. I'm happy for her, yet it really bothers me."
"Two things can be true at once. They aren't mutually exclusive."
He nods. "I know."
"You wanted her to make friends and be happy, right?"
"Yes."
"To move on and continue her life…"
"Yes."
Jennifer studies him.
"And now she does."
He nods.
"So why does it bother you?"
They both know the answer to that. But somehow it's easier when someone else asks the question.
Easier to untangle the thoughts that have been circling in his head for weeks.
His gaze drops to the carpet as he drags a hand through his hair.
"Because..."
He swallows.
"I'm not in it."
Not in her life.
Silence settles between them, and Jennifer doesn't rush to fill it.
She lets him sit with the words… hear them outside his own head for the first time.
"I know how fücking selfish that sounds," he laugh humorlessly. "I just... I don't know how to deal with it."
"A few weeks ago," Jennifer says after a moment, "you told me you were protecting her."
He doesn't look up.
"You said she deserved better. That you made the right decision about her future."
He nods.
"But today..." She smiles gently. "You talked about how you feel."
He frowns.
"You didn't say you would've ruined her life or that you made the right decision."
His own words echo in his head.
I'm not in it.
I'm not in it.
I'm not in it.
He exhales slowly.
He hadn't even noticed.
Jennifer leans back in her chair.
"Something has changed."
He's breathless as he waits for her to continue.
"I think you're beginning to grieve the life you thought you'd have with her. The fact that you may never get to see who she becomes... while everyone else around you will."
That lands harder than he expects.
Because she's right.
He'd been so focused on surviving the breakup that he'd never stopped to think about everything that came after it.
Not calling you after work.
Not watching terrible television because you somehow made it entertaining with your reactions.
Not hearing you laugh from another room while he tried to guess what you'd decided to order for dinner.
The future he'd imagined had slipped away so quietly he almost hadn't noticed it.
"I miss her."
The words are barely audible.
Jennifer nods.
"I don't think..." His throat tightens. "I've actually said that before."
Another long silence settles between them. Then Jennifer asks,
"If she walked through that door right now, what would you do?"
He looks up.
He's heard versions of that question a hundred times before. It always sounded like a cliché.
Today, it doesn't.
He thinks for a long time before answering.
"I don't know."
A faint smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.
"I'd probably ask how her hand is."
Jennifer smiles back.
"I think you would."
He lets out a quiet breath.
"I'm pretty predictable sometimes."
"You’re doing great, Robby. Last questions."
He nods.
"When the relationship ended, who made the decision?"
His chest tightens.
"I did."
"Who decided what was best for her?"
"I did."
"Who decided she deserved someone else?"
Jennifer lets the silence linger.
"What decision did she get to make?"
He doesn't answer.
Because he already knows.
"None."
Jennifer doesn't tell him he was wrong. She never does. She never tells him exactly what to do or how he's supposed to feel.
"I wonder whether protecting someone and choosing for someone are always the same thing. Or maybe we actually protect ourselves."
He leaves quieter than he arrived.
Not shattered. Not relieved.
Just thinking.
I never gave her the chance to decide whether I was worth loving.
*
He gets home and, for the first time in weeks, does the most rational thing he can think of.
He calls Jack.
The phone barely rings once.
"You done pretending?"
Robby snorts.
"Hi to you too."
"Therapy?"
He nods to himself before remembering Jack can't see him.
"Yeah."
"How'd it go?"
Robby leans against the kitchen counter.
"It was..."
He searches for the right word.
"Different."
"Good different?"
"I don't know."
Jack chuckles softly.
"Sounds about right."
A moment passes.
"So?"
"So?"
"You gonna tell me what happened, or am I supposed to guess?"
Robby smiles despite himself.
"You guess."
Jack doesn't hesitate.
"You miss her."
Robby doesn't answer.
"Brother..."
"I thought she'd hate me."
The humor disappears from Jack's voice.
"What?"
"When we broke up."
Robby stares down at the mug he'd made out of habit but hasn't touched.
"I thought that eventually she'd realize..."
He trails off, shaking his head.
"...that I wasn't enough. That she'd wasted years on me."
Jack says nothing.
"So I ended it first."
A slow breath crackles through the speaker.
"I know."
Robby closes his eyes.
"I knew she'd move on."
He lets out a quiet laugh.
"I wanted her to."
"And?"
"I just..."
His voice falters.
"I never actually believed it would happen."
Silence stretches between them.
Then Jack speaks.
"You know what I think?"
Robby waits.
"That you decided what she'd deserve before she ever got to tell you what she wanted."
Robby rubs a hand over his face.
"You never gave her the chance to choose you. You decided she'd be happier without you."
"Yeah."
"But did she ever tell you, 'I don't choose you, Michael'? Did she ever say she wanted someone else?"
Robby presses his thumb against the bridge of his nose.
"I thought I was saving her. I was trying to protect her."
"I know."
Jack doesn't sound accusing.
"I know, I believe you."
Jack's voice softens.
"But maybe..."
He chooses his words carefully.
"...maybe you were also protecting yourself from the chance that one day she wouldn't choose you."
Robby's stomach turns.
Because it's close enough to what Jennifer had said that it doesn't feel like coincidence anymore.
"You're one of the smartest people I've ever met."
Robby groans.
"Don't."
"I'm serious. You can diagnose someone in seconds. You can make impossible decisions, have the best speeches. You'll fight like hell for complete strangers." Jack sighs. "But you didn't trust the woman that you love to make one decision for herself. Because you think you’re not worth it."
"You sound just like my therapist."
Eventually Jack laughs quietly.
"You know what she told me?"
"What?"
"She asked if we could still be friends."
Robby blinks.
"She was worried she'd lose me too."
Robby closes his eyes.
He'd been so focused on removing himself from your life that he'd never considered the people you'd come to love because of him.
Robby hesitates before deciding to tell him one more thing.
"She thinks I'm with Noelle Hastings again."
"What?"
"When she came to the Pitt, she saw Noelle hugging me." He exhales. "She thought we were together."
"And you didn't tell her she was wrong?"
"No."
"Why?"
"I thought it'd sound defensive."
Jack lets out a disbelieving laugh.
"Jesus Christ, Robby."
He doesn't argue.
"She thought you'd replaced her after a week."
The words knock the air from his lungs.
He hears your voice as clearly as if you were standing beside him.
I wish you and Noelle nothing but the best.
He'd heard the bitterness, anger, and the jealousy but not the heartbreak and the rejection underneath your tone.
Robby squeezes his eyes shut.
And every time I scratch my nails.
Down someone else's back, I hope you feel it.
Well, can you feel it?
He finally understands what you must've seen.
A man who said one thing and made every choice look like the opposite.
Who swore he was leaving to save you, then let you believe he'd replaced you a week later.
Mr. Duplicity…
"I don't know if she'll forgive you."
"...I know."
"But if she ever gives you another chance..."
Jack lets the silence linger.
"Don't decide for her."
Another pause.
"She's old enough to make her own choices."
After they hang up, Robby remains standing in the middle of his apartment, phone still in his hand.
For the first time since the breakup, he realizes what an apology would actually sound like.
Not:
I did what was best. I was trying to protect you.
Just
I'm sorry I decided for you.
*
Robby almost texts you.
He writes: I'm sorry. I wasn't with Noelle. I shouldn't have decided for you. Let’s talk, please.
But he deletes it immediately.
It sounds like he's correcting facts instead of acknowledging your pain.
He puts the phone down.
Five minutes later he picks it back up.
He opens your conversation.
Your last message still sits there.
Can you feel it?
Below it… He realizes something.
Every conversation since the breakup has been started by him.
Instructions.
Appointments.
Orders.
Every important decision has been his.
He ended it.
He decided it was best.
He decided what you needed.
He decided you shouldn't love him.
He decided you deserved someone else.
He decided.
He lets his phone down and goes to search for his notebook.
The one he bought because Jennifer told him he needed to write about how he felt.
He writes one sentence.
I was wrong.
He stares at it.
Then another.
I thought leaving was the kindest thing I could do. I never asked what you wanted.
His pen stops.
He keeps writing.
Page after page.
About Collins.
About his mother.
About Adamson.
About Jake.
About believing people are safer without him.
About thinking love eventually becomes another thing he ruins.
About how terrified he was of becoming your biggest regret.
He slowly tears every page out when he's done and the apartment falls silent again.
Impulsively, he grabs his phone, reopening your conversation.
I’m really, really sorry… Can we talk, please?
His thumb hovers.
He thinks about adding:
Only if you want.
But he decides against it.
No speeches.
No pressure.
No manipulation.
Just... this.
He presses send.
Then a few seconds later… Seen. And nothing else.
Robby sets the phone face down.
This time... he doesn't pick it back up.
He has to wait.
*
Six days pass.
Nothing.
Not a single reply.
Robby tells himself that's fair.
He'd asked.
You hadn't answered.
That was an answer too.
*
Work fills every hour.
An elderly man with sepsis and a teenager after a motorcycle crash.
Life continues exactly the way it always has.
Patients arrive and leave.
Some stay. Some don't.
Usually that's enough.
Usually medicine leaves very little room for anything else.
Not anymore.
*
"You look like shit."
Robby doesn't bother looking up.
"So do you."
Jack smirks.
"I've got an excuse."
"So do I."
Jack waits, but Robby never offers one.
*
Later, Dana catches him rereading the same CT report for the third time.
"Wrong patient."
He blinks.
"Right."
She gently slides the correct chart toward him.
"Coffee?"
"I'm fine."
She gives him a look that clearly says you're absolutely not, but thankfully lets it go.
*
Four days later.
12:17 p.m.
His phone vibrates, and he almost ignores it.
Almost.
When he sees your name, his heart stumbles.
One word.
Okay.
Nothing else.
He reads it once.
Then again and again, Enough times that the letters stop looking like a word.
His thumb hovers over the keyboard.
Thank you.
Delete.
Too much.
Are you free tomorrow?
Delete.
Too eager.
Too hopeful.
He stares at the screen for nearly a minute before typing again.
Wherever you're comfortable.
He reads it twice, then presses send before he can talk himself out of it.
Three dots appear.
Disappear.
Appear again.
Not the Pitt.
His reply is immediate.
Of course.
This time, the dots don't make him wait long.
Saturday, if you're free.
4 p.m.?
The park near you?
He doesn't realize he's smiling until his cheeks ache.
I'll be there.
He sets the phone down carefully, almost afraid that touching it again might somehow change the conversation.
A few minutes later, Langdon almost walks right into him.
He stops.
"What?"
Robby looks up.
"What?"
"You're smiling."
"Am I?"
Langdon nods once.
"I haven't seen that in a while."
Robby glances down at the coffee in his hands before waving him off.
"Must be a facial spasm."
Langdon snorts.
"Sure."
Robby takes another sip of his coffee.
The smile never quite leaves.
*
Saturday doesn't arrive fast enough.
Robby gets to the park twenty minutes early. Not because he thinks you'll leave if he's late. Sitting at home had simply become impossible.
Families sharing ice cream, dogs bark somewhere behind him, someone is playing guitar badly.
He wonders if you'll come.
You said you would. But then again... you had every reason not to.
His phone stays in his pocket.
He promised himself he wouldn't check the time every thirty seconds.
He fails anyway.
3:56.
3:58.
4:07.
Then
"Hi."
He turns. And for a second... he forgets how to breathe.
You're wearing jeans and an oversized sweater despite the warm afternoon, your sunglasses pushed up into your hair.
You look... healthy.
Still thinner than before. Still tired around the eyes.
But healthier than the last time he saw you.
He gets to his feet at once.
"Hi."
Neither of you moves.
No hug. Not even a handshake.
The distance between you suddenly feels enormous.
But you look at each other. You actually look at him after months.
"You came."
You almost smile.
"I wanted to know what you had to say."
He gestures toward the closest path.
"Do you want to walk?"
You nod once.
"Okay."
For the first several minutes, neither of you says a word.
You fall into step beside each other almost awkwardly, leaving enough space between you that neither of your arms accidentally brushes the other's.
The silence isn't comfortable.
It isn't hostile, either. It's careful.
As though one wrong word might send the whole conversation crashing down before it has the chance to begin.
Your footsteps fall out of rhythm, then back into it again.
Leaves rustle overhead. Cyclists pass every now and then, forcing one of you to step aside before drifting apart again without thinking.
The world carries on exactly as it always has.
"I almost didn't come."
"I know."
You glance at him.
"You do?"
He nods.
"I would've understood if you hadn't."
You let out a quiet breath.
"I don't think you would've."
For one instinctive moment, he almost reaches for you. His hand twitches at his side before he curls it into a fist.
But he doesn't get to comfort you from the pain he caused.
Instead, he slips both hands into his pockets and waits for you to speak when you're ready.
"I wanted to hate you," you admit with a small, humorless laugh. "God... I really tried."
"I know."
"No." You shake your head. "You don't."
Your voice trembles despite every effort to steady it.
"You have no idea how much I hated myself for not being able to just... switch it off."
You swallow.
"I kept thinking maybe if I slept with someone else..."
A bitter laugh escapes you.
"I didn't, obviously."
Your eyes stay fixed on the path.
"I think, in some twisted way, it would've been so much easier if you'd cheated on me."
The words surprise even you.
"If you'd just..."
You struggle to finish the sentence.
"...fallen out of love."
Your shoulders lift in a helpless shrug.
"I could've built a life around that."
Beside you, Robby lowers his head. His jaw tightens so hard you can see the muscle move.
"But instead..." Your voice softens. "You told me I deserved better."
A hollow laugh slips out.
"Do you know how awful that is?"
He closes his eyes for the briefest moment.
He did this to you. Made you wonder… made you suffer.
And for what?
"Every single day, I kept wondering what was so wrong with me that I wasn't even allowed to choose."
The breeze catches a strand of your hair, and you tuck it behind your ear with hands that still aren't completely steady.
Silence stretches between you.
Long enough that you wonder if he's going to answer at all.
"There was never anything wrong with you."
You stop walking.
He takes another step before realizing you've stopped, then turns back to face you.
"There was everything wrong with me."
You shake your head immediately.
"No."
He frowns.
"No?"
You meet his eyes for the first time since you'd arrived.
"No. That's what you believed."
He frowns.
"You keep talking like you're some kind of... poison. Like you'll ruin everyone who gets too close."
His gaze drops.
His gaze drops to the gravel beneath your feet.
Isn't he?
"And maybe you really believe that." You take another slow breath. "But you don't get to turn yourself into a monster just because it's easier than believing someone could love you."
He feels the words before he understands them.
They settle somewhere deep in his chest, in the place he'd spent years trying not to look.
"You loved me," he says quietly.
"I did." You don't hesitate. "Very much."
He watches you wrap your arms around yourself, fingertips disappearing beneath the sleeves of your sweater.
"You were my first serious relationship, Robby."
A small, sad smile flickers across your face.
The past tense hangs between you.
"I let my guard down with you. I wanted to fit into your world."
Your eyes drift toward the trees.
"Sometimes... it felt like you were ashamed of me."
His head lifts so quickly it almost startles you.
"I wasn't."
"I know." You meet his eyes again. "But that's how it felt."
He opens his mouth, then closes it.
Because his intentions don't erase what you lived through.
"I still..."
The words die before they reach your lips.
Your jaw tightens.
"I'm still trying to figure out what I feel."
He nods once.
"That's fair."
A couple walks past, laughing quietly to themselves. Neither of you notices until they're already gone.
"I know you loved me."
He listens carefully, trying not to think about the hole he feels in his stomach
"But I don't know if I can trust you."
"I know."
"I don't know if I ever will."
"I know."
He lets the silence settle before speaking again.
For once, he lets it exist.
"There is one thing I need you to know."
You wait.
"I wasn't with Noelle." His voice is steady. "I wasn't with anyone else during or after our relationship."
"Thanks for explaining, I believe you."
"I know that's not why we're here."
You nod. "It isn't."
"But I couldn't let you keep believing I'd replaced you."
He rubs a hand over the back of his neck.
"I'm sorry."
His voice is barely above a whisper. His eyes flicker toward yours for a second.
"For every decision I made for you. For keeping you outside the Pitt."
His eyes meet yours again.
"And for making you believe, even for a second, that you were easy to replace."
Your throat tightens.
"You asked me once what I was afraid of."
You wait.
"I think..."
He lets out a slow breath.
"I thought that if you stayed long enough… you'd wake up one morning and realize you were unhappy."
He laughs quietly at himself.
"That loving me would become the biggest mistake of your life."
His gaze drifts toward your sweater.
"The age difference. My job. The hours. My history. My depression..." He shrugs helplessly. "I kept adding reasons until I couldn't imagine you choosing me anymore."
He looks back at you before he continues. "That's not an excuse. I just want you to know where my head was."
His eyes shine.
"I hated myself so much that I became convinced you'd eventually hate me too."
Something cracks inside his chest. He sounds so lonely and lost. He can’t imagine what you must be thinking about him.
"I never thought that."
"I know."
"No." You take a step toward him before you even realize you're moving. "I really didn't, Michael."
Your eyes search his face.
"I chose you. And you were so easy to love."
He nods, tears gathering despite every effort to hold them back.
"I know that now."
A fragile smile touches his lips.
"Or I'm trying to."
He wipes quickly beneath one eye before the tear can fall.
"And I'm sorry it took losing you to believe it."
You stand there for a long time. Close enough that either of you could reach out. Neither of you does.
Eventually, you smile. It's small and sad, but real.
"I'm still angry with you."
"I figured."
"I might be angry for a long time."
"You've earned that."
The corner of your mouth twitches despite yourself.
"Don't get cocky."
He huffs a quiet laugh.
"I wasn't planning to."
"No?" You raise an eyebrow. "You broke up with me because you decided what was best for me without asking."
He sighs. For the first time, he truly tries to imagine the conversation with the roles reversed.
You looking him in the eye and deciding (for him) that he'd be happier without you. The thought twists something deep in his chest.
"Do you have any idea how infuriating that is?"
"I do now."
He gives you a small, almost hesitant smile.
"I'm glad you're doing better."
You look at him, but he doesn't answer right away.
"I tried to help. I know I couldn't, but I tried."
"You did. And you helped more than you know."
You look down at your hands.
"I heard you're seeing a therapist. Jack didn't tell me much."
"He wouldn't." A faint smile touches his face. "But... I'm really glad the two of you stayed friends."
"And I'm glad you're doing this."
He looks at you, almost surprised.
"So am I."
The words come more easily than he'd expected.
"I should've done it a long time ago."
Another moment of silence settles between you.
Then you take a slow breath.
"But I don't think we should get back together."
His smile disappears.
Not because he expected something different.vBecause hearing it still hurts like hell.
"Okay."
"But..."
He looks up.
"I also don't think today has to be goodbye."
His chest tightens.
"I don't want us to be strangers anymore."
"You don't?"
"I missed you." You let out a small, embarrassed laugh. "God... that sounds pathetic after everything that's happened."
"It doesn't."
You look away. "You were my best friend, Robby."
The words knock the air from his lungs.
He'd known it.
Somewhere, but hearing you say it out loud is something else entirely.
In so many ways that mattered, you'd been his too.
There were parts of himself only two people had ever truly seen.
You and Jack.
"And I just... I need to see whether the man standing here is the same man who left me before I can even think about dating you or simply being friends with you again."
He nods immediately.
"I understand."
"And I'm not promising anything."
"You don't have to." He lets out a slow breath. "I'll take whatever you're willing to give me."
For a while, you simply stand there.
The silence doesn't feel uncomfortable anymore.
Just... unfamiliar.
You glance toward the little café near the park entrance.
"I'm kind of thirsty."
He follows your gaze.
"You want tea?"
"I think..." A tiny smile finds its way onto your face. "Tea sounds safe."
He almost says, Let's go.
Almost. Instead, he catches himself.
"You tell me."
Your eyes lift to his and you hold his gaze for a long second before smiling.
"I hate that."
He blinks.
"What?"
"You're actually listening."
A quiet laugh escapes both of you.
"I came here fully prepared to argue with you."
"You still can."
"Oh, don't worry." Your smile grows just enough to reach your eyes. "I probably will."
You take a step toward the café before glancing back over your shoulder.
"But I think I'd rather have that tea first."
He falls into step beside you. Not ahead. Not behind. Beside.
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Summary: When Dr. Robby returns from his extended sabbatical, he discovers that the girlfriend he thought would be waiting for him has a baby bump – and absolutely hates him for leaving.
Tags/Notes: established relationship, groveling and forgiveness, acts of service, nurse!reader, pregnant!reader, getting back together, ft. trinity as a menace and dennis as a cutie
Content: pregnancy, pregnant sex (fingering), shaving scene
A/N: im not good at math <3 sorry i haven't posted in three weeks lmao
Word Count: 14.3k
The sabbatical was supposed to be three months, but somewhere around Bar Harbor Robby decided he needed more time. For what he wasn’t sure. But he knew he needed to stay far, far away from the Pitt for a little longer. With his position at the hospital safe, he stayed in New England through the end of the summer.
On his first day back, he’d been gone as long as the two of you were together. Six months. Six months without text messages or phone calls or, hell, postcards. Six months of feeling like Robby was a ghost in your life, something you had and lost that lingers around every corner. Six months of rebuilding your life after he disappeared from it.
You found out about Robby’s sabbatical the same way everyone else did, during one of his evening speeches exactly two weeks before he was scheduled to leave. Two weeks’ notice for a relationship you’d honestly believed was headed toward an engagement ring in a few months. He didn’t think to ask you, didn’t think to check in, didn’t even bother to tell you in the privacy of the home you’d basically moved into. Your life fell into brutal clarity in that moment: Robby was a huge part of your life, but you were a footnote in his.
He sent you a text five nights ago: Back in town. When can I see you?
You didn’t answer.
You don’t plan to.
The morning of September first, Jack hands off shift change seamlessly, like Robby had never left, and Robby finds his footing on the ED floor with a newness, a fluidity, a casual lightness on his shoulders that strikes everyone as foreign. A version of Robby with no tension in his shoulders and no sarcasm biting at his tongue might as well be a new doctor.
Once he has the ED machine churning on pace, Robby leans his elbows on the nurse’s station and scans the shift board. “And where’s my favorite nurse this morning? Night shift?”
Dana barely spares him a glance as she processes the last of a stack of paperwork. She’d always disapproved of Robby pursuing you, so she’s not exactly sympathetic when she tells him, “She transferred months ago. I’m sure the notice is in your email inbox if you ever get around to clearing that out.”
His mind spins at the idea of the Pitt without you – your steady hands, your shy smiles, your forgiving wit. “Transferred? Where? Why?”
“Not my business,” Dana replies with a shrug. She pushes a chart into his chest and says, “They need you in exam six.”
As Robby takes the chart and looks over it with blank eyes that don’t see a word, Princess stands up on her toes so she can meet Robby’s eyes. With a knowing but curious gaze, she tells him quietly, “She’s working at the hospital’s satellite methadone clinic up the street now. Rumor is that she had an ugly breakup with someone at the hospital and wanted to get some distance.”
Robby sucks in a sharp breath. Holds it. Lets it out slow. His eyes focus to actually look at the chart and he mutters out, “Thanks for the info.”
She adds, “Smart money’s on Frank, by the way, since they were always so close.”
Robby grits his teeth. “They weren’t that close.”
“Whatever you say, cap.”
The biggest thing Robby notices in his shift once he’s working closely with his doctors again is a change in the batch of residents he helped onboard last year. They’ve gained confidence during his absence, which he’d expected, but there’s something else. To put it briefly, there’s a lot of scowling and it’s definitely in his direction. Even Whitaker, who used to glance up for his praise like a puppy, is now averting his eyes and keeping his sentences short, professional, unsmiling. The newest batch of students and interns is all polite deference and eager introductions, but the ones he’d come to know and care for and consider friends are acting like he stinks of BO and betrayal.
In the locker room preparing for his lunch break, he approaches Dana, trying to be casual about his tone, and asks, “What’s wrong with the kids, by the way? I have a sign that says ‘ignore me’ on my back or something I didn’t notice?”
She snickers, “Maybe they’re just mad that daddy went to the gas station for milk and didn’t come back for six months.” She gives him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder and adds, “Give them some time; it’ll take a minute for people to find their rhythm around you again.”
He nods slowly and swallows, hoping that’s all this is. “Right, sure.”
The truth doesn’t even occur to him: You had been their favorite person around the hospital, his abandonment had made you leave, and they aren’t quite ready to forgive him for that.
—
It’s almost your lunch break when a whole flood of people arrives at once. You’re behind the check-in desk today and you can’t help groaning to yourself. You have to pee, your stomach has been growling non-stop for an hour, and you’re desperate to put your feet up.
You’re on autopilot as you check in patients, collect consent forms, and support doctors however you can without getting up from the desk. You’d started modified work duty this month and it’s driving you nuts not being able to do the hands-on clinical work you love. With your eyes on your monitor, the next patient enters your peripheral vision and you tell him, “I’ll be with you in just one moment.”
“No worries, gorgeous.”
Your focus snaps.
Anger rises up like bile in your throat. Part of you wants to cry, part wants to run, part wants to scream. Ultimately, with so many wars raging inside of your body, your expression goes flat as you meet Robby’s eyes. “You pick up an opioid habit while you were screwing your way up and down the eastern seaboard?”
Robby almost laughs. Almost. He hadn’t expected you to act so hostile – in his mind, you’re still the woman he loves, waiting patiently for his return home – and it pinches like frostbite. Voice soft and respectful, he offers, “I just wanted to stop by and see you.”
You set your jaw and cut back, “Well I didn’t want to see you, but I forgot that my opinion doesn’t affect your decisions.”
He sighs. “You’re still mad at me.”
You turn back to your computer and finish up the file you need to before lunch. “‘Still’ implies that eventually I’ll stop, which won’t be happening.”
“C’mon sweetheart, you can’t-”
“Don’t.” Your eyes flick up as you shake your head. “Just- just don’t.” After closing out your computer and sighing heavily, you tell him bluntly, “You’re officially eating into my lunch, so I’m gonna ask you to leave or I can get security. I’m happy either way.”
Robby presses, “Let me at least buy you lunch.”
You extend your hand and reply without emotion, “Sure, give me $20 and I’ll happily spend it.”
Robby grits his teeth and digs his heels in. “Please.”
Anxiety sparks in your chest as you realize he really isn’t going to leave without talking to you alone first. You’re going to have to stand up from behind the safety of the tall desk and half wall right in front of him. The moment was inevitable, but you’d hoped to at least be in control of it.
“Fine. Buy me lunch.” You’re almost laughing as you mutter, “Let’s see how this goes. Might as well do it in public.”
Then you get to your feet. You stretch your arms above your head, back tight from sitting all morning, and your navy scrub top rides up slightly.
Robby’s next words are breathless and desperate. “You’re pregnant.”
“Glad your eyes still work after six months of wind burn without your goddamn helmet.”
He swallows hard, barely hearing the malice in your voice now. “How- how far along?”
“Take a fucking guess, Doctor,” you huff, shouldering your bag and walking around the nurse’s station. He moves to follow you, but you point at the ‘only employees past this door’ sign and give him a mock pout. “Wait outside if you care so much.”
Robby debates for a second and says weakly, “It’s my lunch, too; I need to get back to the hospital.”
You give him a look that reeks of ‘that’s what I thought’ and say, “Then get back to the hospital. I’m immune to being left behind now.”
It’s not your hatred that hurts. It’s your apathy.
He sends you texts. You don’t reply.
He leaves you voicemails. You don’t listen.
After a few more days of silence, he’s got his head in his hands at the bar while Jack nurses a beer, pitying his sorry ass. He’s been silent for two straight beers, clearly gathering the courage to tell him the good news. It takes Jack reminding him that this is his only night off for Robby to choke out, “She’s pregnant. Very pregnant. Seven months, probably.”
“Ah.” Jack studies his best friend’s face for a long time before settling on a simple, succinct, thorough, “Fuck.”
Robby sucks in a long breath and lets it out slow. “Yeah. Fuck.”
“And she doesn’t want anything to do with you now.” It’s not a question. It’s the truth of the matter. Jack shakes his head and then gives Robby one of those pointed looks only a brother could get away with. “I don’t blame her.”
Robby balks, “You said I should go on the trip.”
“But I’m not your girlfriend.”
“And thank god for that.”
“You didn’t talk to her about leaving?”
“I didn’t realize I needed her permission.”
“You didn’t. But you should’ve wanted it.” Jack puts on that sage old friend voice and goes on, “You told me before you left that she’s the one. What the hell is wrong with you?”
“A lot. That’s why I had to go,” Robby replies, grappling with too much of himself. “Look, leaving was the right thing to do. I know that now more than ever. I figured a lot of shit out and I feel a hell of a lot better – about myself, my future, my life. But now? Now there’s going to be a baby. My baby. Our baby.” Robby gently thumps his forehead on the bartop and groans, “The whole time I was gone, I thought she’d be waiting for me when I came home. Every step of the way, I figured- I figured she’d still want me.”
“Delusions of grandeur,” Jack opines almost absently. Then he yanks Robby to sitting upright by the back of his hoodie. “She’s so far out of your league you’d have to get drafted first just to be her water boy. Why the hell would you think that?”
“Because she always waited for me,” Robby mutters, sounding so absolutely pathetic Jack debates recording it for blackmail down the road. “She- she was always there. She always stayed.”
“And you repaid her by leaving.”
Robby’s voice drops to an ashamed whisper. “I didn’t realize she loved me enough to care that I left.”
“But she did.”
“She did.” Robby stares straight ahead, through Jack and through the walls and through the world until his eyes settle back on his relationship with you – the one good part of his life that had spiraled squarely out of his control. “She was shining a light in my face, but I was too busy covering my own eyes to see her. Too deep in my own self-doubt and self-hatred to recognize what was right in front of me.”
“Alright, Socrates, pack it in.” Jack claps a hand on Robby’s back and summarizes, “You fucked it up and you need to fix it.”
“I fucked it up and I need to fix it,” Robby confirms. “But how do I even begin to say sorry for something like that?”
“She doesn’t want you to say sorry,” Jack replies. It’s effortless for him, this kind of thing. Robby is supremely jealous of how simple Jack makes it all sound. “She doesn’t want Robby the rich attractive attending anymore.”
“Flatterer.”
“Shut up. I’m saying she’s spent the last six months thinking you were gone. While you’re god knows where, she’s figuring out how to be a single mom on a nurse’s salary. So I know she doesn’t want what you used to be for her.”
Jack pauses for long enough that Robby has to sigh and prod, “You’re really gonna make me prompt you? Tell me what you think she wants.”
“She wants a dad for her kid. A real dad, not a sperm donor. She doesn’t want a boyfriend. She wants a husband. And a husband doesn’t have to run away to figure his shit out. Show up for the baby and you’re showing up for her.” Jack finishes off his beer, slaps down a handful of cash, and tells him, “Let’s get a cab. I think you need to cry yourself to sleep to figure out your next move.”
At nine a few nights later, after his shift, Robby knocks on the door of the new address he definitely didn’t steal from your personnel file. It’s a small townhouse in an okay part of town, better than your previous shoebox, but it’s still nothing compared to his spacious home further out of the city. The place he always imagined raising his family in. The place where you’d taken up half his closet, half his bathroom counterspace, half his life. Half his heart, undeniably.
When Trinity Santos answers the door, Robby nearly falls on his ass. With a green face mask cracking on her skin and her eyes burning with anger, he’s never seen her looking so full of wrath. Which is saying something. “What are you doing here, Dr. Robby?”
His brows furrow as he explains, “I was trying to see my girlfriend, but I guess I got the wrong address somehow.”
Santos scoffs and crosses her arms over her chest. “You girlfriend? Pretty sure you forfeited that title when you ditched her like she didn’t mean anything to you.”
“Woah, Jesus,” Robby chuckles, holding his hands up. “Is that the general consensus? Guess that explains all the hostility today.”
“Not hostile, just professional.”
“You were definitely hostile.”
Trinity glares. “File a complaint.”
She moves to shut the door, but he catches it with one large hand. “Is she here?”
Trinity continues to use her body to block him from entering. She knows he’d never do anything crazy like push her, but she wants to make her allegiance perfectly clear. “Yup.”
“She lives with you and Whitaker now?”
“Yup. Saving money until the last minute.”
“God.” Robby runs his hand over the back of his head. “Can I- Can I just come in and see her?”
Holding bitter eye contact, Trinity calls over her shoulder, “Do you want to see Robby?”
Your voice is immediate. There’s more hurt in it than he’d heard this morning, and something about that makes him feel hopeful. Like there might still be something for him to hold onto. “He’s here?”
“At the door.”
Robby listens as a chair squeaks across the floor and your footsteps recede toward a staircase. Away from him. Fainter now, you call, “Get rid of him.”
Trinity nods and turns back to her boss. “You heard the woman. Go home.”
“Fuck, fine. It’s getting late anyway; she should sleep.” With a rough sigh, he reaches into his inner jacket pocket and hands her an envelope. “Can you give this to her at least?”
Santos snatches it from his hand and demands, “What is it?”
“It’s ten thousand dollars.”
She rolls her eyes. “Fuck off, Robby.”
Without saying anything else, she slams the door in his face. Shaking her head, Trinity ascends the steps to the second floor, where all the bedrooms are, and knocks on your door. You answer with puffy, tear-swollen eyes. Right away, Trinity wraps you up in a hug and sighs, “He’s the worst. I’ll kill him at work tomorrow.”
You laugh, sniffle, and shake your head. “No need. I was going to have to deal with this eventually, right?”
“Yeah, but it should be your choice on your terms, not him showing up unannounced.” You nod and pull back from the hug, swiping your cheeks one more time. Trinity holds up the envelope and says, “Robby wants me to give this to you. I can rip it up or hold onto it or-”
“I’ll take it.” You smile softly at her and add, “Thanks, Trin. You shouldn’t have to deal with my drama.”
“You deal with my gay soap opera with Yo,” she points out with a conspiratorial grin.
Your reply is interrupted by the sound of Dennis emerging from his bedroom, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He’s been on the late-night shift the past couple weeks, slowly becoming nocturnal. “What’s going on?”
Trinity answers with malice lacing her tone, “Robby showed up.”
Dennis shakes his head. “Bastard.”
“You don’t have to say that,” you reply with a laugh. “I know you want to go back to being his personal assistant as soon as possible.”
“Trinity would kill me,” he mutters.
She punches him on the arm. “And I’d be right! We don’t defend shitty men who-”
“Robby’s not a shitty man; you know that,” he interrupts her. “He handled leaving in a shitty way; that doesn’t make him a shitty person.”
“You’re too forgiving, Nebraska.”
“And you’re not forgiving enough.”
You sigh sharply, “And I need to go to sleep.”
“At least open up the letter for us,” Trinity insists. “My nosiness is absolutely screaming for the intel. I won’t be able to sleep without it.”
Ripping open the envelope, you sigh, “I’m sure it’s just some stupid saccharine guilt bomb designed to make me-” Your voice falls to the ground and melts through the floorboards. There’s a folded-up note wrapped around something much more interesting. You hold it up to Trinity and Dennis and breathlessly announce, “It’s a check for ten thousand dollars.”
“Oh my god, I thought he was being a dick,” Trinity replies, her voice equally low and surprised, almost reverent – not for Robby but for the sheer amount of money. “Why the hell would he…?”
With shaking hands, you read the corresponding handwritten note to your roommates.
I don’t know whether or not when you’ll let me back into your life.
That’s up to you. I accept it. I respect that it’s your choice.
But I’m not going to be a deadbeat dad. You know I can’t do that. You know about my father. I’m never going to become him. I hope you believe that.
So this isn’t a bribe to take me back. I promise it isn’t. It’s not an apology. I’m still working on that.
It’s for our kid. For you as the mother of my child, not just the a woman I want need miss love care about. Nursery stuff, vitamins, doctor’s appointments, your favorite hot chocolate from Vino’s, anything you need until they’re born. I’m not going to let you want for anything. If money is all you’ll accept from me, then take every penny I have. Please.
I promise I won’t abandon the baby. I promise I will do whatever you need from me and more.
And I promise I love you. Both of you.
I hope you’ll Please, let me prove it.
Love,
Sincerely,
Yours,
M.
All three of you hold your breath in the space that follows Robby’s painstakingly scrawled words.
Then Dennis takes a long breath and urges, “See? He’s good. He cares. He wants to take care of you and the baby. You could do a hell of a lot worse.”
Trinity shakes her head and swallows hard. “She could do a hell of a lot better, too. He still left.”
Dennis argues, “He didn’t know she was pregnant.”
You whisper, “Do I really want a man who would only stay because of a baby?”
Knowing far too much for his own good, Dennis touches your shoulder and presses, “Do you really want any man besides him?”
You pinch the bridge of your nose and try to breathe. “I need sleep. I’ll…Fuck. I’ll let you guys know whenever I figure out what the hell I’m doing with my life.”
Trinity brushes your cheek with her thumb. “Love you, sunshine. Goodnight.”
You wish her goodnight and Dennis a good shift before retreating into your bedroom. You change into your pajamas, ignoring the tee of Robby’s that still lives in your drawer, and curl up with your thoughts. In bed on your side, you rest your hand on your bump and wish the little life inside could tell you the right thing to do.
In his home across town, all Robby knows is that he’s never felt so much relief watching $10,000 leave his account.
In the morning, on your way out, the door thumps against something heavy on the stoop. A large plastic tote with a brown bag from your favorite cafe on top of it. You call over your shoulder for Trinity and she hauls the heavy box inside while you focus on the little bag of treats with a note card stapled to it. Inside the bag is your usual order that Robby always brought into the hospital for you in the mornings, the coffee replaced by a ginger tea but the bear claw looking as delectable as ever.
I figured you might want your things back from my place. I’m sorry for being gone longer than you expected for not giving you a key in the first place for unintentionally stealing your stuff for coming by last night. I don’t want to make anything worse. M.
Trinity reads the note over your shoulder and announces, “He’s groveling.”
“What do you think I should do?”
“I think you should let him grovel.”
Biting the sweet fluffy pastry, you consider, “I don’t want to be cruel. I’m not going to keep his own baby from him.”
“Of course not. But that’s not what we’re talking about. Do you want him? Not just as your co-parent or sperm donor or whatever. A husband. A real man. Do you want to be Mrs. Robby someday soon?”
“Of course I do,” you sigh, “but I just…I don’t trust him anymore. How could I?”
“I’m just saying,” she reasons with a shrug, “if his baseline grovel is 10k, I for one would love to see where he goes from there. Maybe you’ll end up with a private plane or something.”
“Robby’s got money, but he doesn’t have that kind of money.”
“As far as we know,” she replies with a snicker. “Look, at the end of the day, you have to decide if you can trust him, so I say you tell him exactly what you need and see if he can hack it. Be blunt with him about your expectations. He can worship the ground you walk on from here on out or he can spend the rest of his life signing child support checks and seeing his kid every other weekend.”
You laugh and polish off the bear claw. “You’re a menace, Trinity Santos.”
“My specialty.” She pours herself a coffee and collects her bag. “Now do you want a ride or are you grabbing the bus?”
“It’s a beautiful morning; I don’t mind the bus.”
“Maybe Robby will get you a car.”
“Yeah,” you snort, “maybe.”
Right as your lunch break starts that afternoon, a delivery driver shows up by the staff entrance with an order bearing your name. After one of the other nurses calls you back, you take the heavy bag of absolutely heavenly-smelling Thai food and ask the driver, “Is this from Michael Robinavitch?”
“Yeah, he said you’d be expecting it.” He checks the order on his phone and reads, “The delivery instructions said ‘tell her I know for a fact she doesn’t eat enough protein to be growing a whole new person.’ Congratulations; he sounds like a nice dad.”
You shake your head and sigh. “Yeah, he can be.”
And it goes on like that for the next five days before you decide what to do. Robby always orders you lunch. None of the following meals come with messages, though, just something carefully chosen for your tastes and needs. He even remembers the way you order things – extra lime on your pad thai, salsa verde instead of pico on your tacos, and any bonus dessert he can throw in – to the point where you wonder if people at the Pitt are helping him out, campaigning for the two of you to get back together.
Robby checks his phone way too many times that entire first week that he’s back. He keeps waiting for you to text, call, email, hell he’ll even take a DM at this point. But you don’t. It’s agony. If nothing else, Trinity’s dagger-glare has dulled into more of a butter-knife-glare by Friday afternoon.
Then.
After he clocks out and heads to the parking lot, there you are. Leaning on his fucking motorcycle. You’re a vision in the waning afternoon, sunlight catching your hair and brightening your eyes. You speak first: “Can we talk?”
“Yes,” Robby answers too fast. “Of course we can. Do you…want to go somewhere else?”
“No. I don’t.” You swallow hard and then nod to a nearby bench, sitting down before he does the same. With one hand on your belly, you train your eyes forward and tell him, “You said in your note that you want to prove you love me. But I know you love me. That’s not the problem.”
Robby has to resist the urge to take your hands in his, to tilt your face toward him, to do anything that would ground your bodies together. “Tell me.”
Confirming his every fear, you whisper, “I don’t trust you enough to raise a child with you.”
Throat thick and limbs heavy, he rasps, “You don’t want me to be involved with my own kid?”
“Of course I want you to be in her life; that’s not- that’s not what I meant. But I don’t know if I can trust you to be her dad – her mom’s partner – and not just her biological father.”
The world tilts slightly.
Robby’s breath catches in his throat.
Tears sting his eyes and he blinks them back. His voice trembles alongside his hands as he confirms, “It’s a girl?
You can’t help the way that softens you. You can see the universe he’s building behind his eyes: Robby holding a pink-blanket bundle, Robby learning to braid hair, Robby being fiercely protective and achingly tender.
You want to share that life with him so badly that it hurts. To sit by his side at dance recitals and tell bedtime stories together and be real.
“Yeah,” you settle for saying, intimately quiet, just for the two of you, “she’s a girl.”
“Wow. Holy shit. A girl. A little girl. Have you-” He clears his throat and swats a tear from his cheek. “Have you picked a name yet?”
You shake your head and admit, “I have some favorites, but it wouldn’t feel right to choose by myself. Without you, I mean. She’s not just mine.” Robby lets the next few tears fall onto his scrub pants and you can’t bear to watch. So you dig around in your purse and hand over the few ultrasound pictures you’d set aside, always hoping you’d be able to give them to him. One from each of your check-ups, a timeline from blob to baby. “Here. Yours to keep.”
Robby stares down at pure gold in his hands. He looks over each photo like a precious ancient text, smiling with those lovely wrinkles of his. After looking at the most recent one for a long time, he murmurs lovingly, “She’s got your nose.”
You touch your pointer finger to the picture and reply, “And your huge feet.”
His eyes stay locked on the scan for another full minute; he’s too choked up to add anything else. Once he’s finally starting to recover from growing a new chamber of his heart so quickly, he tucks the photos into his backpack, slides onto the sidewalk in front of you like he’s about to propose, and gazes up at your face. “I’ll do anything to be yours again.”
Biting your lower lip, you nod. Slow. Thinking. “I can’t just pick up where we left off.”
“I don’t expect you to. I don’t want that.” He sits back onto the bench next to you, this time tilting his whole body towards yours. Creating space he begs you to fill. “I know we can’t exactly start over, but I- I want to be new together. I want to fix what I broke.”
“Okay,” you whisper back, trying hard not to cry. Hormones and hope make a brutal cocktail. You sniffle hard and suggest, “Trinity told me you have the weekend off. Breakfast tomorrow? Well, brunch; the baby likes to sleep in.”
“Absolutely. Anywhere you want, any time.”
Your eyes narrow. “That fancy place you took me after the first time I slept over?”
“I’ll pick you up at ten.”
You wince as the baby launches a foot into your ribcage. “Sold.”
With those dumb beautiful wide cow eyes of his, Robby asks, “Are you okay?”
“Your daughter’s beating the shit out of me,” you groan. When he laughs, though, you soften even more. Tentative, you offer, “Do you want to feel?”
Robby’s voice is ragged and desperate like you’ve never heard it. It’s heavy with love and with need and with hope. One word holds every dream he’s ever had. “Please.”
You take his hand and guide it to the spot where the baby is currently dancing a samba, watching his tender, reverent expression every moment.
“Holy shit.” Robby laughs and grins at you while the baby nudges him over and over like she’s saying hi. “That’s the most amazing thing I’ve ever felt.”
You roll your eyes and try not to smile. “Please; you’ve felt a million babies kick.”
“But this is-” He shakes his head and chuckles again at another flutter. “This is different. Is she always this active?”
“In the evening, yeah. Like she can tell I’m done with work and it’s playtime.” You put your hand over his, nothing more than an instinct, and rub your thumb over his skin. “She’s gonna terrorize us.”
‘Us’ settles, warm and cozy, in the hearth of Robby’s chest. He leans down and kisses your bump gently. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
You’re halfway through the insanely decadent strawberries-and-cream crepes you ordered when you actually get up the confidence to break the charged silence between you and Robby. He’d overly complimented your cozy but stylish enough ribbed knit dress and you’d noted his freshly trimmed beard making him look too handsome for you to think clearly. Then a healthy dose of small talk while you waited for food. Now silence.
After licking a bit of vanilla cream from the corner of your mouth, you rush out, “I want you to audition to be my husband.”
One side of Robby’s lip ticks up into a cute, amused smirk. “Shall I prepare a monologue or a musical number? Will there be a dance portion?”
You hum teasingly, “There’ll be whatever I want; that’s the whole point.”
“This has Trinity Santos written all over it.”
You shrug and relent, “She may have had a hand in the concept.”
His fork wavers in the air. “Should I fear for my life?”
“No more than you usually do around her,” you giggle, just a bit, and Robby feels part of himself taking flight at the proof of any lightness left between the two of you. Then you go on seriously (so seriously it wraps back around to adorable for him), “For the next two weeks, I’m going to tell you what I need from you and you’re going to do it as soon as you can. Every time. I want to be the most needy, most demanding, most pregnant person in the entire world. If you can survive that, you can apologize. Give me a real, thoughtful apology and I’ll accept.”
Right away, Robby nods and confirms, “Consider it done.”
You raise a challenging eyebrow. “That easy?”
He puffs up his chest a bit. “I’m an emergency room doctor; I think I can handle a few midnight craving runs.”
“Is that so?”
“I’m 100% confident.”
“Great. Love that.” You sip your drink, gaze at him over the rim, and then tell him with the most vindictive smile you can manage, “The first thing I want you to do is sell the motorcycle.”
That night, Robby’s phone rings with a call from you for the first time in six months. It wakes him from a dead sleep, but he’s been craving your custom ringtone so much that he still manages to answer within less than a second. Rubbing sleep from his eyes, he slurs out, “Hi, mama.”
“Hey, Michael.” He can clearly picture you sitting cross-legged on your bed with a menacing smile as you ask, “Can you bring me a tub of that cake batter ice cream I like? The one with the blue frosting swirl and rainbow sprinkles and the actual chunks of pound cake.”
Robby puts you on speaker so he can sit up, stretch his arms, and hit the lights. As he tugs on whatever clothes he runs into, he clarifies, “You mean the one they sell at that kitschy 24-hour diner roadside attraction thing off the highway out in Bridgeville?”
“That would be the one.” Sounding downright wistful, you tell him, “I’ve been craving it my whole pregnancy, but I felt bad asking Trinity to do nearly an hour of driving to scratch the itch.”
Robby frowns as he fumbles through tying his shoes. “You still don’t have a car?”
“I’m living with Dennis and Trinity to save money so I can get one by the time the baby needs to go to daycare,” you tell him softly, trying not to let it sound like an invitation. You swallow hard and repeat firmly, “Ice cream. One hour.”
He smiles to himself as he picks up his car keys. “See you soon.”
Before Robby opens the door to the garage, his phone pings with a text. It’s Whitaker, for some reason.
Good luck on your first mission. Her feet are killing her extra today, by the way.
With a grateful little smile, Robby grabs a tube of the cocoa butter lotion you’d put him onto back when you were together and tucks it conspiratorially in his pocket.
Noted. Thanks for the tip.
Dennis shoots off two more texts before Robby gets to driving.
I’m rooting for you.
If you could also grab me some of those real rootbeers in the dark bottles they sell there that would be great.
Robby rolls his eyes and starts the car. It takes almost exactly one hour to make his way to the neighboring town, stand in line at the Cracker-Barrel-esque diner shop, and head over to your place. It’s quiet this time of night in your neighborhood, so quiet that he doesn’t even have to knock. You answer the door in a crop top that sits on top of your bump and gray sweatpants that hang low beneath it, rolled up around your ankles. You’re visibly exhausted and need a shower and you’ve never been more beautiful.
Then you glance over his shoulder at the car still idling by the curb and your mouth falls open in shock.
“Michael David Robinavitch,” you say breathlessly, hopping down onto the stoop to get a better look, “is that a minivan?”
“Brand new Chrysler Pacifica,” he confirms, following you over and slapping his hand on the hood like it’s a sports car. “Most safety and security features in its class. Ain’t she a beaut?”
With a shy smile, you confirm, “You got rid of the motorcycle?”
Robby shrugs modestly. “Not very practical when you have kids.”
“Kids. Plural.”
He cuts you a look that’s all cocky and loving. “Yeah. Plural.” Then, before you can stop buffering and come up with a response, he slides open the side door of the van and removes his spoils. Hoisting heavy reusable bags, Robby announces, “Two gallons of ice cream as ordered. Hopefully that’ll last you until after my next shift.”
You squeal and grab one of the bags from him, practically skipping back into the house. You leave the front door open and Robby hesitantly takes it as an invitation to join you inside, lingering in the doorway as you beeline to the kitchen, scoop yourself a hearty bowl, and put the rest away in the freezer. You pause, turn to Robby, and check, “You want some?”
Robby carefully steps the rest of the way into the living room and closes the door behind him. “I think all that sugar and fat would give me a heart attack even faster than the stress.”
You sigh and flop down on the couch, lifting your feet onto the coffee table and settling the bowl on your stomach. “Try telling that to your daughter; all she wants is sugar and fat.”
“Thus why I keep sending you balanced meals to eat.”
“Thank you for that, by the way,” you lilt gently, smiling around the spoon as you indulge in the ice cream. You close your eyes and throw your head back, moaning, “Fuck, this is so good. Are you sure you don’t want any?”
“I’m happier watching you eat it,” he chuckles as he memorizes your pleased expression. It’s the first time he’s seen you so content and not on the verge of yelling at him since he’s been back. “Is there anything else I can do for you tonight?”
“Yeah, actually,” you tell him as you try to get comfortable, adjusting pillows around your limbs, “I want to hear about your trip.”
Robby’s brows go up; he genuinely hadn’t expected you to want to talk to him at all. “Really?”
“Yup.” You pat the couch next to you. “Princess kept calling it your midlife crisis fuck-a-thon, so I want to hear about all your exploits.”
Robby tilts his head to the side and says plainly, quietly, urgently, “I didn’t have sex with anyone while I was gone.”
You try to ignore the way that knowledge makes you breathless, focusing on creating perfectly balanced bites of ice cream. “You didn’t?”
“Of course not.” He shrugs, joins you on the couch, and says sheepishly, “I thought I had my girl waiting for me when I got back.”
“Girls don’t wait for men who don’t even text while they’re gone,” you murmur back, sounding more pathetic than you’d wanted.
“I know. I was really screwed up before I left because of everything with the shooting and with Langdon and I- I didn’t see anything clearly. Couldn’t.” Without making anything of it, Robby shifts your bare feet into his lap and starts to rub the arch of one with his thumbs, deep and perfect. He gives you a cheeky look and adds, “But someone I’m trying to impress told me that I had to earn the opportunity to apologize, so I won’t get into all that yet.”
You give him a pointed look. “Any particular reason you’re rubbing my feet?”
He shrugs innocently and reasons, “You’re pregnant; I’m sure they’re killing you all the time.”
“It’s just interesting timing,” you muse, “considering I was complaining about needing a foot massage to Whitaker right before he left for his shift and you just so happened to bring him that weird Pennsylvania root beer he’s been wanting.”
“A man has to have some secrets,” he murmurs. Then he removes all pretense and rucks up the legs of your sweats, takes the lotion from his pocket, and really gets down to business. While he works tension from your feet and ankles and calves, Robby tells you honestly, “All I really did on my trip was think.”
You tease, “Sounds horrible.”
“It was, a lot of the time.” Robby takes the empty bowl from your hands and sets it on the coffee table, promising to wash it before he leaves, and insists you just relax under the expert working of his hands. “I didn’t go because I needed a vacation. I needed to…reset. I watched a lot of sunsets in beautiful places, wrote in my journal twice a day, tried to get eight full hours of sleep every night.”
Your mouth falls open. “You wrote in a journal?”
“Still do,” he replies, sounding a little impressed with himself. “It helps me think. Helps me view my thoughts more rationally – see how stupid they can get, how untrue – when I can read them on the page instead of just repeating them over and over in my mind.”
“That’s really good,” you sigh, head on the cushion and eyes closed. He’s not sure if you’re talking about the journaling or the foot massage or both. Frankly, he doesn’t care. Just getting to hear your sounds of simple pleasure is enough. Interlocking your hands over your bump, you sleepily prod, “Tell me about all the beautiful sunsets, then.”
Robby knows you’re about two minutes from falling asleep, but he happily obliges regardless. He talks about the rolling Appalachians that separate Pittsburgh from the East Coast, the light over the Atlantic early in the morning, the busy cities and empty back roads alike. He talks about the old man he sat with for three hours in a coffee shop listening to him glow about his late wife. He talks about the beach where he saw a family playing and finally felt at peace about Heather’s miscarriage years ago. He talks about the synagogue in New York City where he went just to feel connected to some peace but a rabbi sought him out from the sea of faces and said the Tefilat Haderech over him. He recites the lines he remembers.
…lead us in peace and direct our steps in peace, and guide us in peace, and support us in peace, and cause us to reach our destination in life, joy, and peace…grant me grace, kindness, and mercy…bestow upon us abundant kindness…
After a while, he hears you softly snoring, but he doesn’t stop. Instead he touches your exposed belly, gently working the lotion over your stretch marks, and soothes, “Someday I’ll take you all the beautiful places I’ve seen. You’re going to have the most perfect life I can give you. You and your mom and me.”
Coming in quietly after her shift, Trinity walks into the living room, takes in the scene in front of her, and grins unabashedly. Big bad attending Dr. Robby waiting on you hand and foot just like she told you he should. Grabbing a late snack, she chuckles and praises, “Now this is what I like to see, Rob.”
Robby whispers back, “Be quiet. She’s out like a light.”
“You were just talking to her.”
He corrects, “I was talking to the baby. Mom might be asleep, but my little girl is up and kicking in there listening to my stories.”
She gives him a slap on the back as she walks by. “You’ll bore her to sleep soon enough, gramps.”
Robby’s eating leftovers in bed the next time you call on him. He pauses the TV and picks up the call. “Michael Robinavitch personal assistant service, how may I help you?”
You groan, “I want to shave my legs and I can’t reach anymore.”
He chuckles quietly and hastens to eat the last few bites of his dinner. “Sounds like something I can handle. Do I need to pick up anything to enhance your experience? Chocolate?”
Your voice perks up just a little. “Twix. Several.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And a blue raspberry slushee if you get the Twix at a 7/11.”
“I think I can manage that.”
Half an hour later, you’re in the bath sipping on a Big Gulp and wearing a bikini – much to Robby’s eye-rolling amusement, you insisted he had to earn even non-sexual nudity – while Robby lathers up your legs with your fancy moisturizing gel. You don’t miss the way he takes the time to massage the knots from your calves with those deliciously large hands. God, you missed his hands.
“You’ve got a real jungle going down here,” Robby tuts as he starts in above your ankles, working his way over your skin methodically and thoroughly, his glasses sitting low on his nose as if he’s prepping a surgical field. If this is a measure of how much he cares for you, then he’s not going to miss a single hair. “Gonna need a weed wacker for those shins.”
You glare at him. “I will send that razor straight through your hand, Michael.”
“I’m just saying you could’ve asked me a week ago.”
“I didn’t have any reason to shave my legs a week ago.”
“But you do now?” He raises a suspicious eyebrow. “Hot date?”
“With the OBGYN, yup. She’s a real hunk.”
He gives you a very pointed look at that. “Do you want me to trim your bush?”
“Michael!”
“I know you prefer to keep the topiary neat and the ground below smooth.”
“I will not hesitate to splash you.”
Robby just laughs. As he rinses off the razor and touches up some areas – he even shaves your big toes without saying a word, the gentleman – he sighs and lets his voice go low and honest. “That was a sincere offer. I’m not trying to get off on your personal maintenance, I promise. You always told me you felt uncomfortable when things got a little unruly.”
Sounding far too flirty for Robby’s sanity, you reply, “And you always told me you like unruly.”
“But it’s your body,” he replies. Earnest. Insistent. “I’m not going to push it, but it’s on the table if you change your mind. I want to do anything that will make being pregnant more comfortable for you. I know being up in the stirrups every few weeks can’t exactly be fun.”
After a moment, you whisper, barely loud enough to be heard above the gentle movement of the bath water. “You’re making it really hard to stay mad at you.”
His eyes drift up to yours. You both hold the eye contact for so long that, for some reason, tears sting at your waterline. His golden brown irises are too familiar, too warm, too full of love you’re afraid to accept and afraid to lose. Finally he says, “I want you to be mad at me until you don’t need to be anymore.”
You scoff, “You want me to be mad at you?”
He swallows hard and amends, “I want you to feel everything you need to feel. I can take it.”
And you want to kiss him.
You hate him – and you want to kiss him. So you sigh and say, “Okay.”
“Okay?”
Untying the sides of your bikini bottoms, you confirm, “Let’s trim the bush.”
He makes a show of patting his pockets before announcing, “Crap, I think I left my pruning shears at home.”
You smile and roll your eyes, grateful for his levity and the effortless way he makes you feel safe in his presence. You slip the rest of the way out of the bikini, wring it out, and hand him the sopping fabric. He hangs it over the sink and returns to his place by your side.
As he cleans off the razor again, Robby assures you, “Tell me if you want me to stop. It’s okay if you change your mind any time. You know as well as I do that the OBGYN won’t care what your vulva looks like.”
You snicker, “I know. Get to it, doc.”
Robby chuckles, sinks his hands into the water, and guides your legs apart just enough to give him access. When his fingertips graze your labia, he hisses in a needy breath at the familiar feel of your soft lips. Then he curses softly, shaking his head with a laugh. “Sorry, sorry. Reflexive reaction. Nothing short of professionalism from here on out.”
You laugh, “It’s okay. Glad to know someone still finds me remotely attractive even though I feel like a beached whale.”
“You’ve never been more attractive,” he says quietly. Quickly. But he doesn’t let it hang. He gives a sharp soldier’s nod and gets to work, using his precise doctor’s fingertips to guide his motions. “You know, the last time I did this, it was because a woman had superglue in her pubes. Gluing her shut.”
You wince. “Jesus fuck. How does something like that even happen?”
He shrugs. “Freak sex accident, I’m assuming. That’s half the job.” Then he furrows his brow and drags his fingers up your innermost thigh, cleaning up the edges. “Alright, no more jokes, I’ve gotta focus when I’m relying on touch.”
You roll your eyes. “Yes, sir.”
You close your eyes and lean your head back on the bath pillow Robby ordered to be delivered to your place a few nights ago. In the low light with a backdrop of soothing water sounds, you relax easily; Michael’s touch could never be unfamiliar to you. He uses the fingers of one hand to guide the other, methodically following his own touch along your labia, down near your entrance, up towards your clit. You try to control your breathing as his confident motions start to work some neglected parts of your brain. When he gently pushes against your mons to make the skin straighter and easier to shave, the heel of his hand rests against your clit and you can barely think. He’s not doing it on purpose – that much is clear from how he’s got his tongue slightly out in focus, attuned only to what he’s doing – but it’s working you up nonetheless.
Your shaky voice breaks through the silence. “Michael?”
Totally concentrated on the task at hand, he slows his hands and offers, “Hm?”
Like a guilty child, you admit, “You’re turning me on.”
Right away, he withdraws his hands from under the water and moves away from the tub. “Shit, I’m sorry. I swear I wasn’t trying to do any-”
“No, it’s- it’s okay,” you assure quickly. “I just haven’t been able to, um, do anything about, ah, that particular sort of thing for the last two-ish months. I’m a little…pent up. I didn’t want to, like, start moaning or something on accident.”
Robby hesitates. There’s a war in his eyes. You watch his adam’s apple bob as he swallows hard, trying not to think about anything at all. His cheeks turn red the way you always teased him for and he opens his mouth to talk. Closes it again. Repeats that a few times.
Ultimately, he doesn’t say a thing, just waits for you to lead.
You love him for not offering, for not cracking a joke, for not deflecting. He just creates space for you, leaning against your counter and keeping his eyes on your face. The man in front of you is the same Robby you’ve adored for years and claimed as yours for months, but he’s different, too. There’s a calm to him you haven’t seen before. When Robby used to touch you, it was hot and claiming and craving and yearning. You felt his desperation in every kiss. This man is waiting. Deferent.
For the first time, you’re in charge. You get to decide.
So you decide.
Gently, certain but sheepish, you ask, “Would you mind, um, helping me out with that?”
His voice is strangled and his face is contorted into something akin to agony. “Are you sure?”
“I don’t want to change anything with where we’re at right now,” you clarify, speaking slow, like you’re worried about a nervous cat darting, “but I could really use some relief on that front. If that- if that wouldn’t be too weird.”
“Weird?” Robby laughs and rubs the back of his neck. “No, it wouldn’t be weird.”
“What would it be, then?”
He takes in a shaky breath and replies, “It wouldn’t have to be something.” Sitting down by the tub again, he says, “I said I’d do anything to make you comfortable. Anything.” He lets his hand once again drift below the water, looking at you like it’s a challenge. “I’m not a chicken about fingering a girl when she needs some help.” As his thumb ghosts over your clit, you gasp and stifle the ensuing moan with the back of your hand. Suppressing a self-satisfied smirk, Robby reminds you, “Just tell me if you want me to stop. This isn’t about me.”
You nod eagerly and tilt your hips forward to give him better access. Robby shakes his head a bit; you were always so greedy for him to touch you and it doesn’t seem like that’s changed. Robby uses the pad of his thumb to work your clit, keeping firm contact as he rubs it in small circles, not too fast but not teasing, either. Your need is obvious in the fast rising and falling of your chest, the twitching in your thighs, the way you bite your lower lip and pinch your eyes shut. He treats this like what it is: Relief.
When he can tell you’re wanting more – letting out those soft and desperate little moans he always replays when he jerks off – he dips his other hand between your legs and feels between your lips. You’re wet and begging and he’s not going to deny you for even a second. With the water not letting anything get particularly lubricated, Robby keeps his fingers seated inside of you, curling them instead of thrusting. Your pretty lips fall open in a pleased ‘o’ and Robby’s borderline dizzy from how good it feels to get you off again. He’s not sure if it’s the pregnancy or the desperation but you feel downright swollen with lust, hot and plush and like he could spend the rest of his life keeping you knocked up and-
Woah, asshole.
Calm down.
He takes a deep breath of his own, matching one of yours, and focuses back on you and not on his achingly hard cock straining for freedom from his sweats. As he massages your g-spot way too effortlessly, the palm of his other hand pulls the hood of your clit back slightly, just enough to light your nerves on fire from the intensity of his touch. Heat rises in your cheeks, your chest, your thighs. Robby knows how to work a long, hard orgasm out of you. He never rushes. He matches the curls of his fingers with his thumb on your clit and doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow, doesn’t race. He lets you feel every singular sparking second until you’re tightening up around him, your toes curling, your thighs clamping around his hand, your back arching as much as it’ll allow.
All Robby gives himself permission to say as you cum around his fingers is a soft, loving, “There you go. That’s it.”
When your pussy finally starts to release him, only faint fluttery aftershocks remaining, Robby pulls out of you, resists the urge to lick his fingers, and wipes his hands dry. He shuts his eyes for a second and takes a deep breath before he can bear to look at you. The sweat on your brow, the blown darkness of your pupils, the slight swell from biting your lower lip. You’re too beautiful for him to cope with. Robby gazes at you only as long as he can handle before averting his eyes.
To distract himself from the goddess bathing below him, Robby absently strokes your oversized towel hanging on the nearby rack and offers, “Ready to get out? I’ll help you up.”
Still breathless, you stare up at Robby in surprise. He didn’t kiss you, didn’t ask for any pleasure in exchange, only gave you what you needed, what you asked for. Pure, unadulterated respect. For your body, your boundaries, your desires. That’s so much sexier than the desperate love the two of you used to make between agonized sheets. “That would be good. Thank you.”
Robby pulls the stopper on the tub and extends his strong hands for you. Your eyes lock together as you stand with a groan. As he wraps you up in the towel, he holds your shoulders a moment and says urgently, earnestly, “Anything. Any time.”
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
In the morning, Robby’s securing his sleeves with his nicest cufflinks when you call him exactly when he’d expected. He may have snooped on your calendar – it was hanging on your wall as he helped you into bed, sue him – and saw that your OGBYN appointment this morning is, in fact, your third trimester anatomy scan at 9:00am. He knew as soon as he saw it that you were going to ask him to come at the last minute, so he’d asked Jack to stay a few hours late and he’d do the same at night.
He picks up the phone, trying not to sound to pleased with himself. “What can I do for you, oh glorious mother of my child?”
“Laying it on thick already,” you tease. He can hear you talking around your toothbrush and the image makes him smile as he smooths out his charcoal gray blazer and applies a few dabs of cologne. “Would you mind coming to my ultrasound with me today? Trinity was supposed to drive me but I guess she can’t now.”
Robby grins from ear to ear when he catches you in the blatant lie. Trinity’s working a double, which of course Robby would know as her supervisor. You were never planning on asking anyone else. Tucking that knowledge away in a secret place in his heart, Robby nudges, “Do you need a ride or am I invited in?”
“It’s your baby, dumbass,” you reply, the words half-formed now as you floss. After you rinse and spit again, you tell him more seriously, “I want you there.”
“You do?”
There’s a beat of silence where he’s worried he’s pushed too far. But then you say, “Yeah, I do. I wish you could’ve been there for the first few.”
With a deep breath, he replies, “Me too. I’d give anything to go back and-” He takes another deep breath and shakes his head at himself. “I’ll be there to pick you up in a few, okay?”
“See you soon, Michael.”
“Lo- See you, sweetheart.”
When you see Robby leaning against that goddamn minivan, you nearly jump his bones. He’s wearing slim-cut jeans that make his thighs look like tree trunks, his white button-down is undone just enough to show off some chest hair, and he’s got on a fucking blazer. A blazer. The bastard. When did he start putting mousse in his hair to make it so…tousled? Touchable. You can just imagine grabbing it while you ride him into oblivion.
Robby can’t suppress the very similar thoughts he’s having at seeing your outfit. You’re wearing a tea-length floral skirt with a slouchy, oversized sweater half-tucked into it. You look so comfy. Something about how soft and domestic you look as you approach him with your lace-hemmed socks and your oversized travel mug of tea is driving him crazy. He sees his whole life walking toward him with a sleepy smile on her lips.
Trying not to gawk too hard, you eye him up and down and say, “Michael, you look-” sexy as all fuck “-very handsome.”
He puffs up his chest. “Gotta look good; it’s my first time seeing my baby girl. I need to make a solid first impression.”
You roll your eyes, grinning as Robby pulls open the front door. “She can’t see you through my organs, babe.”
You don’t notice the word slipping out, so Robby doesn’t call attention to it. He just makes sure you’re buckled in and then sits on your other side with a glow in his gut. Then he reaches into his messenger bag in the backseat and hands over a king-sized Twix before starting the car and heading toward the hospital.
As you greedily open the wrapper, you hum, “What happened to Mr. Balanced Meal With Lots of Protein?”
“Mr. Balanced Meal With Lots of Protein knows you’re having your favorite burger with bacon and an egg on it from your favorite dive for lunch, on me,” he replies, glancing at you knowingly over the tops of his too-sexy sunglasses. “Throw in a side of sweet potato fries and I’m pretty sure science says that balances out a chocolate bar or two.”
You give a mock-salute with the half-eaten Twix. “Whatever you say, doctor.”
When Robby parks in his reserved spot near the ED, you both seem to realize the same thing at the same time. Robby stiffens up in his seat and offers, “I’m sorry; I wasn’t thinking. I can, ah, drop you off at the main entrance and meet you inside?”
You turn to him with one of those soft, shy smiles that made his heart stammer every time he looked your way when you started in the Pitt. “It’s okay. Really. I mean, you’re gonna be on paternity leave in at most ten weeks, so it’s not exactly a secret, right?”
“Fair point,” he concedes. “You know they’re gonna make it a whole thing, right?”
“Of course I do.”
“There might even be cake by the time we’re done.”
“God forbid.”
“Alright, fuck it.” Robby kills the engine and then walks around to your side of the van, helping you get your footing. “Let’s announce our lovechild to the world.”
“They probably already know; Trinity isn’t the most tight-lipped person,” you reason as he guides you with a large hand on the small of your back. It feels too protective and grounding for you to even pretend to protest.
“Jack didn’t know until I told him.”
“Because he’s such a notorious gossip.”
Robby can’t even respond because, as soon as you’re through the staff entrance, Dana’s staring straight forward at the two of you. Without moving her eyes from your stomach, she beelines your direction and gasps. After wrapping you up in a a warm hug, she looks you over and, disbelieving, mutters, “Holy hell, you are extremely pregnant.”
“Not extremely,” you balk as if it’s a ridiculous idea, “30 weeks.”
Dana seems to notice Robby’s presence and she narrows her eyes suspiciously, running the numbers in her head. “Thirty weeks, eh? Is that a new Robinavitch she’s growing?”
You absolutely beam when Robby blushes like a middle schooler. He confirms, “Yeah, that would be my little girl.”
“A girl!” Dana hugs both of you again and then looks at you seriously. “This one treating you like you deserve? Groveling profusely?”
“Yes, mom.”
“Good. As he should.”
Robby cuts in gently, “We’ve got an appointment upstairs, so we need to try to get through the floor to the elevator without too many interruptions.”
“Yeah, good fuckin’ luck with that,” Dana laughs as she gestures to the buzzing crowd gathering around the nurse’s station to get a look at you and Robby. “Have fun, lovebirds.”
Your cheeks are burning hot, so you poke Robby in the side and murmur, “Can you do one of your magical Dr. Robby speeches to make them go away? I don’t do well with public interrogations.”
“Your wish is my command,” he assures you quietly, pressing a kiss to your temple. In the nerves of the moment, you want to turn and nuzzle your face into the comfort of his broad chest.
Then Robby claps loud a few times until the handful of free doctors and nurses gather up, including a deeply amused Jack, Trinity, and Whitaker. He announces in his Big Serious Attending voice, “Alright guys, a handful of things to stop-slash-start the rumor mill. One: Yes, I’m wearing a blazer; pictures are $45 a pop. Two: Yes, your former APRN is heavily pregnant. Three: Yes, it is my baby. Four: I’m in a period of repentance to regain her favor after being an ass for the last six months, but we’re figuring it out. Finally: The buy-in for the due date betting pool starts at $25; I’m not skimping out on my firstborn. Any follow-up questions can be directed to the admirable godmother Dr. Trinity Santos. Got it?”
Whitaker gives a charming little whoop and starts off the clapping, joined quickly by everyone else. As Robby accepts a handful of congratulations, Jack pulls you into a strong hug and looks you in the eyes, serious and stern as ever. There’s an undeniable warmth in the twitch of his lips, though, as he tells you, “He’s got you, kid. I know he does. He loves you to death and he knows he fucked up.”
You squeeze his bicep gently. “Thanks, Dr. Abbot.”
“No problem.” Then he points at your bump and adds, “That’s Uncle Jackie to you, miss.”
You blink back hormonal tears as you laugh. “Uncle Jackie, huh?”
He grins and boasts, “I was born to be an irresponsible but lovable bad influence uncle. That girl is gonna have the biggest and most annoying family of doctors and nurses.”
The baby gives you a swift kick in the bladder like she heard him say it. You place your hand over the ginger spot and smile. “Yeah, she will. We’re lucky.”
And suddenly so much love washes through your body you’re not sure you can hold it all. When you watch Robby absolutely glowing talking about becoming a dad, you know this is right. He’s the right man for you. For her. You’re swept up into the collection of hugs and congratulations, too, but you can’t stop watching Robby’s smile lines. The way he checks in with you every time he laughs. The way he’s looking at you not like a girlfriend or a baby mama but like the sun of his solar system.
Robby tucks you under his arm easily and calls, “Alright, alright, we have an ultrasound to get to, people, let’s back off the pregnant lady. You all have lives to save and baby shower gifts to buy.”
You giggle under your breath as he leads you to the elevator. “Baby shower gifts. Please.”
“What? You don’t want a shower?”
“I just don’t know who would put it together; I don’t really have the time.”
Robby scoffs, “As if either of us could physically stop the nurses from throwing one now that the cat’s out of the bag.”
“Good point,” you concede, trying to suppress the smile that won’t stop threatening your cheeks.
Maybe it’s just luck or maybe it’s the presence of one of the hospital’s more important doctors standing behind you, but you’re in the exam room with Robby holding your hand within a few minutes of checking in. The OB attending, Dr. Montgomery, arrives shortly after your vitals are taken.
She’s borderline glaring after she greets you and extends a hand to Robby. “Dr. Robinavitch, good to see you back at the hospital after so long away.”
“Good to be back,” he replies carefully, shaking her hand. “I’m guessing you’ve been given a harsh but fair view of me the past few months.”
“That would be an accurate assessment, doctor.”
Robby does that thing where he kind of hunches his broad shoulder to seem smaller and more approachable. It’s what he does when he’s hiding from Gloria or talking to a little old lady with chlamydia. He insists, “Call me Michael, please.”
“We’ll see.”
You snicker, “Addie, I promise he’s putting the work in.”
“Fine. Claws away while we say hi to baby girl.” Dr. Montgomery preps the ultrasound station as you get your clothes tucked out of the way. As she applies the warmed gel and manuevers the wand, she tells you, mostly addressing Robby since he wasn’t there for the other appointments, “She was a little small at our last scan, so I’m gonna take a few extra measurements to track her progress.”
Robby nods slowly and stares at the back of the ultrasound monitor like he can see through it and gather information. “Has there been anything else on the scans I need to know about?”
You gaze up at him while Dr. Montgomery takes her notes. “Nope, she’s been a total champ. I’m the problem between the two of us.”
Robby strokes your hair with his other hand; you can tell it’s more to soothe himself than you, so you let him. “What does that mean?”
You lean into his touch unconsciously and reply, “I’m just anemic; I passed out early on. That’s how I found out I was pregnant in the first place.”
Guilt skewers Robby like an ice pick. “You’re taking iron now?”
You roll your eyes. “And eating spinach and letting handsome baby daddies buy me burgers.”
Robby’s ensuing smile is cute and proud. Dr. Montgomery looks up from the ultrasound and happily announces, “Baby girl’s growth has gotten much better since your last vosot. She’s no longer small for her gestational age and is now firmly average. Good work, mom. Have you been adding more protein and healthy fats to your diet like I suggested?”
When Robby opens his mouth to speak, you narrow your eyes at him an say, “Michael Robinavitch I will strangle you right now with my bare hands if you say ‘I told you so.’”
He chuckles and gives your hand a squeeze. “I would never. I’m just glad to hear our girl’s healthy – and not a bowling ball. I was 11 pounds.”
You cringe at the thought. “Lucky she takes after me on that front.”
So softly it sounds more like a prayer, Robby asks, “Can we see her now?”
Flipping the monitor around with a smile, Dr. Montgomery replies, “Yeah, of course. There’s her side profile; she’s perfectly posed for us. I’ll turn on the doppler, too.”
Robby leans forward and looks at the screen. Something cracks open in his chest as the baby’s heartbeat fills the room, whooshing fast and steady. He lets out a tiny, barely audible whimper. Your eyes fly up to his and you see the tears flooding down his pink cheeks as he gazes at his daughter wriggling around on the monitor.
You squeeze his hand and he gasps a tiny bit like he just remembered you’re there. “Isn’t she beautiful?”
“She’s perfect,” he breathes softly. Then he presses his lips to the top of your head and takes a trembling breath. Even his softest whisper trembles. “How could I ever leave you? I can’t believe I let myself miss this. You’re so fucking perfect. So strong. I love you so much.”
Tears thicken your throat as you lean up to press your forehead to his, sniffling out, “Mikey.”
He starts to cry in earnest, then, and you reach up to hold him. Your arms tangle together and your tears stain each other’s shoulders and there’s nothing but future in the places where your bodies touch.
Things get easier between you and Robby after that. You find yourself asking him for more and more trivial things just to see him and hear his voice. Your phone calls turn from a few sentences to a few minutes to an hour or more if you catch each other at a good time. He takes you shopping for baby clothes and even pretends to have an opinion about different fabrics when you ask. He stocks up on diapers, helps with your labor go bag, and does absolutely everything in his power to take the mental load off your shoulders.
From that new closeness, a quiet tension emerges. As you reach week 32 of your pregnancy, the shared knowledge of your needing to move hangs over you both, unspoken but omnipresent. Robby hasn’t pushed the issue yet, but you know it’s going to reach a tipping point.
That day comes during the worst rainstorm of the year one gloomy day in October. It’s your day off, so you’re treating yourself to a shopping spree when the rain starts. The forecast had only been for a light drizzle, so you were comfortable leaving the apartment in something cozy with an umbrella and rain boots. But the light drizzle turned torrential while you were inside a baby boutique on the other side of town.
Meanwhile, the heavy, dark, oppressive thunderstorm has the ED swamped. All the attendings are on staff to handle the onslaught of car accidents, falls, and asthma attacks. As he’s supervising Mohan’s work on an elderly woman’s obliterated tibia, his phone vibrates in his pocket.
While closing another line of sutures, Samira asks over her shoulder, “Is that mama?”
Robby slips his phone out just long enough to check. “Shit, yes, it is. She wouldn’t call me during weather like this if it wasn’t important. Do you mind if I-”
Mohan chuckles, “I think Mrs. Frost and I have this handled. Go save your woman from her aching feet or lack of chocolate bars.”
Robby gives the patient an apologetic smile and excuses himself. He ducks around the nearest quiet-ish corner where the hospital’s chaos lowers to a dull roar and manages to pick up right before it goes to voicemail. “Hey, sweetheart, what’s going on?”
He can hear you crying on the other side, the sound barely coming through the rain. “Can you come pick me up?”
Robby half-jogs toward the locker room, already stripping off his trauma gown and dodging questions from his fellow doctors as he goes. “Where are you?”
“A bus stop in East Liberty,” you sniffle out. “The buses are all delayed because of the weather and I tried to get ahold of Trinity but she didn’t pick up and I’m soaking wet and freezing and I can’t-”
“Breathe for me, honey. It’s okay. I’ve got you.” Robby can hear the shivering and the tears and the panic in your voice and his gut clenches up in pain. He spares a glance outside and sees that the rain is still a deluge, the clouds dark and murky above and the ground shiny and slick with oil leeching out below. Lightning strikes and thunder claps. “Which bus stop?”
As you tell him, he dumps his trauma gown, rummages through his things, and grabs his keys and his gym bag, which at least has a towel and some dry clothes. “I’ll be there in ten minutes, okay? Is there somewhere warm and dry you can wait for me?”
“I- I don’t know. I’m all frazzled,” you admit. He can feel your reluctance to tell him, but you can’t stop it from spilling out through the crackling rain. “There was this guy who wouldn’t leave me alone, asking all these gross questions about my boyfriend or whatever and I just ran to the closest public spot I could find.”
Anger flares in Robby’s chest. He scribbles out a note and hands it to Dana as he passes the nurse’s station, barely pausing to see her reaction – just long enough to see her annoyed but supportive nod – before he shoves out of the door into the rain. “Are you alone now? Are you safe?”
“I’m okay, just- just kinda scared and tired and- and-”
“Breathe, baby, breathe. I’m getting in the car right now.”
A few beats pass with nothing but the rain in Robby’s ears. Then your meek, nervous voice: “Would you stay on the phone with me?”
“Of course.” He guns the engine and peels out of the parking lot, careful but quick. “I’m right here with you. Just keep talking and the time’ll pass. Tell me about what you were doing. Shopping for something fun?”
“Yeah, I was.” You sniffle again and try to smile. “I bought this, um, this handmade baby wrap carrier thing. It’s really soft and, like, this quilted fabric that I think would be really comfy for her.”
“You gonna teach me how to baby wear like all the hip dads are doing?”
“Definitely.” You actually let out a small laugh as you tell him, “The whole ‘big man carrying baby’ thing is very sexy. I’m sure it’ll help you pick up chicks at the grocery store.”
Robby snorts. “You know perfectly well there are only two chicks I’m interested in picking up the rest of my life.
“Rest of your life, huh?”
“If they’ll have me.” He makes a turn and spots you huddling beneath a leaky bus stop shelter. “Alright, I’m only a minute away now, but I might be late because I have to stop and offer the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen a ride, okay? She’s soaking wet and very pregnant and dressed inappropriately for the weather.” Robby pulls up to the curb and pushes your door open as he hangs up the phone. “Hey, stranger, can I give you a lift?”
You slide into the car next to him, your eyes puffy from crying and your hair disastrous from the rain. As you buckle in, you pout and observe, “You turned on the seat warmers for me.”
“I also brought you a threadbare towel and a hoodie; I’m a real gentleman,” he replies as he opens up his gym bag in the backseat and hands them off.
Gratefully toweling off your hair and tucking yourself under the hoodie, you smile and nudge him. “Yeah, actually, you are.”
Robby gives your knee a quick squeeze and pulls the car into traffic, heading back toward the highway. You gradually begin to feel like a person instead of a pregnant popsicle.
Teeth still chattering a bit, you manage to get out, “I’m sorry for interrupting you at work; I’m sure things are swamped there.”
Despite the fact that his phone’s been ringing non-stop since he left, Robby replies earnestly, “Nothing’s more important to me than your safety.” He swallows hard and apologizes for himself, “I’m sorry for calling you baby on the phone; I wasn’t thinking. I heard you upset and I just went on autopilot.”
You tell him softly, “It’s okay, Michael.”
“Is it?”
“Yeah, it really is,” you murmur back. “You missed the exit, by the way.”
Robby shakes his head. “I’m taking you back to my place; you need a warm bath and a hot meal and to sleep for twelve hours uninterrupted in a king size bed.”
You avert your eyes and admit, “That sounds really nice, Mikey.”
“I like hearing you call me that again,” he says gently. “Thank you.”
“Thank me by ordering me some orange chicken while I take a bubble bath.”
Robby chuckles, “Yes, ma’am.”
As soon as Robby has you inside, he’s helping you strip your exhausted, pruny body and drawing you a silky bath. As he collects some of his old comfy clothes for you to wear from his closet, you call out from the tub, “Would you actually make that matzo ball soup that you made when you gave me mono?”
“I did not give you mono,” he laughs, “but I will absolutely make you some nourishing comfort food.”
He can hear the teasing eye roll in your voice as you call back, “You had mono. You made out with me. I then had mono. Who the hell do you think I got it from?”
“Alright, whatever.” Robby sets down the clothes on the counter and points at you seriously. “Don’t you dare try to get out of that tub without my help, missy. I’ll be back once I’ve got the soup boiling.”
You smile at him fondly and bat your eyelashes. “Yes, sir.”
“Don’t play dirty with me.”
“I would never.” You sink deeper into the bubbles and sigh contentedly, “I’m more than happy to stay in here and turn myself into a little matzo ball.”
He leans down and kisses the top of your head. “Good girl.”
“Now who’s playing dirty?”
“I would never.”
Robby slips out of the bathroom and you just…relax. While Robby takes care of you. While he waits on you.
God.
God.
Between the bubbles and the bergamot bath oil, the tension and nerves leave. The sound of the storm outside becomes white noise. From downstairs, the smell of rich schmaltzy chicken broth wafts into your nose and you feel settled. Held. By the time Robby returns to the bathroom, you know, deep down in your bones, that you’ve forgiven him.
Robby helps you out of the tub and wraps you up in a fluffy robe he must’ve been warming in the dryer for you. Then he grabs a tube of lotion, sits down on the bed, and gestures for you to join him. While he tends to your feet and legs, he pleads with you, “Move in here, sweetheart, please. I can’t- I can’t function not knowing if you’re okay. Not knowing where the baby’s going to be sleeping and not knowing if I can be there for her and for you and-”
“Michael.” It’s a whisper, a tender one at that. “I don’t want to feel like I’m trying to fit into your life.”
“I don’t want to make you feel that way; I swear.” He kisses your hand a few times and then takes a deep breath. “I’d like to apologize now. If you’d let me.”
You nod slowly and try to ignore the tears that rise to your waterline. “I’m ready. Go ahead.”
“Thank you.” After a deep breath, Robby starts, “Look, I’m not going to apologize for leaving. I needed to leave. I needed to-” He gestures wide and begging as he searches for the right words. “I needed to grow up. I know I’m a little old for that, but I think it’s the closest thing to true. I’m sorry I told you instead of talking it through. I’m sorry I went radio silent. But honestly?”
Suddenly he reaches out and cups your cheek in his large hand. His palm is warm and so familiar that you can hardly breathe. With his thumb stroking your skin, he finishes, “What I’m the most sorry for is that I didn’t ask you to come with me. Every sunset, every motel mattress, every wide open highway would’ve been so much better if I shared them with you.”
He presses his forehead to yours and murmurs, “I swear I’ll spend every single one with you from now on. I’ll be there for every birthday, every Chrismukkah, every fucking thing you want me at. Nothing has ever or will ever matter to me more than being your husband. The father of our children. So tell me what you want. Tell me every single thing you want for you and for me and for the baby and you’ll have it. Because I love you more than my stupid bike and more than my career and more than everything I’ve ever had. You are everything now.”
The air sparks like the lightning outside. For a full minute, it’s you and it’s Robby and it’s the storm.
Then you lean forward. You hold Robby’s face with both hands and search his golden brown eyes. His heart pounds in his ears. His lungs are tight and screaming.
And you kiss him.
It’s slow, so gentle, and he’s holding his breath. Then reality seems to settle softly on his shoulders and he smiles against your lips, slides his hands onto your waist, thumbs affectionate on your bump, and kisses you back. When you pull away only slightly, you inform him, “I want a house with a yard. One that I get a say in. Further from the city. I want a safe, sensible family car for myself. No black interior. Light brown. I want a big fat diamond ring. Four carats minimum. I want sex at least three times a week. Six orgasms for me as a baseline. And I want a husband who works at most 50 hours.”
Robby gazes at you with watery eyes. “Okay.”
You smack him on the chest and laugh, “‘Okay’? I was trying to be unreasonable, Michael!”
“Well I’m being serious. Let’s move to the suburbs and have a huge wedding and fuck whenever you want. I’ve got savings to get us through as long as we need. I’ll start my own practice, slow down, buy a grill, join the PTA, the whole nine yards.”
You roll your eyes and scoff, “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m not,” he assures seriously. “If you’re taking me back and making me a dad, you can be a hell of a lot more unreasonable than asking me to put my family first.”
“Fine.” You cross your arms over your chest and try not to grin. “I want a puppy.”
Robby grips his heart like you’ve stabbed him. “If you really want one – when the baby’s old enough that I won’t have a panic attack having a dog around her.”
“Deal.” You rest your forearms on his shoulders, playing with the hair at the back of his neck. “I want you to mow the lawn shirtless on Saturday mornings.”
He melts under your touch and smiles. “Okay.”
You lean in closer, a smile of your own breaking out. “And I want my own craft room in the house.”
Glancing down at your lips, he promises once again, “Okay.”
“I want a hot tub.”
“Okay.”
“And a soaking tub.”
“Okay.”
“Manicures every other week. A tropical vacation every summer. Two more babies in the next ten years.”
“Okay, okay-” he kisses you again, soft and warm and unhurried “-very okay.”
Your hand slides down his chest and toys with the hem of his tee. You watch his stomach twitch and his chest gasp upwards as you purr, “And I want you to fuck me. Right now.”
Robby’s lips return to yours. Urgent now. He pulls you into his lap and drags kisses up your neck, tasting your clean skin and your pulse beneath him. His breath is hot and his every touch – slipping the robe from your shoulders, lazing his fingers along your arms, kissing the shell of your ear – is an act of worship. At last, he murmurs against your lips, “Okay.”
The sun rises over Pittsburgh and it's really a beautiful morning. The lady on the weather channel said that at least three times as you begrudgingly got ready, so it must be true.
You, however, practically crawl into the ambulance bay at the hospital to clock into the day shift and do the best you can for your patients. The best you can on only four hours of sleep, that is—if you were even counting them correctly.
You hear him before you see him. Jack is whistling "Mr. Brightside," one of his favorite songs ever. Comin' out of my cage and I've been doin' just fine, gotta gotta be down because I want it all. He emerges from the sliding doors, his camo backpack slung over one shoulder. His chipper attitude is the one thing you've smiled at since you woke up.
It means all the more because you know he's tired and ready to go home, but wants to give you a good start to the day shift. You're reminded once again that you have the best husband in the world.
"Dr. Unstoppable," Jack smiles crookedly, giving you a kiss and a coffee from the break room. "It's decaf, promise. Good morning."
It's a game the two of you play now: at shift change, he gives you a cute nickname and a cup of decaf, which he makes just for you as he does his final charting. Switching to decaf during your first trimester was maybe harder than all of medical school put together.
"Good morning, sunshine," you say with as much enthusiasm as you can muster.
"You doing okay?" he asks, his voice lowering with concern. "You and baby?"
You instinctively rest your hand on the swell of your belly, now seven months along, rounded under your blissfully loose maternity scrubs. "Just tired, hon. You know how it is."
"Nah. I've never carried someone else around for an entire twelve-hour shift." He steps forward and presses the back of his fingers to your forehead. Satisfied with your temperature, he takes your pulse at your throat.
"Jack—"
He quietens you with one serious look and lets his hand drop after a few seconds.
"Little too fast for my liking. Sure you shouldn't come home with me?"
Robby's voice pipes up from somewhere behind you. "Who's going home?"
"No one," you sing before Jack can answer. You turn to see Robby putting away his headphones. "Morning, Robby."
You love working with Robby. Having him as your attending eased the difficulty of switching to an entirely different shift from your husband, and he's a great teacher. Where Jack is the decisive and creative rebel, Robby is the textbook and patient mentor. Getting to learn from both of them is a gift, one that you're eternally grateful for.
You and Jack worked together for most of your time in the Pitt, first as an intern and then as a resident, even though Gloria threw fits about the HR implications all throughout your relationship. Jack never was a rule follower, and in his mind, you made it all worth it regardless. You got married and stayed on the night shift, never tiring of your firecracker attending physician.
As soon as you found out you were pregnant, Jack kindly but firmly insisted you switch with someone on day shift. Your OB-GYN, who Jack knew and trusted, recommended it, as well as working fewer shifts altogether. So you switched with Collins. And you simply pretend that you never overheard Jack on the phone with Robby, telling him to take care of you or else.
The change was unexpectedly hard—having to recalibrate your Circadian rhythm for the first time in years, not to mention the bonkers pregnancy hormones. You spend your days off trying not to cling to Jack, forcing yourself to remember that he needs to sleep while the sun is up. But he stays awake as much as he can, and it makes your heart swell.
But the concerned look on his face now, lit up by the morning sun, is making your heart crack a bit.
"Morning," Robby chimes, taking off his sunglasses. He nods to Jack. The two of them know each other so well that sometimes they don't even bother with words. "How's baby?"
"She was rolling around last night," you say with a groan. "Imagine trying to sleep with a rotisserie chicken in your torso."
Robby throws his head back and laughs. "I don't think I can." Seeing Jack's expression, Robby sobers and pats you on the shoulder in his friendly way. "You sure you're up for it today?"
You very pointedly do not look at Jack. Just last week, the two of you had an argument about you continuing to work full twelves multiple times per week. You love your job as much as Jack loves his, but he is increasingly worried. The hours took a toll on any person, so he could only imagine what it was like doing ER shifts with a first-time pregnancy.
And it kills him that you have to do it without him.
"I'll be okay, promise." You hold up the lunchbox Jack packed for you and finally dare to look at him. "I'll eat and keep my fluids up, Dr. Abbot."
Jack finally allows one side of his mouth to quirk up. You kiss his cheek, basking in the feel of the scruff on his face, and tell him to head home.
"Have a good day. See ya, Robby."
"Bye, Jack. I've got her, buddy."
It's only two o'clock and shit has, as they say, hit the fan.
A city bus crash in the mid-morning brought in a flurry of critical cases, so the trauma bays and chairs were completely full even earlier than normal. The bus collided with a minivan carrying a pregnant woman and her two kids, one of whom had a serious neck injury, and the trauma of it all sent the expecting mother into an early delivery. It was moving too quickly for her to get up to labor and delivery's floor, so the poor woman screamed in a bay while the crash victims sat in the hallways murmuring to one another.
Apparently, the windows completely blew out of one side of the bus, so almost everyone on board needed stitches, which took hours in and of itself.
One of the better off crash victims, Marina, only needed stitches in her left arm. She lit up like a Christmas tree when she realized you were pregnant and interrogated you the entire time, in the well-meaning way of a young woman who's just gone through something very scary.
"When are you due?"
"December 29. I can't wait."
What does kicking feel like? Like there's an increasingly large fish trapped in a tank that is your stomach. Is this your first pregnancy? Yes. Is the father in the picture? Yes, he actually works here. Really? Oh, how sweet! Is he a doctor? Yes, he's also an ER doctor. Is it the older guy I saw out in the hall? No, that's Dr. Robby. But he's a very good man, too. He looks like it—if I may say so! I think that's the general consensus. Thanks, Dr. Abbot. Take care.
You discharge Marina after you promise her that you'll keep her name in mind as a contender for the baby. While you're showing an intern how to do a clean suture line on a different patient, a psych patient sprints down the hall with a (thankfully empty) bedpan. He spots the three of you in one of the central rooms and hurls it at the intern, who was just putting her tools back on the tray. The corner of the bedpan nails her in the temple, and she crumples to the floor.
"Robby! Mateo!" you shout. "I need a little help here! And for God's sake, somebody sedate Mr. Bryant!"
Once the intern is roused, assessed, and put in the on-call room with some apple juice and a prayer, you finally get to circle back to one of your pediatric cases. It was just a bad asthma attack, and the kid is now stable, waiting on his parents so he can be discharged.
"Hey, Dr. Abbot," he says cheerfully. "I finished my orange juice."
"Good job, sweetie. While we wait for mom and dad, can you repeat back to me what we talked about earlier? About how you're going to remember to keep your inhaler on you all the time?"
Looking accomplished but a little bashful, he begins to recall the tips you went over with him. You try to nod attentively but you feel strange.
The painted animals on the walls start to change colors a bit. They become pastel instead of their normal vibrant colors. When you blink, they don't go back to normal.
Your lungs don't fully expand when you breathe. The edges of your vision are darkening, like someone reaching around and cupping their hands by your eyes. It sounds like a machine somewhere is whining. I need to turn that off.
Your patient nods with finality, expecting you to congratulate him on his sharp memory, but you can't.
The door opens behind you. Distantly, you hear Dana say, "Dr. Abbot, mom and dad are finally here. Time to discharge this sweetie pie."
Thrilled, the kid jumps off the bed and follows Dana out.
When you stand up to leave, your entire field of vision flashes white and your legs buckle. You feel a twinge of fear, and then nothing else at all.
It's Robby's voice you hear first. "Dr. Abbot. Wake up for us, sweetheart!"
You want to open your eyes, to put him at ease, but the light is so unbearably bright. You feel multiple gloved hands: one holding your wrist, one rubbing your sternum vigorously. It hurts, and you finally know what it's like to be on the receiving end of a pain response assessment.
The confusion is almost worse than the headache and lightheadedness. You can feel a gurney beneath you. You're also freezing cold. And it seems like no matter how hard you try, you can't get your damn eyes to open.
Whoever's digging their knuckles into your sternum is doing a good job, because you finally groan and open your eyes a sliver. You hear Princess shout, "She's awake!" and a deep exhale from Robby.
"Come on, Dr. Abbot," Mateo says. "Open those eyes for us. You're scaring the crap outta me."
You're earnestly trying to comply when Robby flashes his penlight into both your pupils, and you groan again, biting back a few swear words. "Pupils look good," Robby says.
"I—I get that a lot," you try to joke, but your voice sounds far away and reedy.
Robby chuckles, more for your benefit than any real amusement. "Mateo, you get ahold of Jack?"
"Yessir. He's on his way."
At that, you finally get your eyes open all the way, squinting at the seemingly full patient bay. You're surrounded by Princess—holding your wrist and saying something to herself in Tagalog—Robby, Mateo, your sweet little intern, and Dana, who is peeping in without straying too far from central, just in case she's needed. You hear Samira calling from another curtained-off bed, asking about you.
Tears well in your eyes, unbidden. Of course you passed out on one of the most hectic day shifts in a long time. Robby sees the sheen in your eyes and tells Princess to go help Samira and for Mateo to go get a needle and an ultrasound machine.
Terror hits you then. You splay your hands over your stomach, your breath coming out in short gasps.
"Robby," you start to sob, and the tender look on his face makes you cry harder.
The intern shuffles out, pushed on her way by Dana, who gives you a caring smile.
"Shhh. We're gonna check everything out." Robby holds one of your hands. "If you'll let me, I'm gonna do an ultrasound while Mateo does a blood draw for a panel. That ok?"
Swallowing the rest of your sobs as well as you can, you nod, staring up at the ceiling to try to conquer your dizziness. You hear the ultrasound machine's squeaky wheels and Robby warns you about the cold gel, even though he knows you know.
You hate that you're too afraid to even look at the screen.
"There she is," Robby says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. You cover your eyes so he can't see the tears again. "Baby Abbot, happy as a clam. Heartbeat's good." He switches the machine off and wipes your stomach with a tissue while you blow your nose into another one.
"Thank God," you whimper, gripping Robby's forearm, just needing some comfort from another human being. He lets you.
"Where is she?" a familiar voice nearly shouts in central. You hear Dana using her very best customer service tone, the one that could calm even the rudest patient out in chairs.
Jack appears around the curtain, Dana and Mateo close at his heels, and you release a shuddering breath. Jack's jaw is clenched tight and his shoulders are locked.
"Sorry to wake you up, honey," you say weakly, absolutely refusing to cry any more. He rushes over to you and grabs your still-freezing-cold hand.
"Don't apologize," he rasps, biting his lip hard. He tucks a stray hair behind your ear. "You alright?"
You muster up a smile. "'Course I am. I'm Dr. Unstoppable."
Robby gestures to Mateo, who maneuvers around Jack with a needle in his hand. Mateo expertly finds a vein in your arm and takes a sufficient draw before Jack can even ask more questions.
"Baby's alright," Robby says, taking his gloves off and looking seriously at Jack. The former takes an iPad from Princess. "I'm ordering a rapid blood panel. If it's all the same to you, we're gonna put your gurney in the break room. It's quieter and you'll have privacy while you wait."
"And that'll free up this patient bay," you retort without any real venom. You know how it is in the Pitt, and you already feel horrible for inconveniencing all the staff during an already crazy day. "Thank you, Robby. And I'm so sorry."
"None of that," Robby says as he stands up. "My order is in. Now let's get you situated."
Without needing to speak, Jack and Mateo work together to push the gurney out toward the break room. You're certain you blush fiercely with all the staff and patients staring at you, but Jack has one hand on your shoulder, and it grounds you. The two men park you in the corner of the break room, the table moved to one side, and Mateo bows out with one of his sweet smiles.
I'm not going to cry. I'm not going to cry. I'm not going to—
"Sweetheart," Jack murmurs. The raw worry on his face snaps you in half. "What happened?"
He's met by gut-wrenching sobs that threaten to tear his heart out of his chest and out the window. You're crying so hard that it's difficult for you to catch your breath, and he presses your head into his chest, holding one of your cold hands so tightly he's afraid he might be hurting you.
"Talk to me, angel." He pulls up the bottom of his old army shirt—something he had yanked out of the dresser in a hurry, no doubt—and wipes your face with it, not caring how the fabric will look. You hiccup.
"I don't know," you finally answer, shakily. "One minute I'm in pedes talking to an asthma case and the next, Robby is trying to fracture my sternum." You're joking, to ease the pain of it all, but Jack only runs a hand down your spine and nods. You look up into his hazel eyes. "Jack, I'm so glad you're here."
He holds your face in his hands and kisses your forehead. "That's right. I'm here." He steps over to take one of the wooden chairs from the table and places it as close to the gurney as he can. "The labs are going to take a couple of hours. I want you to sleep. I'll wake you in a bit to eat."
You frown. "I promise I meant to eat, Jack. Really."
"All the ER staff say that," he hums, but his usual cutthroat sarcasm doesn't have an edge. "I'm going to go find you a pillow and blanket." When he returns, he tucks you in earnestly and kisses you as gently as he can.
Ten minutes later, you're floating on the edge of sleep despite the muffled noise of the ER and the fluorescent lights. Jack has his chin propped on the gurney and is running his fingers through your hair so softly that you almost don't feel it. In the last moments before you drift off, you swear he's talking to himself.
"Gonna be okay, sweetheart. I swear it. My girls are gonna be alright."
After Jack feeds you your lunch and you take another long nap, Robby comes in with an iPad. The sound of the door wakes you, and Jack pulls out a chair for Robby.
"Alright, Dr. Abbot, Dr. Abbot," he says with a smirk, nodding at each of you. "I've got great news and bad news. Which do you want first?"
You say bad news at the exact same time that Jack says great news. You squeeze his hand.
"I'll respect the lady's wishes. The bad news is you've got rather severe anemia. Not too uncommon in the second and third trimester with the increased blood volume, as I'm sure you both know." He spins the iPad around to show you your chart, ever the teaching doctor, even when he's not trying to be.
"The great news," he says, looking at Jack specifically, "is that everything else is normal. I even consulted with McClellan from labor and delivery. She agrees with me. Recommends iron supplements, bed rest for a while, and a high-iron diet hereafter."
You and your husband still. Then, Jack seems to deflate, his head coming to rest on your thigh. You watch as his rigid hands curl out of their fists. You smile broadly and stroke your husband's back. "That's it? That's all?"
"That's all. The combined low iron, high stress, little sleep, and moving into the third trimester is what caused the fainting. Hopefully it won't happen again." Robby clutches the tablet to his chest. "And I'm sending you home for at least the rest of the week."
"Robby!"
"Doctor's orders," he shrugs. "Jack, I'm feeling inspired to work a double tonight and let Shen take tomorrow. Will you let me?"
Jack is quiet and you realize that his eyes are glistening with tears. "Thanks, man."
They shake hands, which turns into the one-armed hug you recognize from years of knowing them both. Robby even leans down and squeezes you tight.
"Thank you so much, Robby. We love you."
Robby races over to the door. "Don't get sappy. Get outta here." He opens the door and points at you. "Bed rest!"
"I hear you."
Robby waves and disappears.
"Let's stop by the pharmacy for some iron and then head home," Jack says with finality. He briefly leaves and comes back with your bag from the locker room—he knows your code as well as his own. He throws your floral-pattered tote over his shoulder without a bit of irony, and it makes your heart lurch.
No complaining. No I told you so. No arguing. Just a gentle invitation.
You grin like an idiot as he helps you off the gurney. "I love you, Dr. Abbot."
He kisses the top of your head as he wraps an arm around your shoulders. "And I love you, Dr. Abbot. And our little one. So much."
Jack Abbot knows when anxious!reader is ready to leave the function. It’s not personal to anyone, your social battery just runs out. It’s like your brain shuts off, and you’re suddenly overstimulated by whatever conversation is going on around you. And tonight’s no different. You’re at a hospital gala, conversing in a circle with Jack, Robby, Shen, and some hot shit doctors from New York. They’re currently in deep discussion about robotic surgical procedures. You’re smiling and nodding along, as if the saxophones in your head aren’t getting louder.
The gala is hitting its fourth hour, and your flame is burning very low. Jack knows you’ll never tell him you’re ready to leave. You’d feel like you’re taking him from something he’s enjoying - no matter how many times he’s grabbed your face tenderly and told you he’s ‘always more than happy to take you home,’ signed with a shit eating grin and a wink. Because Jack Abbot just knows his girl so fucking well, he can tell when you’ve hit your limit - like right now. Your anxious tics are more present; the fidgeting, the lip biting, playing with your hair, etc. And truth be told, the reason he’s so willing to get you home is because Jack has a hidden agenda.
He loves Robby and his PTMC family, of course! He’s always saying how they’re ‘salt of the earth, those people.’ But the silk black slip dress adorning your body is falling over your curves perfectly, and he hasn’t been able to keep his hands off you since before you even left the house. In fact, he nearly made you late by ‘accidentally’ slipping your dress straps down, twice. During the awards ceremony, this cheeky cowboy straight up grabs your ass, no shame, when you stand up to kiss and congratulate him on an award for outstanding service in the medical field. Dennis sees this and nearly chokes on his asparagus, while Shen wolf whistles right next to Trinity’s ear.
He glances at you now, and he can practically see the anxiety vibrating off of you. He presses his hand to your lower back reassuringly, and leans down to your ear, his fresh breath tickling the side of your neck.
“Ten more minutes honey,” he whispers, giving you an ETA of when you’ll begin your goodbyes. He presses a sweet kiss below your ear. You give him a grateful smile, and instantly your shoulders relax. And as promised, you’re in the truck fifteen minutes later by the time you get to the parking lot.
“Are you sure you’re ready to leave Jack? We can stay! I’m fine, really-“ you start.
“Baby, I was ready to leave. You’re not making me do something I don’t want to, promise. Don’t worry your pretty little head about it. Also, I can only listen to that New York asshole talk about how he played a charity basketball game with Michael Jordan so many times,” he reassures you. “And…there’s only so long a man can watch you in that dress without needing to take you home, honey.” You smile bashfully. He places his right hand on your thigh, rubbing his thumb over the smooth, watery silk.
His favorite part of the night is when it’s finally just the two of you in the warm, soft light of your bedroom. That’s when you let your guard down, and feel the most confident in yourself. You let go of your inhibitions. You don’t feel anxious with Jack, you feel secure; cared for. Adored. You’re riding him reverse cowgirl, his large hands gripping and pawing at the plush of your hips. He lays a swift smack to the fat of your ass every so often for encouragement. Almost like a silent ‘Giddy up, cowgirl,’ from him.
“Fuck, yes Jack! Feel s’good inside me,” you whine.
“Yeah? Love when you talk like a dirty girl. Actin’ so sweet at the gala. If only they could see you now, ass in my face like this,” he growls.
“Oh Jack, love bein’ dirty for you! Only for you daddy,” you sob, bouncing like a little bunny up and down on his thick cock. It splits you in the most delicious way every time you slam down on it, head thrown back while you steady yourself on Jack’s thick thighs.
“Goddamn right, baby. This pretty pussy’s all mine.” He’s grabbing the fat of your ass and lifting it to watch as he slides in and out of you - your puffy, sopping cunt clenching around him with a vice like grip.
“Yes, yes! Oh god Jack, s’all yours,” you cry, your orgasm fast approaching. Your legs grow tired and shaky - but you muscle through, desperately chasing your high. Jack can tell you’re close, and starts bucking up into you.
“Cum for daddy, baby. Atta girl, squeeze my cock. Jus’ like that,” he grumbles. His gravely voice coaxing you through your orgasm has you blissfully falling apart on top of him. Your hips get lazy, and you’re leaning more of your weight onto your arms, bracing yourself on the mattress space between his legs. Jack is grabbing your hips and ramming you down on his cock, as deep as he can get. He comes undone seconds later. A loud groan escapes his beefy chest, flushed pink with sprinkles of salt and pepper chest hair covering his freckles and sun spots. His hips sputter, stomach tensing and showcasing the taut muscle beneath the sexy, manly belly he’s developed over the last couple years.
You collapse onto him, your biceps giving into fatigue. Your thighs turn to jelly, your ass landing with a little plop onto Jack’s lower abdomen. He admires the way it jiggles as it lands on top of him, and he just can’t help but reach for it - kneading your ass cheeks in his hands, just fucking mesmerized in his post orgasm haze. For a few moments you stay in that position, regaining your breaths and letting the fan cool your sticky bodies.
“You okay up there cowgirl?” He pats your hip fondly to get your attention. You could’ve fallen asleep just like that - face first into the sheets and perched on his softening dick. All that pent up social anxiety just drains you mentally, so you can’t help but let yourself go dumb the moment he’s inside of you. You let your brain, which is usually heavy with worry, go weightless. You let your body, typically tense with stress, go liquid; you let it go with the flow, following Jack’s lead. The warm sensation building in your lower belly soothes you, as does Jack’s strong hands all over you. The way he practically coos as he praises you fills your chest with a deliciously ooey gooey heat that spreads from the top of your head to the tips of your curling toes. Jack is your safe space.
“Mhm,” you mumble into the bed. You don’t bother to lift your head, or even open your eyes. Jack chuckles before sitting up, pressing sweet kisses to your bare spine. He rubs your back in slow, soothing circles. He’s always coddling you, and you love it. You know you’re spoiled, and you’re grateful for it.
“C’mon sweetheart, you need to use the bathroom before fallin’ asleep. And you’re gonna be mopey in the morning if you don’t wash that makeup off. Good girl, up you go.” You trudge reluctantly to the bathroom, pouting but knowing deep down that he’s right. Jack Abbot just knows his girl so fucking well.
Sometimes you both need a minute after sex. Touched out, fucked out, and overstimulated. He’ll roll over, cock still twitching against his stomach as you both try and catch your breath. It never fails to make you both laugh at how love drunk you are for each other. When you both come down to earth he’ll roll over with a grunt, grab his crutches, and go wipe himself down before returning with a damp warm towel. He’s gentle. The way he wipes his seed off your stomach or from your dripping cunt. After throwing the towel into the laundry basket by the door (usually missing) and help you sit up. “Go pee and come back to me.” He demands, making sure you always pee after sex. Crawling back into bed he’ll loop his arm around your midsection and pull you close to him. He buried his head into the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent. The smell of him, sweat, and sex on your skin is almost enough to make him go again.
B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
His favorite body part is his leg. It took him years to come to terms with his amputation, the physical reminder of war. You were an important part in that journey. The way you worshiped every inch of him. The way you helped remind him of the sacrifices he made, the men he saved, and the strength it took to overcome this life altering obstacle.
His favorite body part of yours was your belly. Like his leg, it was something you used to be incredibly self conscious of. During your first vacation together, you took a weekend away at the Jersey Shore. With a towel draped over your midsection, you asked him softly as two girls who looked like they were straight from a Victoria Secret magazine walked by:
“Do you wish I looked like that?” Jack didn’t even notice them.
“What?” he returned, completely dumbfounded.
“Those girls, their bodies are incred-“
“Stop.” He cut you off immediately before you could finish whatever idiotic statement were about to say.
There was nothing Jack loved more than your belly. Digging his fingers into the supple flesh as he fucked you. The way it looked when you wore something tight. He’d swat at you every time to tried to suck in while in front of the mirror. Like a Greek goddess, he wanted to etch your body into stone.
C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)
There are days where Jack thinks his sole purpose in life is to make you cum. Saving lives? Nah. Making you cum over and over and over again until you’re half dead in his arms? Abso-fucking-lutely . On his mouth. On his fingers. On his cock. Lapping up every ounce of your salty nectar like it was his last meal on earth.
When he cums he is vocal. He was almost embarrassed the first time he came for you, how loud he was. Not until you said it was the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.
D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
He loves period sex. The two of you dont do it often because you are normally parked on the couch in one of his hoodies with cramps; but when you do, he feels primal. You are wetter, smell mammalian, and he swears your orgasms are stronger.
There is just something so instinctual about fucking you when you’re menstruating.
E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)
As much as he hates to admit it, Jack Abbot had 'a ho stage' (as you call it.) There was a time in med school that he would fuck anything that moved and/or payed him any attention. So Jack FUCKS. Toe curling, back arching, earth shattering sex. He's older than you, which certainly gives him an advantage. So does being a doctor. He doesn't just know where the clitoris is, he's studied it. He doesnt just know how to make you squirt, he knows the science and mechanisms behind it.
You'll never forget the first time it happened. It was something you didnt even know you could do. But when your orgasm erupted through your entire body and soaked the bed beneath you, Jack Abbot in all his glory started to lecture you about the Skene's gland.
"Jack I dont care, just make me do it again."
F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)
Jack loves missionary. There is something so intimate about it.
He can look at you, really look at you. The way your back arches into him begging him to go deeper. The way you throw your head back just as you're about to cum.
He can touch you, really touch you. Massage your belly that he loves so much, grab your bouncing breasts, almost tethering himself to you. Bury his face into your neck, marking his territory with love bites. Grabbing your face in his hands, pressing his forehead against yours and forcing you to make eye contact.
"Open your eyes baby and look at me."
"I wanna see those pretty eyes when you come on my fucking cock, m'kay?"
G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)
Jack is pure business while he fucks makes love to you. He saves the lighthearted banter for afterwards, joking about how you nearly put his cock in a vice grip during your final orgasm.
H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
Because of his time in the military, he is relatively well groomed but not bare. It's long enough for you to rake your fingers through the curls as you go down on him, and enough for added friction as he grinds his hips into yours.
He loves your hair. The first time you had sex you were embarrassed. It was the middle of winter and you sure as hell hadnt planned on fucking anyone, certainly not Jack Abbot.
"I uh- I havent shaved in a bit."
But you were shocked to find out that it was actually his preference. That it trapped your pheromones, making you smell more delicious when his face was between your legs.
I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)
My GOD, sex with Jack was pure intimacy. But not in the stereotypical rom com sense. No candles or rose petals, none of that nonsense. Intimate in the fact that he worshiped you in bed. Intimate in the fact he'd stare at you the entire time, pupils blown. Intimate in the fact he knew every single inch of your body. Every nook, every cranny. What made you tick, what made you clench around him.
But Jack wasnt vanilla. He did love rough sloppy sex, typically after one too many beers.
J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)
He felt guilty. So fucking guilty. You were a young bright eyed intern and here he was choking his cock with his hands at the mere thought of you. In the bathroom. At work.
The two of you had been working a GSW and he was working you through a procedure you'd never done before. Typical combat medicine.
"Thread the pigtail catheter over the guide wire. We need to aspirate the air out of his left ventricle or he's not making it to the OR. Move!" and thats when it happened. Stepping in front of him and bending over for more leverage, your ass brushed against his pelvis as he loomed over you. Observing you.
Fuck.
Unbeknownst to you, his cock jolted under his scrubs and it took everything in him to not get rock hard right there in Trauma 3. Once the patient was stable, he booked it to the bathroom to relieve himself.
After cleaning up and walked out of the bathroom, he found you at the nurses station still coming down from the adrenaline high. When Jack joined you noticed his heavy breathing.
“You still wired from that case too?”
“Uhh yeah…”
K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)
He has a few. First and foremost he loves orgasm control. Dominating you and hearing you beg for sweet relief as you are completely under his mercy. Praising you when you finally come undone around him.
"Thats it, good girl. Let that pretty pussy come for daddy."
The daddy kink is new, thanks to you.
"Please daddy, can I come?"
THAT unlocked something in him.
L = Location (favorite places to do the do)
In bed. Always in bed. It's where it felt most intimate. Where you were both comfortable.
M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)
When it comes to you? Anything and everything. An oversized t shirt and his boxers turn him on just as much as you wearing lingiere.
Standing in front of the freezer in baggy sweatpants eating ice cream out of the carton? Me-ow. Listening to you sing quietly to yourself as you cook dinner? He's turning off the stove and pulling you down the hall to the bedroom. Watching you during a pediatric case at work, how gentle and calming you are with children. It makes him want to fuck a baby in you in the nearest supply room.
N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
Hurting and degrading you. The closest he gets is smacking your ass, and even then, he holds back afraid of hurting you.
O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
Jacks two favorite foods are pizza and pussy. He could eat you out for hours, and he'll keep going even when your pushing his head away from your sensitive clit. Your taste and smell are completely intoxicating, and he loves nothing more than to get drunk on your pussy. It's an art you think, and he has mastered his craft. The way he tongue fucks you and his nose nestles against your clit makes your toes curl every time. If you're lucky (you always are) he'll add his fingers, pumping them inside your cunt.
P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
You love it slow and sensual so he fucks you slow and sensual. You want to feel him, every single inch. His pace is slow but his rhythm is deliberate. He loves nothing more than to stretch you out and fill you up.
He pulls out, almost all the way, before pushing back in to a hilt. The wind gets knocked from your lungs nearly every time.
Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
He never liked quickies.
It wasn’t just about the act… it was about the build-up, the intimacy, the tension that simmered and stretched. For him, sex wasn’t something to rush through like a chore. It was an experience.
He liked to take his time. To explore, to watch, to feel. To kiss in a way that made the room spin and trace his fingers along skin like it was the first time every time. He believed in savoring. The taste of you. The smell of you. The feeling of your body pressed against his.
To him, pleasure wasn’t just in the climax. It was in the connection, the patience, the care.
R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)
He liked to experiment—not because he was bored, but because he believed desire had layers. That pleasure could evolve. Some nights it was soft and slow, others it was tangled and intense.
Sitting at the dinner table one night, Jack knew something was on your mind and at the tip of your tongue.
"I want you to fuck my ass, Jack."
He put his fork down and stared at you.
"Alright...Go on..."
"I mean, is that something you'd want?"
"I dont want to hurt you."
"We have lube, right?"
"Yeah..."
"Okay then let's go."
He liked learning you—what made you blush, what made you moan, what made your breath hitch in your throat. With him, sex was never just sex. It was an adventure. A dialogue. A place where nothing was off-limits as long as it was honest, wanted, and shared.
S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)
You're convinced Jack could last forever. Even when he finishes, give him 5-10 minutes and he’s ready to go again.
T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
Jack loves using toys in the bedroom. You use them more often than not. Watching you squirm as he presses a vibrator to your clit is intoxicating. You were nervous to introduce them at first. Worried he’d feel less than. Your other partners were offended when you suggested using toys, but not Jack. He even suggested picking some out together to use in the bedroom.
“You’ve been quiet. What’s on your mind, baby?”
“It’s dumb.”
“If it’s on your mind, it’s not dumb.”
“I’ve been thinking about… maybe using a toy in bed? Something small. Nothing crazy. Just… for fun, I guess…”
“That’s not dumb at all. What did you have in mind? I know you have a vibrator in your underwear drawer…”
“Jack!”
“What? I do your laundry.”
“I just don’t want you to feel inadequate or that I’m not satisfied.”
“If there’s something that turns you on, I want to know about it. I want to explore it with you. It’s sexy.”
“Really?”
“You sound shocked.”
“I wasn’t sure how you’d take it. Some people get weird about stuff like that.”
“I’m not some people. I’m your guy.“
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
Jack likes to tease you. Control you. Telling you when you can and can’t come. Edging you until your back is fully off the mattress and your body glistens with perspiration. The teasing is almost painful.
“Please daddy, please let me come.” The tears trickle down your face as you’re begging for your release. He’ll remove his fingers, cock, or mouth from your cunt. Making you feel empty.
“You will baby, you will.” He whispers as he curls his fingers inside you once more “Patience.”
V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
He’s vocal in every sense. His moans. His breath. The sweet nothings he whispers in your ear as he fucks you raw. He’s loud and it’s so fucking hot.
W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)
He keeps a box of granola bars in his bedside table. He noticed you’d often wake up in the middle of the night and shuffle down to the kitchen for some water and a bite to eat. On his way home from work one morning he stopped at Costco and got two large boxes of granola bars and peanut butter crackers.
Each night he brings you a glass of water to bed full of ice, so when you inevitably wake up in the middle of the night it’ll still be cold.
That way you didn’t have to walk all the way to the kitchen for your midnight snack.
X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)
Jack is certainly larger than everyone else you’ve slept with. He’s long enough for the tip of his cock to kiss your cervix with each thrust. But where he is really generous was his girth. He was thick. Despite all the times you’ve gone to bed together the initial stretch is something that you need to adjust to. Letting him still inside you as you swallow him whole, as pain quickly turns to pleasure.
“Fuckfuckfuck.” Was all you could say the first time he pushed his way in. Your toes curled and your eyes were squeezed shut at the sensation. You could feel each vein against your walls.
“I got you baby. You can take it, can’t you? Be a good girl for me? Be a good girl as I stretch that pretty cunt?”
Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
This man has the libido of a college frat boy. He wants you all day, everyday.
“Listen I know you’re an old man, but are you sure you aren’t taking viagra? Or did you really just get a hard on watching me bend over to load the dishwasher.”
Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards
Jack runs on pure adrenaline and you’re convinced it’s because he doesn’t sleep. Ever. And even when he does, he wakes up at the drop of a hat. You blame his years in the military for the reason he’s always on guard.
The only time he sleeps soundly is after he’s finished deep inside of you.
summary: andrew does pushups with you under him until you want more.
warning: 18+, dryhumping, coming in pants
a/n: wrote the smut in this tipsy while being bored of the word cup game pls bare with any typos. i need this man to do pushups over me
Laying under Andrew as he does pushups, his strong, thick biceps on either side of your head. Feeling the sturdy weight of him press gently into you whenever he comes down, and pressing you stomach.. His face, etched with concentration as his eyes bore into yours every time he does a pushup.
You’re content to just lay there under him, admire his face and his chest and his arms on either side of you, warmth pooling in your stomach. It hasn’t been long, only about ten minutes or so, but small rivulets of sweat are forming along his curls, at the nape of his neck.
Eventually, you decide you need him to suffer a little, need to make him stop and take you right here, instead of doing his stupid push-ups, which were sexy, yes, but you were growing needy watching him, slick pooling in your underwear.
The little furrow in his brow smoothes out when you give him a little peck on his lips as he leans down. Just a soft press of your lips against his.
He pants.
“You’re distracting me.”
You giggle.
“That was my intention.”
Then you put your arms on his chest, on those pecs and slowly rub circles with your thumbs, feeling the warmth and slightly sweaty skin.
He stills above you, arms locked on either side. A bead of sweat trails down the side of his head, down his neck.
“You’re so sweaty, honey,” you begin, trailing your hands up and up the planes of his chest, until they meet at the back of his neck. You pull him down slightly, and he lets you, surprisingly, curious for your next move.
You smirk before you lean up slightly, neck tilting up. Then you take your tongue out, and trail it up the side his throat, tasting the slight musk and tanginess.
His jaw clenches, lips pressing together.
Andrew wraps one beefy arm around your waist, the other holding him up. Then he turns you over with an ease that leaves you stunned.
“Oh my god,” you gasp, now on top of him. You reach out and place your hands on either side of his head, your knees on the ground, straddling him to keep your balance.
“Holy fucking shit. I cannot believe you just flipped us over like that.”
Andrew just stares at you, the corner of his mouth twitching as he fights back a smile.
“S’nothing,” he mumbles.
“No it’s not nothing,” you say as you run a hand through his curls. “You’re my strong boy.”
He blushes then, cheeks warming as he leans in again.
“Yeah? M’ good?
You nod, brushing your nose against his.
Then he presses your lips together, hard. You kiss, your tongue in his mouth, fighting for dominance.
Feeling his cock underneath you, hardening under his boxer shorts, your clit rubbing against him, hard, as you grind your hops against his, once.
“Fuck,” he grits out, grabbing your waist with both hands.
“Please Andrew, let me make you feel good.”
He nods, whimpering into your mouth.
“Keep goin’, pretty girl.”
And you do, rocking your hips back and forth, the friction of your clothes between you creating the perfect friction on your clit.
“Andrew, fuck! You feel- feel so good baby,”
He groans in reply, moaning into your mouth as he moves you back and forth, holding your waist.
You move faster, gripping the sides of his neck, mouth hovers above his.
“Andrew, fuck- m’gonna come,” you whine into his mouth.
He nods against you, egging you on. Not a man of many words, he just grips your waist tighter in his palms, rocking you against him faster.
“Just like that baby, m’gonna come too,” he groans.
As his tip slides against your clit under your shorts, pressing against you on the perfect way, the wave of pleasure breaks and you come - hard. Back arching, hips grinding, moaning his name.
Andrew just stares, all sweaty and lost in your body moving against him as you work through your peak.
“Fuck- fuck can feel you pulsing baby,” Andrew groans out lowly.
His hips jerk up once, then twice, jerkily, before he spills in his boxers, moaning against your mouth.
You both pant against each other, feeling your release in your underwear.
“Did so- so good for me, honey,” you praise against his lips, kissing him softly.
He only moans in reply, hips still slightly grinding up into you.
“Thank you,” he whimpers.
Yeah. There’s nowhere you’d rather be.
god bless the Thot in my notes app and the TikTok edit of Andrew including him doing pushups
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summary: the ER knows you're married, pregnant, and hopelessly in love with your husband. so when brendon keeps hovering around you, everyone's convinced you're having an affair.
pairing: brendon park + attending!pregnant!reader
word count: 2.4k
warnings/tags: mentions of pregnancy, workplace misunderstanding
notes: based on this ask from anon, tysm for requesting!
reblogs, likes, and comments are so so appreciated! if you want to read more from me, kindly submit in my inbox !!! xoxo
The first rumor started because of a protein bar.
Not because of anything dramatic. Not because someone saw you sneaking around hospital corridors or caught you pressed against a wall with Brendon Park's hand around your waist.
No.
It started because at two in the afternoon, during a brutally understaffed Friday day shift in the ER, you looked up from charting and said with exhausted fondness:
"My husband is going to kill me if he finds out I skipped lunch again."
And Dana, who had worked enough years in emergency medicine to survive on caffeine and spite alone, snorted.
"Husbands," she said. "They worry too much."
You smiled to yourself while typing. "Mine's worse now that I'm pregnant. Yesterday he tried to meal prep for me."
"Oh?" Santos asked from the next computer. "How'd that go?"
"He labeled every container by protein count."
"Sounds intense," Santos muttered.
"He is intense," you agreed easily. "But he means well."
Nobody thought much about it then. Because everybody in the ER about your husband.
Well, sort of. They knew he existed. They knew he packed your lunches sometimes. That he texted reminders for vitamins. That he apparently folded laundry with terrifying precision. That he hated when you worked overtime but still stayed awake until you got home anyway.
They knew he rubbed your swollen feet after shifts. They knew he was "ridiculously overprotective." They knew he called you "doctor" sarcastically whenever you forgot to take care of yourself.
They knew you adored him, but they didn't know his name.
And somehow, over months of working together, nobody ever asked. Or maybe they had once and gotten distracted by a trauma alert halfway through.
That was the thing about the ER. Conversations happened infragments.
So your husbands became this faceless mythical man everyone pieced together from tiny details.
And because you were basically sunshine in human form (You were the warmest, most patient, endlessly kind person), everyone imagined your husband accordingly.
Probably some sweet elementary school teacher. Or a soft-spoken accountant. Or maybe a stay-at-home husband who baked sourdough and wore cardigans.
Definitely not Brendon Park. Absolutely not him.
The first time most of the ER really met Brendon was during a motorcycle trauma.
The ortho pager had gone off twenty minutes earlier and everyone was already stressed. The patient had multiple fractures, a discolated shoulder, and enough road rash to make the interns pale.
Then he walked in. Tall, broad-shouldered. No greeting, no wasted movement, just immediate assessment,
"X-rays," his voice cut through the chaos.
Someone handed them over. Brendon studied them for maybe three seconds.
"We'll prep OR two. I want vascular on standby."
Ogilvie beside him started talking. "So we were thinking—"
"No," Brendon interrupted without even looking at him. "You were guessing."
Silence. Ogilvie visibly shrank.
"Comminuted tib-fib fracture with displacement. If you'd waited another hour, he'd lose perfusion."
The room went still. Not because he was wrong, but because he was terrifying.
Then his eyes shifted toward you. And the entire atmosphere changed so subtly that nobody noticed it except maybe Santos.
Your shoulders relaxed just slightly. Brendon's expression remained unreadable, but his gaze lingered on you for half a second too long.
"You've been here since morning," he said flatly.
"Hello to you too."
"Did you eat?"
The room paused.
You looked midly defensive. "Yes."
"You're lying."
"I had crackers."
"That's not food."
Ogilvie who'd just been verbally executed stared between you both in confusion. The Shark did not do conversation, yet here he was arguing with you about crackers.
You rolled your eyes. "I'm busy."
"You're pregnant."
"And?"
"And you require actual nutrition."
Santos coughed to hide a laugh. Brendon ignored everybody. He reached into the pocket of his jacket and placed a protein bar beside your keyboard without saying anything else.
Then he turned and walked away. No goodbye or no explaination. He just left.
The ER collectively stared at the protein bar. Then at you. Then back at the protein bar.
Santos finally broke the silence. "...What the hell was that?"
You unwrapped the bar casually. "He gets grumpy when I forget to eat."
"You know Park the Shark?" Santos asked slowly.
You looked confused. "Brendon?"
The entire station froze at the first-name basis.
"What do you mean, Brendon?" Santos asked.
"That's his name."
"No one calls him Brendon."
"Oh," you took a bite of the protein bar. "I do."
After that, people started noticing things. Little things.
Like how Brendon only ever lingered in the ER when you were there. How he answered everyone else with clipped professionalism but always gave you full sentences.
How you somehow never seemed intimidated by him. Everyone else treated Brendon like a shark circling bloody water, you treated him like an annoyed housecat.
One afternoon, during a particularly miserable shift, you were sitting at the station rubbing your lower back.
"God," you muttered. "My husband bought six different pregnancy pillows."
Dana laughed. "Six?"
"He said the first five didn't have the right feeling."
"What does that even mean?"
"I don't even want to know."
Then Santos frowned. "Wait. Wasn't Park carrying a giant package into the parking lot yesterday?"
You didn't look up from your charting. "Probably."
"And didn't he get irritated at at someone who bumped into him because it caused him to drop it all?"
"Oh, that was ours."
Silence.
You blinked up. "What?"
Santos stared at you carefully. "You and Park live in the same building?"
"Oh." You smiled absentmindedly. "Yeah."
Another silence. Santos looked deeply concerned now.
"You're... close with him?"
You laughed. "I mean, I would hope so."
Nobody knew what to say to that. Because there was no way. No way.
You were married, pregnant even. Completely in love with your husband, whoever he was.
And Brendon Park looked at most human interaction like it personally offended him.
Yet somehow he kept appearing around you like a shadow, like it was gravity.
The rumors exploded after an incident at the cafeteria. You had been off your shift for exactly eleven minutes when Brendon walked into the cafeteria still in his scrubs.
And everyone noticed that. Because Brendon never went to the cafeteria (He barely seemed to consume food). He scanned the room once and found you immediately. THen walked over carrying a tray.
Without asking, he switched your coffee with a different one.
"You can't have that much caffeine."
You looked offended. "It was half-caf."
"It was basically battery acid."
"You tasted it?"
"You left it on the counter this morning."
Brendon sat across from you naturally, like this happened every day.
You pointed at his tray. "You got fries?"
"You wanted fries."
"I mentioned fries once."
"You cried about it."
"I was emotional that time."
"You threatened divorce."
The tables surrounding you stared. The conversation sounded disgustingly domestic.
Brendon pushed the fries toward you first before touching his own food. You stole half of them and he didn't complain.
Actually, he watched you eat with this faintly distracted expression that nobody had ever seen on his face before. Like he was making sure you were really eating.
Then your phone buzzed. You checked it and groaned.
"The husband says I forgot my appointment tomorrow."
Brendon immediately said, "Ten-thirty."
You looked at him. "I know."
"You forgot."
"I remembered eventually."
"You remembered because I reminded you."
The silence at the table became defeaning, like somehow everyone was staring at you. Brendon glanced around once, clearly unimpressed by the collective lack of intelligence.
Then his pager went off. And before leaving, he reached down and adjusted you chair closer to the table because you'd been sitting awkwardly with your belly.
The movement was instinctive, like he'd done this a million times. And it was weirdly intimate.
The second he disappeared, Langdon sat on the seat that Brendon just occupied.
"Oh my God."
You frowned. "What?"
He leaned forward carefully. "Are you having an affair with Brendon Park?"
You nearly choked on a fry. "What?"
"That man practically tucked you in!"
"He's just—"
"You literally just talked about threatening him with divorce!"
"My husband!"
"Exactly!"
You stared at him in disbelief before realization dawned.
"Oh my god."
"So, you are!"
"No I'm not, Frank."
"Then why does The Shark know your OB schedule?"
"Because he made it."
Silence. "...Made it?" Langdon repeated weakly."
"He color-coded the whole calendar."
He didn't speak. Then you laughed, actually laughed. Because suddenly the misunderstanding was hysterical. But before you could explain, a trauma alert blared overhead and the conversation died instantly.
Unfortunately for you, the rumor did not.
Within a week, the entire ER thought you were secretly involved with Brendon.
Not openly. Nobody confronted you directly again because you seemed so genuinely confused by the accusation.
But people whispered. The evidence kept piling up. Brendon carrying your bag without asking, appearing whenever you mentioned cravings, glaring at anyone who stressed you out, standing suspiciously close during procedures if you looked tired.
And worst of all? The way he looked at you when you weren't paying attention.
That's what really convinced people. Because Brendon looked at everyone else like they personally wronged him. He looekd at you like you were something precious.
Then one night, the ER was hell. Every bed was full, three ambulanced inbound, a drunk patient screaming in triage.
You were exhausted, hormonal, and dangerously close to crying. Then one of the newer interns snapped at you.
"Can we get another attending to handle this? Dr. L/N clearly isn't keeping up."
The station went silent. Your exhaustion sharpened into humiliation. And before you could answer, a voice cut through the room.
"No."
Everyone turned. Brendon stood near the doors, having apparently arrived seconds earlier. The intern straighted nervously.
"Repeat what you said."
The poor intern paled. "I didn't mean—"
"You questioned an attending physician with ten years of emergency medicine experience while you can barely place an IV."
The room became deathly still. Brendon's voice never rose which somehow made it scarier.
"You will either assist competently or get out of her department."
Her department. The possessiveness in those words hit everybody like a truck.
The intern muttered an apology. Brendon didn't even look at him again. Instead, he turned to you.
"You're shaking."
"I'm fine."
Brendon's hand briefly touched the underside of your belly as he adjusted your position from the station edge.
It was gentle. So different from the cold surgeon everyone knew.
And suddenly Santos understood. Not the affair, but something else. Something much bigger.
"Oh my god," she whispered.
Dennis looked at her. "What?"
But she was staring at Brendon. At the wedding band hidden beneath his gloves as he reached for the chart. At the identical band you wore on a chain around your neck because pregnancy swelling made your fingers ache.
At the way you entire body relaxed when he was near. At the way he knew every tiny thing about you.
Not like a lover, like a husband.
"Oh my god," Santos repeated louder.
You looked up. Brendon looked annoyed already, like he sensed where this was going.
Santos pointed between the two of you. "You're married."
You blinked. "Yeah?"
Brendon closed his eyes briefly like this was exhausting.
You looked genuinely baffled. "Who else would we be married to?"
Chaos. Absolute chaos.
"You let us think she was cheating on her husband?!" Santos yelled at Brendon.
Brendon looked unimpressed. "That sounds like a you problem."
"You never said—"
"Well, nobody asked."
"You literally acted like you hated each other!"
You burst out laughing. "What? No we don't."
Brendon looked down at you. And for the first time ever, in front of the entire ER, his expression softened completely.
Not subtly or barely there, but fully. Warm eyes. Affection. Something that was gentle.
Park the Shark was apparently somebody's husband. Somebody's incredibly devoted husband. And somehow that was more shocking than if he'd announced he killed people.
And somehow, from that day on, things became infinitely worse. Because now everyone noticed everything.
The quiet touches. The instinctive teamwork. The fact that Brendon always knew where you were in the hospital. The way he softened only for you.
The way you could make the scariest surgeon in the building carry your snacks and hold your coffee and rub circles into your back between traumas.
And worst of all?
Now the ER knew that every horrifyingly domestic story you told about your husband had been all about Brendon Park all along.
Which completely destroyed their ability to fear him properly anymore. Especially after they heard him answer your phone one day with:
"Baby, why are you calling me from upstairs?"
thank you for reaching until the end! i'd love to know what you thought about this story anddddd if you'd like to see more ;)
its ok if as long as it's not inside, right? ᡣ anal + toys ᡣ backshots ᡣ cuddlefuck ᡣ this ᡣ riding ᡣ deeeeep breeding ᡣ (tw) ghostface ᡣ somno ᡣ stuck! ᡣ fingering both holes
pussy eating ᡣ eating you out ᡣ jerking off to you ᡣ toys ᡣ riding ᡣ public sex ᡣ pounding + hair pulling ᡣ hole swap ᡣ groping + rough sex ᡣ 69 ᡣ pussy eating ᡣ the condom broke!
kisses between thrusts ᡣ he won't let you play your game... ᡣ doggy position ᡣ titty fuck ᡣ dryhumping ᡣ thigh fucking ᡣ more thigh fucking ᡣ reverse cowgirl ᡣ ripping your panties
somno pt. ii ᡣ cuddles ᡣ fingering ᡣ this ᡣ mutual masturbation ᡣ more fingering ᡣ tummy bulge ᡣ using you as stress relief after work ᡣ princess treatment ᡣ riding and breeding ᡣ new position ᡣ anal
synopsis Robby is known to speak before he thinks sometimes, but when the cost of his words is losing you, he’d rather die (6.6k words)
warningheavy angst, language, hospital stuff, mention of drowning, near death experience, robby is constipated emotionally as always, jack to the rescue, kinda yearning Jack if you squint, inaccurate medical practices I am noooo doctor!
authornotethannk you so much for the request!!! and thank you for your kind words! I had so much fun writing, I think angst is probably my favourite to write over anything especially when Robby is the one yearning. I hope you liked! (Gif credits @emziess :)
Pitt masterlist Last robby fic!
As a resident in the Emergency Department there was a lot you knew.
You knew that preeclampsia effected about eight percent of all pregnant women worldwide. You knew how to intubate and had in fact done so many in your time at PTMC that you were sure you could do it with your eyes closed. You knew that in the bottom draw of Dana's select spot at the nurses station was a pack of nicotine gum hardly used because Dana thought they were a bunch of bull; in spite of the literal doctors orders.
You knew there was a leaky faucet in the women's bathrooms that drove everyone insane when they went in there to steal a moment's peace. You knew the computer in central fourteen was the faultiest one which was why you avoided charting in there all together.
So you knew there must have been a reason why Noelle from insurance was biding her time with your new boyfriend. There must have been a reason why he was grinning big at her like he hadn't with you for days.
“Hey!” said Samira falling at your side at the counter.
You were still too distracted by the two to even tear your gaze away and look at her. “Hey.”
Samira followed your eyeline. “You're staring, you know that?”
You nodded.
Robby rubbed at the side of his face as his cheeks flushed, Noelle shifted her weight onto her other heeled foot- apparently getting herself comfortable.
“Who is that, again?” asked Doctor Mohan.
“Noelle. She's from insurance.”
Samira nodded. “Noelle from insurance. Annnd do we like Noelle, from insurance?”
At that you realised just how transparent your glares might have been.
“Oh, you know,” you mumbled, finally looking back down to your tablet that had grown dark in the absence of movement. “It's our job to like everyone.”
Santos passed by you then, dropping herself down into your favourite chair in exhaustion. “Not everyone.”
“So we're all having a great day, I see,” you commented, sarcastically. However the sardonic tone of your voice was over-saturated with a loud laugh.
Your head practically snapped up to see Noelle laughing at something Robby had said. Even his face was scrunched up at his joke. You watched as Noelle's hand darted to his bicep, playfully hitting him in a way that could only be recognised as flirting.
You watched as Robby looked down to her hand on him and then he looked up, finding you and finding your watchful gaze. Only then did the pink in his cheeks subside and the wrinkles of amusement die.
“Didn't they have a thing before you and him got together?” asked Santos.
You sighed. “Yes, they did, thank you, Trinity.”
“Hey, just trying to be helpful.”
“Save it for the patients,” you said.
Robby took one step in your direction but you'd already dismissed yourself from Santos and Mohan, walking the ward like it was a battle field.
But you could hear your boyfriends heavy boots close behind you.
“Don't do that,” he said, calling after you.
“Do what? See a patient?”
“It's not what you think,” he said.
“Of course it's not,” you said, trying your best to be indifferent.
You knew about Noelle and Robby's history, just as you knew about his and Heathers, and his and the pathologist from upstairs, and the one from ortho. You knew and you understood, heck you'd even been around to joke about with Landon. Robby's famous seven-week itch.
Rumour had it before he finally got to hold your hand and kiss you whenever he liked he'd been trying to nail you down for years, but you weren't sure how much you believed.
It had been nine months, maybe closer to ten since you and Robby had officially started seeing each other. It was the real boyfriend-girlfriend deal where you could call each other at any moments of the day, could get take out together and discuss the boring things together.
Yet, you did none of that.
Robby and you didn't talk.
You fucked- but only each other. You worked on cases together- strictly professional. On the days where you were desperate there was an on-call room Robby could book out and steal time away with you.
But you didn't remember the last time you'd laughed like that with him.
“It's not,” said Robby again.
“Of course it's not.”
Robby sighed, falling closer behind you. “Well, it doesn't really sound like you believe me.”
“I believe you,” you said. “Do I believe Noelle...”
“Oh, c'mon,” Robby chuckled, like the very idea of them was ridiculous. Like the two of you didn't begin where they ended. “You seriously gonna be hung up on that?”
“Don't,” you warn, shaking your head.
You reached for an exam room door, where a sixteen year old boy was complaining of migraines but Robby grabbed your wrist and stirred you away.
“You wanna argue, not here,” he said.
“I don't want to argue.”
Robby led you out to the ambulance bay. Any nurses stealing a couple minutes of peace quickly diverted back in and even ambulances seemed to divert away. He let go of you, standing away and folding his arms over his chest, defensive. “So come on, tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
“You're mad because I was talking to Noelle- about a case, might I add,” he said. There was nothing soft in his tone, nothing that calmed your nerves on edge. He said it all like it was a joke that he already knew the punchline to.
You rubbed at your temple. “You can talk to Noelle about cases, of course you can-”
“- Oh, thank you, glad I have your permission,” he chuckled.
“Can you just not be a dick about this, for once!” you snapped.
Robby's brows rose to his head, almost shocked at your snap at him. He held out his hands. “Okay, I'm not being a dick.”
“You are, and it's like sometimes you don't even realise.”
His hands were worn with the mornings patients and you could see the stress he tried to hide away as he wiped up and down his face.
You took a deep breath. “Robby, if you don't want this to work out all you have to do is say.” You said it, un-sure if you even meant it. Un-sure that you could ever go back to who you were before meeting Robby, let alone sharing in his life. In the small moments grabbing take out together and eating it on his sofa. In the mornings where you both naturally woke up early enough to just admire each other before you had to get to work.
Robby chuckled dryly, hands on his hips. “Oh my god, all of this because I spoke to another woman?”
“Because you laughed with her like you haven't with me for weeks!” you argued.
For once, Robby was silent.
You told yourself after the seven week mark that it would be any day now, that he'd tell you you were better off friends; colleagues. Every day and week it didn't come, every month he got more comfortable in your bed you figured you'd easily get rid of him in your life as easily as you welcomed him.
Now you stood across from him in the early morning light of the ambulance bay knowing if he left you now you'd never get back on your feet again.
“I see the way Noelle looks at you, how the others from upstairs do to,” you begin.
Robby shook his head, something earnest in his gaze. “They're not- they don't-”
“- I know, I know,” you said, cutting him off with a grimace of a smile. “ ”I know you don't love them, Robby. I'm just not sure you love me either.”
As un-cultured as you were with your own relationships you weren't sure when the right time to say I love you was. You knew Santos had said it to Garcia drunk one night and woke up with regret pinning her to the bed. You knew Dana and Benji had said it to each other a week in. You knew you loved Robby before you even kissed him.
Robby looked down to his boots, shaking his head. “That's not fair.”
Your heart pinched. “I know I love you, Robby. But I can't watch all these woman over you and-and wonder.”
“Your insecurities are not my fault!” Robby snapped.
You knew he didn't mean it, or hoped he didn't. You knew in the very small arguments you'd had that he spoke without thinking and came grovelling back.
Maybe it was worse this time because you knew it was the truth. You knew these women- his ex something's- didn't get to see Robby in the early mornings and be the last thing he spoke to at night. You knew Robby wasn't inviting them into his self, but he wasn't pushing them away either.
They'd all been quick, snaps of bands on wrists. You were supposed to be something more.
Maybe you weren't.
Biting on the inside of your cheek, you felt the familiar burning in your chest, rising up to your neck.
“Okay.” You held yourself tight, heading past him and to the doors that were already welcoming you back.
Robby was hot on your heels, quicker even as he pushed himself ahead of you. “No, no, no- hey- wait, no I-I didn't mean that.” His eyes were wide, hands held out in front of you, not quite clasped together, pointing to the sky but pleading none the less.
“We shouldn't talk about this now, Robby-”
“- I- we... honey, please.”
He stood in between you and the doors. Beyond him you saw the chaos of the room, the charts being passed, the labs being reported. The world still turned.
Robby's hands fell to your shoulders, rubbing up and down your arms. “Let me- jus' let me-let me-”
“Hey! You two!”
Robby didn't jump apart from you, he squeezed your arms tighter as the two of you looked back to Dana who rushed out, wisps of grey hair falling around her. “What is it?”
“There's been a crash down the docks, all hands on deck!”
You thought you knew chaos, having seen all sorts of terror and oddities in the Pitt but the scenes at the dock were nothing like it. A complication with a boat, an explosion- small enough- rattled ferries and had them crashing into one another like terrible scene of dominoes.
Heck, you weren't even sure if the docks were safe to be standing on.
There were fire trucks and ambulances that didn't just respond to PTMC but Presby too. Police were corning off the area, talking to any witnesses but everyone blurred in one as you weaved in and out of them.
You'd been sent as an emergency respondent thanks to how level-headed and sturdy you were in the Pittfest. You still remembered how Robby nominated you as well as Whitaker to go with some from surgery, his eyes dark on you, a trusting nod passed before you were handed a jacket and pushed into an ambulance.
You'd already pulled a sheet over three bodies, one of them too small for your liking.
“Any for me?” asked a first emergency responder, you think his name was Spencer, catching it in the rig you caught a ride in. “We can take two.”
“Yeah!” you yelled and led him away. “This guy, approximately in his thirties, head lack to the right, needs to go to surgery immediately. This woman, late twenties, lost consciousness, possible pelvic bleed but she's stabilised, need's a ultrasound.”
“Got it!”
You'd gone through almost all the gloves you had in your pockets. There was blood seeping into your scrub uniform at your knees. You'd forgone your coat to a little girl who took an ambulance back with her mother, trembling from the cold.
A steady, firm hand settled between your shoulder blades.
“How you holding on, Slugger?”
Your heart soared in relief when you recognised Jack's voice, felt his steady hand and saw his easy smile in the middle of all the pain.
“Jack, thank god. Are you here with your team?” you asked, eying the uniform he was in.
“Yeah, we came to secure the area, doing everything I can to help,” he said, the two of you nudging your way through the people, stepping over the rubble and pools of water or blood. “How you holding up?”
“Lost three,” you told him.
Jack looked down at you, the weight of his gaze always heavy. “And how many you saved, huh? Focus on that number.”
The wind picked up, sending a chill over your bones.
“Hey, where's your jacket?” asked Jack, a frown taking over his features.
You chuckled. “Probably half way to Presby by now, think we've handed off all the traumas PTMC can take.”
Jack tutted and shook his head aside. “I reckon they've got one more in them.”
You didn't know how you and Jack had got so close, somewhere along the lines of hand-offs and covering night shifts you just always gravitated toward each other, working well and saving lives. Every daring procedure you'd taken was with him over your shoulder only for him to go and boast about you to Robby later.
Jack led you to Robby, for that you always had to be thankful.
“Hey! I've got a guy seizing over here!”
With your case in hand the two of you rushed off.
The man seemed middle-aged with no obvious wound to him as you and Jack took either side. The man was at the edge of the docks, the crashing of the waves fighting against you as you worked to stablilse him.
Jack steadied him. “Check if there's any medication on him! It might be a disorder!”
You checked, coming up empty pocketed. You fumbled in your bag and tried your pockets before finding the vial and clean needle. “Pushing diazepam!”
With five cc's in his seizing slowed to dull twitches.
“We need a back board and neck brace,” said Jack, looking around to try and flag down anyone.
Nobody was catching your eyes. This close to the water you were out of the way of most of the chaos.
“Go!” you told Jack. “I'll stay with him, make sure he doesn't sieze again.”
Jack's brows pinched together for a second. “You sure?”
You nodded. Your hands remained on your patient, feeling his tremors and already timing his pulse with your watch. “I've got it, go!”
In hind sight you should have thought about the implications. You'd been grabbed and yelled at and spat at in the ED by less sever patients but once you'd been attacked by a man who just woke up from a seizure, dazed and confused and naming you his enemy.
Robby had never been so close to murder.
It took weeks for the bruises to go down, for your hand to heal properly from the fall and you were on bed rest for a week.
You knew what it meant to be alone with a patient, but sometimes you supposed it couldn't be helped.
The diazepam should have helped- you've seen it help- but soon enough the man started twitching, slow at first, before it started to fit and his whole body moved.
He was a strong man. You weren't.
“It's okay, sir- sir!” you threw your weight against him to hold him still, wonder what you can do to stop him biting down on his tongue with the little equipment you had.
The man was mumbling to himself, thrashing violently.
“C'mon Jack, c'mon-”
It only took a wide sweep of the mans arm to send you hurtling back and crashing into the icy water.
The sky was darkening by the time Robby counted off his thirtieth patient of the day. Twenty-five of them had been from the incident at the docks. Only one he couldn't save, two sent up to the OR.
He counted the patients, counted the hours that ticked by, counted every ambulance that came by not carrying you. He'd expected you back by now, expected to have a little piece of mind with seeing you back in his eyeline.
Robby's heart was being squeezed progressively as the day went on, ever since he'd snapped and said words he never even meant.
Every second, passing from patient to patient and tearing off gloves to replace them with clean ones he checked his phone for any update from you.
Nothing.
You must have been busy down there.
But just three ambulances ago Whitaker returned saying he lost sight of you practically immediately.
So where the hell were you?
“Hey, Dana-” he called, rounding on the nurses station.
She looked as dishevelled as he felt, wisps of hair, dark circles under her eyes.
“Can you get a hold of transport, ask where the hell is my resident.”
“I just got off the phone with them, Robby-” she reached over and placed a hand on his, the one that had been tapping relentlessly. “She's on her way in now.”
Before Robby could even wonder why Dana had to hold his hand to tell him, why her eyes were glassed over and her voice trembled to tell him the doors bust open.
“Robby!” Jack yelled out.
He turned, catching sight of his old friend, the greying hair damp and sticking to his skin. He was half dressed in SWAT gear, his jacket discarded and bits of tinfoil falling from his shoulders. Jack was set over a gurney, hammering down on a chest and going in for CPR the old fashioned way.
“What happened? You fall in-”
Robby got to the other side of the gurney and breath caught in his chest.
“She's been down thirty- thirty-five minutes, I dunno, man,” said Jack as he continued hammering down on your chest.
It was you. Blue in the face and eyes closed, droplets of water at your lashes. Your hair was turning to ice fanned out underneath you. He'd been running his hand through your hair just that morning, had he not. There was a blanket, maybe two, thrown over you but your body only reacted to the thumping Jack delivered on your chest, pinching your nose to breath down your open mouth.
This morning you'd been warm, so warm, with a leg thrown over his hips in attempts to keep him in your bed. And he'd been close, so close to burying himself in your warmth.
He didn't even have to touch you to know you were cold.
“I found her- in the water- pulled her out-” gasped Jack as he continued compressions.
“What do you mean in the water?” asked Robby, surprising himself by how calm he sounded.
“She- she fell, or-or something, I dunno man-”
“You don't know?” he snapped. “Why isn't she bagged?”
“We ran out,” said the paramedic pushing you in.
“You ran out?!”
“Robby- Robby!” Dana's hands were on his chest, keeping him at bay before Robby even knew what he was going to do.
Robby shook her off. “What's open?”
“Trauma two just got cleaned up-”
He grabbed the gurney and pushed you into the room. The weight of Jack on top of you trying to save your life squeaking the wheels against the floor not long wiped from blood. Robby was aware of other voices, of people wondering if that was Jack and was it... no... it couldn't have been.
The doors closed behind a team of people all teaming in, stuttering when they saw you.
“Hook her up!” ordered Robby, ignoring any protocol of gowns and gloves. If he was going to get you back he was going to feel the beat of your heart under his palms. “Jack, move!”
Jack slowly climbed down and Robby jumped up next, quickly taking over compressions.
He remembered kissing down your chest, hiding himself there on mornings he wanted to steal away five minutes, pulling the covers up past the two of you. How he was breaking ribs to keep you alive. “Somebody get a bag on her, now!”
“She's- she's been down a long time,” said Jack, catching his breath.
Robby thumped down on your chest, kidding himself with the dull flutter of your eyelashes, knowing it was only through the force of his hammering down on you. “She's alive.”
“Jesus, Jack, you're as cold as ice,” said Dana from somewhere behind Robby.
“I'm fine,” he dismissed. “Robby, you shouldn't be working on her, brother.”
Others in the room stopped, hearing that.
It was protocol family waited outside, that if family or friends ever came in demanding help the same DNA did not attend. They were too emotionally clouded. To invested to think straight. The last time Robby found himself in this situation: blood pumping in his ears, chest tight was trying to save Jake's girlfriends life.
He'd failed.
The only person to pull him back from that was you.
There'd be nobody if you didn't pull through. He'd be left in that pedes room, never to leave.
“Robby!” Jack tried again.
“Shut up and get me some warm saline!”
“Oh, no,” said Jack, walking around till he was on the other side of your gurney. “No, I'm not going anywhere.”
Robby was still pressing his hands down on your chest when Jack reached over, past the bag they'd finally clamped over on you, and stroked back your hair.
“We're gonna get you through this,” he uttered in an oddly tender moment.
“We need to get a central line in her,” said Matteo.
Jack looked at Robby. “Brother.”
“No.”
“You have to move, we need to get a line in her.”
Robby knew that. He knew so much as a doctor, as chief attending. But he couldn't stop, he physically couldn't bring himself to.
“Robby, man, you gotta let go.”
“I can't... I can't... I can't...” he said. The only thing keeping him sane was the one, two, three, four count in his head, was the cold feeling of your flesh under his hands. “Push three milligrams of epi.”
Jack huffed in frustration, probably the only thing keeping him warm. He marched around your bed to his side. “Robby, so help me god I will drag you out of here if you don't let her go!”
“I can't!” he yelled.
It was selfish but Robby had some how convinced himself he could be selfish with you. He could hold on tighter in the mornings and let you go for the rest of the day. He could watch patients get close to you because he knew it was him who got to kiss you. He could hold back the worst parts of himself to keep you, no matter how much it tore him apart to push you away on the days he wanted to be closest.
No, Robby could never let you go.
If you ever tried to leave him, he'd hold on tighter.
Robby dropped his voice low. “I can't.”
Jack took in a slow breath, a gentle hand on Robby's bicep. “Okay. Okay. You don't have to let her go... but to save her you have to move aside.”
A monitor somewhere in the room beeped.
Slowly, Robby moved from your chest.
The people swarmed you. Someone cut into you, getting a central line in on your other side.
Robby stayed where he was, a hand holding yours tightly as if he could squeeze his own life into yours. He cried- maybe loudly- at the feel of how cold you were.
“What's her temp?” asked Jack.
“Eighty.”
Robby looked up to the monitor reading your vitals. “That's- that's too low.”
“We're getting her warmed up.”
“Get the warm saline.”
“We are.”
Robby leaned over you once the line was placed, brushing back your hair and trying desperately to ignore how cold you were. “You're not dead, you're not,” he said, low for you. Your vitals may have been saying different. “You're not dead.”
“Doctor Robby-”
“Please,” he begged with trembling lips. “Please, don't do this to me.”
A monitor sung low and dry. The classic song of a flatline.
His head jerked up.
Jack caught his stupor and pushed him from you, sending him into Dana's ready hold. “She's going into V-fib!”
Dana held Robby. Physically she wasn't strong enough to hold him back but Robby wasn't strong enough to fight against her. “Robby... Robby, c'mon, let's wait outside.”
He was shaking his head.
“Panels, charge to three hundred!” called out Jack.
Dana had just managed to push him out the doors as he shouted clear!
Through the glass Robby watched your body jerk but not respond.
“Please, please, please,” he uttered. His back hit the nurses station, his knees giving out as he slowly slid and sank to the floor.
“Okay, okay,” muttered Dana, falling with him and holding him there.
The Pitt seemed to stand still at the sight of their boss, white faced and hands trembling, brushing back his hair. Noise travelled quick, that it was you in the bed, ribs breaking from compressions, chest hurting from the shock.
Robby's hands clasped in front of him, his star of David chain clenched in his hands. “Please.... she can't do this to me, please.”
Dana tugged on his body, bringing him in closer. With her sharp gaze she pushed everyone else that dared try and get closer away. “C'mon, Robby, she's strong, you know that. And stubborn like hell, huh?”
Robby nodded along with her words, un-sure if he could believe it.
“Charge again, three hundred, let's go!” called Jack, rubbing the panels before everyone backed up. “Clear!”
There was a small beep, a pick up in the line.
“There! Resume compressions!”
“Doctor Robby!” Santos ran up, her gown like a cape around her. She slowed to a stop in front of the two slumped. “Dana. Dana, is it- is it true, is it?”
Robby looked up, tear stained cheeks red.
“Yeah, kid,” said Dana, sadly.
Santo's jaw trembled before she shook her head in resolute, saying one simple word. No. Then she stormed into the room.
Robby knew you favoured Santos and somewhere along the way Robby had come to look for her when an interesting case came in. He came to favour the way you smiled at Santos when she did things right and Robby searched for any smile he could get from you.
So, he pushed himself up on shaky legs and followed her in- back into the chaos that was your room. The blankets had slipped from your body in the shocks and he desperately tried to hold himself back from fixing them.
“Doctor Abbot-” said a nurse or a intern or someone in the room. “It's been thirty minutes.”
“Hold compressions.”
Robby knew it was to check your pulse but he winced when they paused, when your body didn't respond.
“Still asystole, resume compressions.” Jack caught Robby's gaze.
He'd seen that look on Jack's face. Had seen the hopelessness and the devastation at losing a patient not only in his face but in his own reflection. “Don't-”
Jack lowered his head. “Robby.”
“No, Jack, her temp is not up! She's cold,” he said, walking back around the room. He rolled his shoulders back, pulling on gloves. If nobody else was going to save you he would. “She is not dead! She's not- She's not dead till she's warm and dead! Push another round of epi!”
Matteo jumped at the chance.
Jack stood by Robby's side. “Just... prepare yourself, okay? She's been down a long time. She might not come back from this.”
Robby glanced back at him. “She will.”
“And even if she did-”
Robby cut him off. “She will.”
They couldn't send you up to the OR- there was nothing surgical to do. They couldn't send you to the ICU- you weren't stable. They could work on you for hours, in the pitts of hell.
Robby didn't stop Jesse from compressions but he leant over you, leaning his lips into your forehead. “You'll come back, you have to come back.”
“What's her temp?”
“We're up to eighty-eight.”
“When was our last epi?”
“Ten minutes ago.”
“Push again.”
At some point Santos pushed her through the crowd, taking compressions from Jesse who she deemed weak-armed.
“Doctor Santos-” said Jack, the only one seeing this for what it was. A disaster. One more emotional person in the room wasn't going to help. If you woke you might just choke on tears from them all.
“I can do it,” she argued, nodding to the night attending. “I can do it.”
Santos was as stubborn as you. If anyone might have been able to beat her heart into beating, it would be her.
Robby leant over you. Robby could feel your skin cold against his lips and he pet back any bit of you he could reach, trying to warm you. He caught Jack's tired gaze, his lifeless stare like he was already grieving you. “I never told her I love her, Jack.”
“Get an APG,” said Santos.
Jack clasped his shoulder. “Tell her now.”
Robby looked back down to you, past the bag pushing your breath, through Santos keeping your heart beat. He kissed your forehead. “I-” he chocked on the words. He couldn't remember a time where he'd said it and meant it like he does now.
He knew Jack was giving him a way out. He knew Jack was giving him the chance to live with no regrets.
But Robby would regret not dying with you if you didn't make it.
There was a silence throughout the room, not even the beating of a monitor keeping him sane.
Robby's hot tears hit your cheeks.
“Temp?”
“Up to neinty.”
“Halt compressions.”
Santos paused.
Nothing.
Then a shrill beeping.
If Robby thought it was life he was going to be souly mistaken.
“She's in V-fib again!”
Robby backed away, tucking his head down to his chest as he watched Jack get the panels, rub the gel on.
“Charge to three hundred- clear!”
Your body jolted again, blankets slipping down your bare body and Robby suddenly wanted to cover you, wanted to pull every tube keeping you alive out and just hold you. Warm or cold. He just wanted to hold you.
“Again, charge. Clear!”
There was a silence. Maybe you were so angry at him you were proving a point by dying. You were a good swimmer. Why didn't you swim?
Everyone in the room paused, seeming to wait for someone to call it.
Jack looked at Robby.
“No,” he said, pushing past everyone.
“Robby-” interjected Jack.
He snatched the panels from Jack. “Charge again, three hundred-”
“-Robby-”
“I said charge again!”
The room was heavy as Jesse moved to do so, charging them up.
“Clear!”
Your body jerked again, violent. Your face remained peaceful, Santos remained off to the side, waiting for orders, waiting to know. Everyone else was looking to each other, silently deciding who would be the one to drag Robby away from your body.
“Wait- there!”
In the middle of them all there sat a pick up in your heart.
The room jumped into discussion about how to carry on, about how to keep the momentum going while Robby pressed his stethoscope into his ears and the other down on you. He listened, catching the beat of your heart.
“She's warm, she's warm and she's alive,” said Jack with a smile.
You were dreaming. It was a sweet sort of thing.
It was a warm body blanketing you and hands holding you. It was lips you knew pressing along you and drawing out pleasure. There were three tiny words spoken into flesh.
It was Robby, his head laid upon your chest in your bed and mumbling the words, tracing every letter over your ribs. When you reached for his hair, when you tried to say the words again you coughed up water instead. You clawed at your throat. You chocked in panic-
Then there was a beeping bringing you out of sweet dreams.
“Hey, hey. Honey? Honey, can you look at me?” a warm hand was running over your head, pushing back your hair. “Open your eyes.”
You tried to. They felt heavy. Sleep heavy.
But someone was coaxing you through it, holding your hand and brushing back your hair.
“Yeah, there we go... there we go, hey.”
The lights were bright, almost painfully so as they blared in your eyes. It took you a couple blinks to get them right but when you did there was a dark shadow looming over you, blocking out the lights.
There was the ragged pull of a beard and the slope of a well known nose.
You breathed in and smelt burnt coffee and hand sanitiser. “Robby?”
He smiled, crows feet at his eyes. “Hey, honey.”
You pushed up your arm, finding it oddly weak like it had been weighted down. You found an IV down in your arm. The white lights... the white walls and the IV all made slow sense.
“Wh-what?”
“Easy, easy.” Robby grabbed at your arms, holding you. He helped you sit up, reaching over and plumping your pillow and holding you there.
Only when you heard the monitor calming down and felt the pain lessen did Robby let you go, perching close on the bed next to you and grabbing your hand again.
“What happened?” you asked, finding your throat parched.
Robby sighed, pulling your hand into your lap. “There was an accident at the docks. You went with the responders to help. Your patient had a seizure and...”
You remembered the dock, the wind cold and the yells. You remembered Jack was there and the patient, he was seizing. “What happened to him?” you asked.
Robby stared at you, a small shake in his head as his brows pinched together.
“The seizing, the patient.”
There was a small look of disbelief, a soft smile creasing his chapped lips.
“What?”
His smile turned sharp with affection as he looked down. Your hand, engulfed in his, was pressed to his lips. He stayed like that as the scenes played in his head and the smile slowly started to fall. “You were brought in, your body temp was eighty. Jack was- was doing compressions. We- we had to shock you, so much, you don't- ” Robby sighed out a shaky breath. “You don't know what it was like.”
The dock, the bodies, Jack. The bite of cold water like a thousand daggers piercing into your skin. You had gasped for breath, limbs flailing.
It had felt like dying.
“Oh.”
You rubbed at your chest, pain blooming.
“You might be a bit burnt, from the shocks. And we were- we did compressions for a while so you broke a rib,” he said, chocking down a cry.
You squeezed his hand. “We?”
He nodded, chin tucked into his chest. His lips were pursed.
You'd seen Robby cry before, in shades of red face and clenched palms and always trying to hide it away. But you'd never seen him try to hide away as much as he was now. Your hand escaped his hold, caressing down his cheek.
“Robby.... hey....”
His lips puckered to your palm, pressing a kiss there. His palm was large as he held your hand up to his cheek.
“Hey,” you cooed.
Robby glanced up at you. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry.”
“It's okay.”
“No, no it's not, it's not okay,” Robby took a shaky breath and scooted closer. His arm came over you, bracing himself on the bed. “You almost died.”
You searched his eyes but only found pain and defeat. He looked tired. Really tired. “But I didn't.”
“That's not the point,” he said. He brushed back strands of your hair, kept petting it down in a way you guessed comforted him more. “Jack was doing compressions for almost an hour. Your temp was down the whole time. We shocked you four times. Four.”
Robby's voice broke.
“You almost died and the last thing we did was argue.”
You didn't know what to say to that. The words I'm sorry were already rising and like he sensed it, Robby gave a small shake of his head. “Yeah... probably wasn't the best timing.”
“We're never arguing again, you understand?”
You smirked, wrapping your fingers around his wrist. You could feel the race of his pulse. “Give us a week.”
“No,” said Robby. “Never.”
Something sour tasted it your mouth.
“Because we- are we, broken up?”
“No. No. We are not,” he said sternly.
You let out a breath. “Good. Good. I'd have hated to wake up from near death to that.”
“I should have listened to you,” he uttered. “Noelle is nothing, everyone else is nothing, nobody means anything to me, only you. Only ever you. And I am never letting you go again, ever.” He kissed your hand again.
You smiled at him. “What if I need to pee?”
“You can hold my hand.”
“And on mornings where I have really bad morning breath?” you teased.
“That doesn't happen, you know that,” Robby smiled.
Without any arguments left you gave up, sinking into your sheets with a shiver.
Robby frowned. “Are you cold?” he was up at once, pulling at the covers over you and the blankets. He was all but tucking you in as you laid there, taking it.
“Robby.”
“Yeah?” he hummed.
You tugged at his arm, pulling him down.
“What are you- what are you doing?” he chuckled, lightly.
“I'm cold, you're a human furnace, hold me.”
Robby was on the verge of complaining even as you pulled him down on the bed. He grunted at the squeak of the bed, was careful of the monitors assessing you. He squeezed in, pulling the rail back up as you curled up to the side to give him space. “These beds are not made for two.”
“You'll have to get onto the attending about that,” you teased, resting your head on his shoulder.
“Yeah, first thing tomorrow.”
“Meh, I can persuade him, if you like.”
Robby smirked. “He'll do whatever you say.”
His arm slung over your shoulder and rested there, holding your body into him till your head was on his chest and you could feel the beat of his heart. It was just like you dream. Of comfort and warmth.
Robby said your name in a whisper.
You looked up at him to see his eyes screwed shut before releasing them.
“I...”
You watched the move of his lips. “Robby, you don't have to-”
“No, I want to,” he said. Robby's hand was careful as he cupped your face.
“You don't have to say it just because of what happened.”
“I'm not, believe me, I'm not,” he said. “I love you.”
It was the words you wanted to hear, the words you needed to know, the very thing to finish off your dream.
“Robby-” you interjected.
“I love you,” he smiled, grinning wide at you. “I've said it now, I don't think you'll get me to shut up.” There was fake remorse in his voice, a feigned sort of sorry.
“I can think of a few ways.”
Robby's lips were warm and giving as you puckered your up to his, kissing him slow. If you lost your breath kissing him it'd be a hell of a way to go.
Robby smiled against your lips. “That might work.”
His body half rolled onto yours, the bed creaking in protest. Only when your monitor warned of you losing breath did he pull away and check the machine.
“Get some rest, Robby, you look like you need it,” you said, kissing his cheek slow.
There was fight of protest in him that quickly gave up.
Robby looked up at you, wide eyed. “Can I stay?”
You nodded.
“I love you.”
The words he'd given you, the words he'd never forget to say. The words he'd spoken and would never take back.
most alive i’ve ever been - jack abbot x fem!reader
summary: your kitchen sink is leaking, and jack gracefully offers to fix it for you. unfortunately, you didn’t think he’d be there so early, or at the same time you’d forgot your towel for after your shower, causing the two of you to have an awkward encounter in your hallway.
content warning: 18+, MDNI. jack and reader are close friends, jack accidentally sees reader naked, smut - p in v (unprotected), porn with plot, vaginal fingering, missionary, creampie, use of petnames (sweetheart, baby, good girl), i think thats it :3
a/n: i think this is the longest thing i have ever written, and it took me three days to get it done. feedback, comments, and reblogs are all greatly appreciated!!!! i’d love to hear your thoughts. not proofread, lmk about any mistakes!
word count: 3.36k (i got carried away..)
masterlist
you dropped your head into your hands, sighing as you remembered the problem you had left at home this morning. the kitchen sink had been dripping, leaking water all over the floor beneath you whenever you used it.
jack abbot raised an eyebrow as he caught your tired breath. “something wrong?” he asked curiously, cocking his head to watch you as you sat up.
“my sink has been leaking. i have to get a plumber in to fix it while i’m off tomorrow.” you shrugged, giving him a defeated smile. “i’m just really tired, i’m not looking forward to having this all done while resting after a long shift.”
the explanation made jack frown sympathetically, his arms uncrossing to lean against the desk. he bit his bottom lip for a moment before piping up. “i could do it. i’m off tomorrow, and i’ll do it for free.” he offered.
you blinked in surprise, swivelling around in your chair to face him fully now. “really? you’d do that for me?” you questioned. you and jack had been close ever since you joined the ER a few months ago. it was never anything crazy, just two people who could joke with each other easily even amidst the chaos and tension of the place they worked.
“yeah, of course. i don’t mind at all. it’ll save you money and stress of a random stranger in your home.” he smiled kindly like it was nothing.
you stood up to give him a thankful and playful tap on the arm. “thank you. do you remember where my apartment is? i can leave it unlocked in the morning so you can come in whenever.” you told him, watching as he nodded and looked to the clock on the wall.
“perfect. i’ll see you tomorrow.” jack confirmed, stretching lightly before heading off towards one of the nurses that were calling for him.
you had woken up later than usual the next morning.
the sheets crinkled as you stretched, letting out a soft groan as your eyes were hit by the bright early morning sun.
you had a quick bowl of cereal for breakfast. you placed the empty bowl in the sink and sighed as you remembered the fact the water was leaking.
jack will be over later tonight, you thought. you had all morning to clean up yourself the apartment. surely he would have told you if he was coming over early?
you messily made your bed before getting in the shower. you turned the water on to be warm, stripping from your night clothes carefully and folding them onto the counter before stepping in under the water.
the splashing of the water on the floor and the hum of the shower drowned out all sound from outside the bathroom. you let yourself relax as you wet your hair, taking your time washing it and yourself.
it was rare you got time to yourself with your demanding job as a doctor. a long warm shower was your favourite way to wash off the sweat and tiredness from the night before.
it must have been thirty minutes before you finally shut the shower off, wringing your soaked hair before pinning it up to prevent it from dripping down your back. you frowned when you reached for your towel, only to realise you had forgotten it.
no biggie. you could just walk down the hall to your bedroom and grab it from where you’d left it. it wasn’t like anyone was going to see you.
you spent another ten minutes washing your face and applying the skin care you barely got to use. you hummed softly under your breath, completely distracted to the world that lived outside of this room.
a cold chill began to creep over you and your naked body as the steam from the warm water began to melt away. you reached for the door handle, completely distracted in your own mind as you left the bathroom.
you only snapped out of it when you heard your name being called from a familiar voice when you were a few steps from your bedroom door. it was jack. you froze, whipping your head around and immediately beginning to panic.
“jack-!” you replied frantically, the worry clear in your tone.
“i’m sorry if i startled you. i knocked and called your name but you didn’t answer, and you said you were going to leave the door unlocked so i just let myself.. in..” he trailed off and paused when he finally found you. both of you were frozen in place from embarrassment and surprise.
jack’s eyes were wide as he took in the sight in front of him. your hair was tied up loosely on your head, a few wet strands that had escaped framed your red face. you had the most beautiful body he had ever seen, and god, he could see everything.
it was you that snapped out of the awkward stare first. “oh my god! i- i’m- look away!” you squeaked, practically running to your bedroom to hide from the embarrassment that you were sure was going to kill you.
you slammed the door shut behind you before sinking to the floor. you never wanted to leave this room or show your face ever again.
you hurriedly grabbed the towel from where it lay atop your bed, wrapping it around you and covering yourself fully.
jack called out to you again which made you jump. what were you supposed to say? you worked with him!
“i, uh, i’m so sorry. i shouldn’t have.. that was my fault. i should have waited. or called you. i am so sorry.” he apologised, his deep (and very attractive) voice still clear even through the door.
“i can leave if you want me to. i can call someone else to come- and i’ll pay for it.” he added with an awkward cough. you couldn’t see him, but you knew he was probably cursing himself for this happening in the first place.
you let out a breath, answering with a shaky voice that made you squirm in further embarrassment. “no. you can stay. just- just give me a few minutes, okay?” you answered, smacking yourself on the forehead. although you definitely didn’t want to face him right now, you knew it’d be worse if you let him just walk out of your apartment now.
you grabbed a pair of sweatpants and a sweater to slip on, checking how it looked in the mirror before letting your hair down.
as embarrassed as you were, you tried your hardest to ignore the warm feeling in your stomach that definitely wasn’t from that.
there was no sound coming from the hallway outside, so you assumed jack had made his way to your kitchen himself.
that assumption was proven correct when you finally left your bedroom, entering the kitchen with a nervous look on your face. jack was sitting with his back to the door, a box of the tools he thought he might need sitting on the table.
you cleared your throat and watched as he immediately jumped up, standing up straight and meeting your eyes with a neutral expression.
“i’m sorry. i don’t usually walk around naked. i just.. forgot my towel.” you mumbled, head dropping to the floor as he nodded.
“don’t worry about it. let’s just- is it the sink here?” jack asked, pointing to the sink behind him. you nodded, taking careful steps closer.
“yeah. whenever i turn it on, it leaks from the pipes below. it always soaks the floor.” you explained, turning on the tap and opening to cabinet door beneath it to show him.
he watched intently, bending down with a soft ’oof’ to see it. you immediately felt bad. you had forgotten about his leg, and here he was on the floor trying to fix your sink.
it was almost like he sensed the guilt. he looked up to you, shaking his head with a slight smile. “it’s good for me to exercise the leg. it’s nothing i haven’t done before.” he assured you before turning his attention back to the pipe. “this should be an easy fix. i’ll just replace the pipe and tighten it up. should only take about half an hour?” he said, getting up carefully and wiping off his pants.
“sounds good. i’ll.. leave you to it.” you murmured, stepping back awkwardly to give him space.
the time it took jack to finish the sink had been the most agonisingly slow time period you’d ever experienced, which said a lot considering you worked 12 hour shifts at a hospital most days a week.
you occasionally popped your head in to the kitchen to check on jack and to ask if he needed anything, only to be met with a shake of his head and a wave of his hand. he insisted he didn’t need anything.
this made you worry to a whole different level. usually, you two would have been joking back and forth. he might have even shown you and talked you through exactly what he was doing. but now, he couldn’t even meet your eyes.
you fully blamed yourself. you worried you’d ruined the one person you went to for comfort before, during, and after a shift by being stupid and making him uncomfortable.
but in reality, jack couldn’t bear to look at you simply because he didn’t know what he’d do. all he could think of was how beautiful your body looked, how he could so easily fit between your thighs and kiss your soft lips.
he thought you were humiliated and would never speak to him again for betraying your privacy. he had always had a little crush on you since he first laid eyes on you. you were the first person he allowed himself to think about more than he would since his late wife.
the tv played at a low volume when jack came in to the living room to let you know he was done. “it should be all fixed now. just.. let me know if it starts to leak again. i can come back over.” he told you, lingering awkwardly in the doorway as you pushed yourself up using your elbows.
“alright, awesome. i really appreciate it, jack.” you thanked him, pushing yourself off the couch to meet him in the doorway. he nodded and scratched his neck as you looked to the clock.
“do you want some lunch? i’m not that bad of a cook.” you joked, nudging his elbow playfully like you did at work.
jack was surprised you wanted him to stay even though he was done his task. why weren’t you trying to push him out of your apartment and screaming at him to never come back?
“uh, yeah, okay. only if you’re.. comfortable with it.” he accepted, following your lead as you walked to the kitchen.
jack tried not to let his eyes wander while you cooked with your back to him, but he couldn’t get the image of your naked body out of his mind. it was burned into his memory.
he made sure to act polite, maybe even more than normal, considering you were being kind enough to allow him to eat in your home.
you brushed your partially dried hair behind your shoulder as you placed two plates on the table.
you two made casual conversation while you ate, finding it easier to pretend what happened the more you spoke. you both valued each other more than you realised.
jack quickly excused himself after he finished eating, almost eagerly gathering his things and heading to the door. he felt he had overstayed his welcome.
you followed him to the door, biting your lip and fidgeting with your sleeves as he got closer to leaving. you didn’t want him to leave without fully address what he had seen.
jack was saying goodbye when you cut him off. “i’m really sorry, jack!” you blurted out. he paused and looked down at you with his eyebrows furrowed.
you continued before he could reply, ignoring his expression. “i must have made you really uncomfortable. you were so generous to come over and fix my sink for free, and i’ve probably ruined whatever we had going on between us. and i wouldn’t blame you if you never wanted to look at me again.” you rambled quickly, finishing with an apologetic glance before turning away.
jack looked at you for a moment before putting down his toolbox and closing the door behind him.
“hey. if anything, i’m sorry. i really betrayed your privacy. i shouldn’t have seen you like that. i should probably never talk to you again, but not because i don’t want to. only because i don’t want you to feel uncomfortable around me.” jack told you, watching as you took in his words.
when you didn’t respond, he finally snapped. he knew this wouldn’t go anywhere unless one of you did something.
“i like you. i think i like you more than a friend, and you deserve to know that. you need to know how i feel before deciding if you ever want to see me again.” he admittedly suddenly. he didn’t want you to be in the dark about anything regarding to this sensitive topic.
“i can even transfer hospitals if you can’t even bear the sight of me. you shouldn’t have to move your whole life because i messed up-“ he continued, only to be cut off when you grabbed his collar and pulled his face down to yours.
“i don’t want you to ever leave the pitt. it’s unbearable without you.” you whispered, glancing down at his lips and back up at his eyes to search for any protest. when you found none, you leaned up to meet his mouth with yours.
he was stunned for a moment, but he quickly realised what was happening and pulled you flush against him by your waist.
you moaned into his mouth, tongue slipping out to meet his own. you both clumsily moved backwards in search of your bedroom, only breaking apart when you bumped into a wall.
“are you sure about this? you want this?” jack asked, his breathing heavy and desperate. you nodded quickly, reaching for his hand to drag him towards your bedroom.
“yeah, baby. i’ve wanted this for awhile.”
jack followed you, letting you take the lead. he wanted you to be as in control as you desired.
you quickly made it to your bed, shuffling to sit at the top while also pulling off your sweatshirt and throwing it off to the side. you’d handle it later.
jack was quick to do the same, moving him to position himself over you while taking in the sight. “i want you so bad, sweetheart.” he groaned, pulling your mouth back onto his as you grinded against his thigh.
jack snaked a hand down past your waistband, his thick fingers rubbing against the slick gathering at your swollen pussy.
you whimpered at the contact, face flushing at his smug expression. “you’re so wet, baby. already ready for me.” he cooed, rubbing your clit through the cotton.
“take off your shirt. i wanna see you.” you said, hands scrambling to tug at the hem of his t shirt.
jack quickly obeyed, pulling his hands from your panties to pull his shirt off, letting it fall beside you on the bed. your eyes were wide with awe and lust. he was beautiful, and not to mention huge.
“i want you inside of me.” you blurted suddenly, quickly slipping off your sweats and panties at the same time. he helped you shimmy them off, admiring your legs before looking to your throbbing cunt. he almost growled at the sight of you so wet and ready for him.
“i gotta prep you, sweetheart. i don’t want it to hurt.” he murmured, fingers resuming their spot and your leaking hole. a strangled sigh left your mouth as he gathered some of your arousal on his finger, bringing it up to soak and press rough circles into your clit.
“‘m ready, jack. i promise.” you whined eagerly, earning a low chuckle from the man above you. “fine, okay. if you insist.”
he slowly pressed the tip of his middle finger into your pussy, the amount of slick allowing it to slide in easily. your hand reached to grasp onto his back as you felt how thick it was. one of his was about the same as two of yours.
jack noticed the way you shifted to accommodate his length. “feel full already?” he teased, watching as you buried your face into his shoulder. “stop. no.” you mumbled. “need more.”
he didn’t answer, just slipped in another finger and began to curl them inside of you, causing your hips to jerk into his hand, rubbing your clit against his palm.
it didn’t take long for you to grow close to your release, your cunt clenching around his curling fingers.
you moaned deeply, head falling to the pillow as your nails dug into the skin of jack’s back.
before you could cum, jack pulled his fingers out. he watched as you throbbed at the sudden emptiness. “jack, what the fuck?” you whined, meeting his gaze with teary eyes.
he used his clean hand to rub a thumb over your flushed cheek. “i want you to cum on my cock, baby.” he said, sucking his fingers into his mouth to clean them off before slipping down his jeans and boxers.
you stroked his large cock when he pulled it out, admiring the sheer size of it. he was going to be the biggest you’d ever had inside of you by far.
“can i?” you asked quietly as you lined up his tip with your dripping cunt. jack answered with a gruff nod, bracing himself with his elbow beside your head.
the sound that came from in between the two of you when jack pushed his tip in could only be described as wet.
you couldn’t stop your eyes from fluttering shut as the stretch overwhelmed you, legs tightening around jack in an attempt to pull him closer.
“you’re so tight, fuck. such a good girl.” he sighed into your ear, leaning down to meet your lips with his eager tongue. he licked into your mouth with lazy desperation, groaning as you sucked on his tongue.
jack eased himself in fully after a minute, holding you close to him as he licked into your mouth until you were ready. you rutted against his thighs when you felt fully adjusted, making jack pull away, leaving a string of saliva connecting your mouths.
“i’m not gonna last long. you feel so good.” he warned before pulling out slowly and thrusting back in roughly.
you gasped and clawed down his back, your tight walls squeezing onto him tightly, almost refusing to let him out.
it took all but two minutes of the steady pace jack had set for you both to be close to orgasm. you felt jack’s hips stutter at the same time his head fell beside yours on the bed.
“cum inside me, baby. please. i need to feel- feel you fill me up.” you urged, rubbing your clit clumsily to push yourself over the edge.
jack finally spilled inside of you when you came, your arousal gushing around his throbbing cock. the room was filled with weak groans and whimpers and the soft creak of your bed slowing down as you both finished.
you were sweaty and breathy by the time jack pulled out, his softening length coated in his own cum and your wet release.
“that was so hot.” jack breathed, kissing and nuzzling into your shoulder in a way that earned a breathless giggle from you.
“i’m gonna need another shower. and maybe you can join me this time.” you said, sitting up to watch as he laid down beside you on the bed.
“just wait a minute. i wanna hold you.” he insisted softly, pulling you towards him by your wrist, causing you to topple right on top of his chest.
“mmm.. okay. only cause you’re cute.” you teased, kissing his cheek.
warnings/tags: age gap (unspecified but mentioned), oral (f!), slight fingering. unprotected p in v, cream pie, robby’s a little awkward at the start, daddy kink!!!, use of ‘good girl’, pussy pronouns (her), jack abbot is a freak. absolutely nawt proofread!
wc: 3.5k
a/n: you can read part 1 here, though it’s not really necessary.
the game felt like it went on for days, though it was only a couple of hours. robby couldn’t sit still, constantly checking his watch and the time on the screen, occasionally he would look out the window to see if you were there but you never were.
jack noticed his strange behaviour and asked him about it, but when he received a gruff ‘nothing’ in response to his asking what’s wrong, he decided to drop it. he knew better than to press robby, figured he was probably just tired from his shift.
the game finally did come to an end and the way robby jumped up off the couch and seemed to usher jack out the door shocked him a little, but again he didn’t press. jack gave robby a firm pat on the shoulder and a quick “if you need anything, anything at all…i’m here for you, man.” to which robby thanked him quickly and all but pushed him out the door.
robby looked at his watch, 11pm, shit. he wondered whether you’d still be awake or not, he thought about leaving it for another day but ultimately his feet carried him to your door.
you answered the door on the first quiet knock, so fast robby wondered if you’d been waiting for him there the whole time but he didn’t have time to think as you grabbed him by the wrist and hurriedly pulled him inside.
“hey, i’m sorry that i took-” robby starts but is interrupted by one of your fingers being pressed against his lips.
“shhh. have to keep it down, my parents are asleep.” robby’s eyes widen at that admission, uh oh.
“your who!?” robby asks rhetorically in a shocked whisper. he figured you lived alone, didn’t think you still lived with your parents…now that he’s really thinking about it, he didn’t even know your age. shit.
“my parents.” you repeat, like his question was stupid. you’re dragging him up the stairs at this point, firm grip on his wrist as you lead him to your bedroom.
“yes but–” he’s stopped again by you aggressively shushing him, pointing to a closed bedroom door that he figures must be your parent’s.
you open your own bedroom door and pull him inside, swiftly closing it behind you before letting out a sigh and flopping down onto your bed. “okay, we should be good now.”
“i’m sorry, i hate to ask but, um–how old are you, sweetheart?” robby rubs the back of his neck awkwardly and watches as you let out a little laugh. though he doesn’t find this funny.
“old enough.” you wink and robby gives you a stern look.
“seriously, i’m old enough…god, want to check my id?” you roll your eyes, you were joking about the id of course but robby nods.
“seriously!?”
he nods again so with a huff you grab your purse from your bag and fish out your license, turning it towards him. “see, i told you. old enough.”
robby let’s out a sigh of relief and let’s himself relax, sitting down beside you on the edge of your bed. he didn’t really know what to do with himself, he was so busy waiting for the game to finish that he didn’t even think this far ahead. so he just kind of sat there awkwardly waiting for you to do or say something, anything.
“so…how old are you?” you ask, smirk tugging at your lips. you knew he was older, much older and you didn’t really care how old he was but seeing as he pressed you about it, you figured you’d give him the same treatment.
robby let’s out a somewhat nervous chuckle, “old enough.”
“funny guy.” you laugh before dropping your amused tone. “but seriously. i told you now you tell me.”
“50….ish…” robby looks down at the floor awkwardly, worried that you’d turn him away in disgust but you don’t. your face lights up actually.
you take one of his hands in yours, squeezing it slightly. “oh, old enough then” you giggle and he turns to face you with a genuine smile, already so endeared by you.
“so…wanna pick up where we left off?” you bite your lip, eyeing robby up and down, he nods slowly. “uh, sure. if you, if that’s what you want.”
you giggle again, amused by his nervousness. “i do want, very much so.”
robby swallows thickly as you stand up and position yourself in front of him, he spreads his legs slightly and you step into the space.
“so, where were we?” you pretend to think for a second, tapping your chin with your finger. “oh yeah!” you slowly pull your t-shirt up, exposing your bare breasts to the older man. robby’s breathing catches in his throat as his gaze meets them.
“shit.” he whispers under his breath, you giggle softly again. “like what you see?” you ask, your voice dripping in honey. robby nods, “y-yes.”
“you can touch, you know?” robby looks up at you, his eyes all big and dark and hopeful. “yeah?”
you nod, “of course, that’s kind of the whole point.”
robby takes a beat and deep breath before reaching both hands up, slowly moving to cup the underside of your breasts as if he’s scared that you’ll run away if he moves to fast. you won’t.
he lets out a shaky breath as he softly squeezes them in his hands. he seems so nervous, so sweet. your heart lurches in your chest at his demeanour, you don’t know what you expected him to be like but it wasn’t this shy, nervous little guy.
feeling a little braver, he swipes his thumbs over your hard nipples, you fall forwards slightly and a soft moan escapes your lips.
“that feel good, sweetheart?” he asks, looking up at you again, smile on his lips and cheeks flushing a slight pink.
you nod, “mhm. s’good, daddy.” you didn’t mean to say it, it just came out and you immediately felt embarrassed by it. robby’s eyes widen and his eyebrows shoot up, “daddy?”
now it’s your turn to go shy, “m’sorry, didn’t mean to say that, it won’t happen–”
“no. no. don’t apologise. s’okay, sweetheart. i can be your daddy if that’s what you want?” he’d be lying if he said that hearing the word daddy fall from your sweet lips didn’t set something off in him, in an instant his nervousness washed away and he understood his assignment.
you nod again, more enthusiastically this time. “please.”
robby hums, sliding his hands down your sides to rest on your waist, long fingers digging in your plush skin, not enough to hurt but enough to feel. “want to show daddy that pretty little pussy of yours finally?”
you take in a deep breath and move to sit on the bed, crawling to the middle. robby shifts to watch you, his legs still spread and his hand playing with his strained cock over his pants.
your fingers toy with your shorts, taking a moment before hooking them under the waistband and pulling just slightly, just enough to expose the bare skin beneath.
“no panties, huh?” robby breathes, squeezing the throbbing outline of his cock as he watches intently, waiting for you to pull your shorts down the rest of the way.
you shake your head and bite your lip, “no panties.” you confirm with a slight mischievous lilt in your tone. slowly, you pull them down the rest of the way, kicking them off your feet and discarding them at the end of the bed. you keep your legs closed, for now.
robby kicks off his shoes and moves so he’s sat fully on the bed now, leaning down on his elbows so he’s eye level with your closed legs. “please open your legs f’me, sweetheart. daddy wants to see so bad.” his tone is whinier, more pathetic than he had intended it to be but you don’t seem to mind as you slowly start spreading your legs for him.
again, his breathing seems to catch in his throat and he lets out a soft, small gasp as he’s finally met with the sight of your sweet cunt. he reaches a hand out, almost touching but not yet. “can i?” he asks, looking up at you waiting for approval, and when you nod he runs two fingers up through your folds, spreading them to get a better look at how they’re already glistening with arousal.
“so pretty, sweetheart. so so pretty. bet you taste so sweet too, please can i taste her?” how could you say no when he’s pleading with those big brown eyes of his? “y-yeah, please daddy.” you’re already bringing your hips up to meet his face before you’ve finished your sentence, feeling his hot breath against your sensitive skin making you so desperate.
robby let’s out a satisfied hum before bringing his face down to press a kiss against your pussy, feeling the soft, plush skin beneath his lips. he allows another hum afterwards, his eyes closing as he gets the smallest hint of your taste on his lips. after one last kiss he dives in, spreading your folds with his tongue, exploring every single inch of your cunt with his mouth.
your hands fly up to grip his hair, being careful not to pull too hard but just enough to ground you as your hips buck up involuntarily into his face. “fuck!– feels s’good, daddy. shit!” you moan, back arching off the bed, burying your face into the sheets to try and hide your scrunched up expression from the older man.
that’s not good enough for robby. he slides a hand up your body and grips your cheeks, forcing your face forwards. “uh uh. don’t hide from me, sweetheart. wanna see that pretty face when i make you cum, got it?” his tone has a slight hint of condescension that has your thighs squeezing against the sides of his head.
you nod, “yes, sorry daddy.” your eyes fluttering closed as his tongue darts across your clit in quick succession that feels like tiny shocks up your spine. “good girl.” he hums against your pussy, lips wrapping around your clit to suck, not gently, he’s on a mission now, he absolutely needs to make you cum on his face.
it’s not long before you’re right there. your fingers tighten in his hair, your hips buck wildly now, thighs squeezing his head like a vice as you wail. “oh my god, yes! just like that! just like that! fuck, fuck, fuck. gonna cum, you’re gonna make me– oh shit!” the pace of robby’s tongue lapping against your clit doesn’t let up even for a second as that knot in your stomach explodes.
heat blooms across your skin and up your spine, your toes curl against the sheets and you have to cover your own mouth to muffle the scream that’s ripped from your throat. robby’s lost in the feeling of you coming undone on his face. he’s mindlessly babbling about what a good girl you are, how pretty, how good you taste, literally anything that comes to his blissed out head.
your body goes limp and your thighs finally let him go, falling to the bed beneath you. your chest swells and your breasts heave as you try to catch your breath back. your eyes are still closed tight so you don’t notice robby getting up to strip himself, nor do you notice the dip in the bed as he positions himself on top of your body.
“ready, sweet girl?” he presses a kiss to your sweat slick forehead and that’s when you open your eyes, greeted by the sight of him gazing at you adoringly.
“y-yeah, please. want your cock so bad, daddy.” you mewl, letting your hips rise up to meet his own, feeling the way his dick twitches against your skin when you call him that name.
“don’t worry, m’ not gonna make you beg for it, sweetheart. know you’re gonna take my cock so well, gonna be a good girl for me, hm?” he peppers kisses all over your face as he lines himself up at your entrance, you can feel the blunt head of his cock against you, notching in slightly and he feels big.
“mhm, so good!” you nuzzle your face against his, feeling the scratch of his beard against your flushed cheeks. “good, ready?” he holds the side of your face in one hand, his other holding his cock waiting for your final nod of approval to push in and when you give it he wastes no time in sinking into your wet heat with a deep guttural groan.
“shit! you’re so tight, baby.” he drops his forehead against yours and squeezes his eyes shut as he pushes his hips forward into yours. your eyes slam shut too, overwhelmed by the feeling of his thick cock filling you up so much, feels like he’s splitting you open.
it takes a minute for your body to relax, allowing him to sink in the rest of the way. when he’s fully buried inside of your tight hole he waits a beat before moving, giving you a few seconds to adjust to his size. “ready?” he asks, pressing a couple more kisses to your face, down your jaw to your neck where he buries his face.
“please, daddy. please.” your tone is whiny and desperate, robby’s cock throbs inside of you at the sound and so he starts moving. it’s slow at first, just a gentle roll of his hips to get you used to the feeling but as your moaning picks up, so does his pace until all that can be heard is the sound of his hips snapping against yours and your joint moaning, his muffled by your shoulder.
“oh fuck! you feel so fucking good, sweetheart. gonna make me cum too quick if you keep squeezing my cock like that.” robby adjusts his position so he’s sat up on his knees, both hands gripping your hips so he can control your movements a little better, bringing them up to meet his thrusts.
“s-sorry, daddy. shit!– i can’t, can’t help it-t!” you’re gripping his forearms for dear life now as if you’ll take off if you don’t, like he’s the only thing keeping you here.
“s’okay, baby. don’t know any better do you? just a sweet little thing, can’t help being so fucked out on my cock can you?” robby smirks, digging his fingers into your skin a little harder, his pace becoming sloppier the more your cunt squeezes around him. you can’t even find words in your fuzzy brain anymore so you just shake your head lazily in response as little whines and moans escape your swollen, wet lips.
“think you can be good and give me one last orgasm, hmm? wanna feel you cum on my cock, pretty girl. can you do that for me? want to cum again for daddy?” you’re already sliding your hand down your stomach before he’s finished asking, fingers meeting your pulsing clit, still buzzing from your last orgasm.
“that’s it, good girl. mm, look so pretty touching yourself for me. there y’ go, yeah, just like that, sweetheart.” the sight of you touching yourself while robby fucks you has him barrelling closer and closer to his own orgasm, he holds it back though, wants to wait for you to get there first. the gentleman that he is.
“oh fuck– daddy, i’m–i’m–” you pick up speed with your hand between your legs, robby matches it with his hips. “gonna cum for me again? of course you are, you love this don’t you? love being a good girl for the old man next door, hm? christ, never even spoke to me before today and now look at you, cumming all over my cock like you were made for it.”
robby’s obscene words are what set you off, have you diving head first off the cliff into your second and hopefully final orgasm of the night. again, you have to cover your mouth with your free hand, afraid that this time you’ll wake up your parents. your cunt clamps down and spasms around robby’s cock, your legs wrap around him, heels digging into the small of his back to keep him in place. that alone sends robby right over the edge with you.
“shit, gonna cum–fuck–should i p-pull–” robby’s eyes grow wide as he realises he never even asked you about protection, got too lost in all of to even think about asking. “no, please. want to feel it inside of me. please, daddy!” not even a moment of hesitation passes through robby, and how could it? how could he say no when you’re begging him so pretty like that?
and so he doesn’t stop. his thrusting picks up, as much as it can with your legs wrapped around him and his fingers dig into your hips hard as he finally lets himself go. “oh fuck! feel so fucking good, baby. gonna fill up this pretty pussy so fucking deep. have you leaking my cum for days. shit! shit!” and true to his word he does fill you up, deep. so deep you can feel the warmth of his release inside of you, feel it reaching parts of you that you didn’t know existed, the feeling alone making you want to cum again.
but you don’t, robby collapses on top of you with a heavy thud, the weight of him caging you in on the bed. his soft, sweaty tummy heaving against your own as he comes down from his high. he doesn’t pull out, not yet, can’t even think about moving he’s so spent. so you both just lie there for a couple of minutes, waiting for the moment to pass.
eventually, it does. you don’t say much after the fact, there really isn’t that much to say so you both redress yourselves. the silence isn’t awkward, it isn’t weird, it just is. once dressed you lead robby out of your room and back downstairs to the front door.
“so…will i see you again?” robby asks once you’re out on the porch, the cool night air feeling nice against your still flushed skin.
“well, seeing as we’re neighbours i’m gonna say probably.” you giggle, you knew what he meant but you couldn’t resist being a little cheeky.
“you know what i-” robby starts but you cut him off with a quick kiss against his moving lips. “yes, you’ll see me again…” this is when you realise you don’t even know his name, never even thought to ask.
“robby.” he prompts, you give him your own name in return. “you can just call me daddy though, if you want.” he winks and you playfully hit his arm.
you say your goodnights and after one final kiss you’re going back inside. robby sighs once he gets back to his own house, feeling so completely exhausted all he wants is to collapse in his bed and finally get some sleep.
he washes himself up in the bathroom, having a quick shower and brushing his teeth before making his way to his bedroom with a towel wrapped loosely around his waist.
“what the fuck!?” robby screams as he enters his bedroom, grabbing the towel to stop it from falling down. when he entered his bedroom he expected it to be empty, didn’t expect his best friend to be waiting in the corner of the pitch black room when he turned the lights on.
“hello, brother.” jack smirks from where he’s sat in the chair robby likes to read in. robby’s heart feels as though it’s about to burst out of his chest and he has to sit down on the edge of the bed as to not pass out from the fright.
“what the hell are you doing here? it’s…” robby looks over at the alarm clock on his bed. “…2 in the fucking morning.”
“came to check on you, you were being weird earlier but when i came back the house was empty.” jack explains, well half explains, not really.
“why are you still here then? why didn’t you go home when you realised i wasn’t here?” robby has his head in his hands, all he wants is to go to bed, not to deal with whatever this is.
“how could i when you were putting on such a good show in the window here, brother? nice job by the way, she’s very cute, how old is she?” jack motions towards the window he’s sat by with the curtains still open, which looks directly into your own bedroom. thankfully, your curtains are closed now.
“what. the. fuck.” robby mutters under his breath, dragging his hands down his face in a mix of defeat and annoyance. “you watched? how much?”
jack smirks, “enough..”
“all of it then?”
jack nods, “yep. the whole thing. just wanted to make sure you were safe, brother. you know me, always so worried about you.” he laughs.
“you’re a real freak, abbot. a real freak.” all robby can do is laugh now, out of exhaustion or exasperation? he doesn’t know.
“yeah, i know. soo…you gonna introduce me to her or-”
“absolutely fucking not.”
ahhh hope u enjoyed!! finally got around to doing a longer one! also trying out a new layout.
want to be added to my robby taglist .ᐣ reply to this post ᝰ.ᐟ
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★ summary: jack assures you real men don’t get intimidated by sex toys, infact they can be a man’s best friend
★ pairing: jack abbot x reader
★ warnings: 18+ mdni, porn without plot, usage of sex toys, unprotected sex, cream pie, overstimulation, squirting
★ word count: 1.5k
★ notes: a short one to keep the masses happy while i suffer horrors🕯️📚
“Babe,” You yelled, fumbling to put your earrings in while rushing through the hallway, “Can you grab my badge? We’re stopping by the hospital, and the last thing I need is Gloria starting her shit if we enter through the bay.”
Jack hollers back a short yes, and you hear the multiple drawers opening and closing. You almost roll your eyes at him, knowing it’s in your dresser drawer, but he was undoubtedly looking everywhere but.
It’s silent for a minute, too silent as you slip your shoes on. The soft click of your heels is the only noise in your house as you investigate what exactly is taking your boyfriend so long.
“Jack-”
You’re stopped in your tracks as you walk into your shared room. Jack is sitting on your side of the bed, your brand-new pink vibrator resting heavily in his hands. His eyes were investigating it as if it were a foreign object. His thumb pressed the on button, making the toy come to life violently in his hands, completely oblivious to you in the doorway.
“What are you doing?” You squealed, running towards him, ready to snatch it out of his hands. Before you even get close, he holds it above his head almost mockingly.
There’s a shit-eating grin on his face as he waves the toy around. “What is this?”
“It’s,” You start, your mouth going dry, “It’s nothing, give it back.”
He doesn’t seem at all bothered by your flustered cheeks. “Definitely not nothing. When did you get this?”
“Last week.” You grumbled, arms crossing over your chest, “When Santos and I went out.”
He makes a noise and opens his mouth to speak before you start stumbling over your words.
“It’s just for nights you work late.” You defend yourself, “I’ve only used it a couple times; it’s embarrassing, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you-”
The toy clicks off, and Jack’s demeanor shifts. “Baby, you don’t think I’m insecure over this $50 piece of plastic, do you?”
Your shoulders fall a little in relief. “I don’t know.” You mumble shyly, “My ex hated the idea of sex toys, said they meant he wasn’t good enough.”
“Honey,” he scoffs, tossing the toy into the sheets and taking a step towards you. “Real men don't give a shit about this.”
“I know, I know.” You breathed out.
“I was only teasing; I never, ever want you to be embarrassed about you seeking out your own pleasure.” He added on.
“It’s not like our sex is bad,” You assured him, and watched that smirk grow back on his lips.
“Yeah, I know that-” He’s cut off with a playful shove to his chest, his arms wrapping around your hips.
“Hey,” He whispers, pressing a gentle kiss to your painted lips, “I know you have a higher sex drive than me; it’s all part of dating an old man.”
“Yeah, but you’re my old man.”
“Just tell me next time, honey.” He smiled, thumbs rubbing circles into the satin fabric clinging to your curves. “Hell, I’ll give you my card; you buy whatever you want. Whatever makes my girl feel good.”
“I love you.” You whispered against his lips, kissing him a little harder before you pulled back. “But we’re gonna be late. So put that back.”
“Oh, come on.” He tried to pull you back against him. “It’s a stupid fundraiser; we can be a little late.”
“Yeah?” You mocked, “You said that last time, and I ended up having to redo my makeup, and Robby never lets us live it down.”
He pouted, “Fine, fine.”
Jack puts the toy back in its home inside the silk dustbag, and it’s mostly forgotten about. Life goes on as usual. The whole incident is swallowed by the mundane rhythm of the week, lost beneath early mornings, long shifts, takeout dinners, and laundry that sits in the basket a day longer than it should. Work has always had a way of consuming both of you until the days blur together.
It isn’t until late one night, the house quiet aside from the fan Jack couldn’t sleep without. The two of you were pressed against each other. Clothes long since discarded, his lips still wet from where he made you cum twice with his mouth alone. Sweat lined your skin as you wrapped your legs around his hips, urging him to press himself deep into you.
“Don’t think I’m gonna last long, sweetheart,” Jack murmured shyly, making you shrug. You knew of Jack’s capabilities; some days were better than others. None of that mattered to you, not while your body was still loopy in his hold from all the orgasms he’d already pulled from you.
“Don’t care.” You whimpered, trying to pull him to your entrance. “Just wanna feel you inside of me.”
Who was Jack to deny you that pleasure?
He adjusted his hips, pressing his tip against your entrance, letting his cock slip deep inside of you. Both of you shuddered in pleasure, hands gripping each other as a lifeline as you threw your head back. His thrusts were slow and hard, his tip hitting the spot inside of you that made you see stars.
You were lost in the haze of pleasure until his thrusts began to slow, and you felt his body lean over the side of the bed.
“Jack?” You mumbled, eyes fluttering open to see him rummaging around your nightstand until he came back up with the infamous pink vibrator in his grasp.
“Jack-”
“Shhh,” He whispered, leaning back a little to give himself space to press the cold plastic against your clit. “Wanna make you cum around me.”
“Oh, my god.” You mumbled, watching him circle the head around your clit before the button was switched on.
The sensation had your hips flying off the bed, your nails digging into his shoulder blades. Between the vibrations on your clit and the steady rock of his hips nudging that spot inside of you, you could barely keep your eyes open.
“H-holy fuck, Jack.” You cried out, as his eyes watched you mewl in pleasure beneath him. You were so full, and the stimulation was pushing you closer to the edge faster than you ever could on your own.
“I know, honey.” He cooed, his free hand gripping your hips to keep you stuffed full of him. “God, you’re fucking soaked. Jus’ dripping everywhere.”
“D-don’t stop,” You cried, your fingers gripping his shoulders and then the sheets. Fisting them harshly in your hands, anything to ground yourself as the sensation threatened to pull you under. “Oh, J-ack-“
“You gonna cum for me already?” Jack grunted, nearly teetering off of his own edge as you fluttered around him. Suckling him in so deep he could barely keep up his thrusts.
Your head felt heavy, a string of moans of his name leaving your lips as you managed to give him a faint nod.
“Yeah, you are. Can fucking feel it.” The vibrator was turned up one more setting, making goosebumps rise on your skin as the waves crashed over you.
“Let go, baby.” He cooed, “It’s gonna feel so good, just breathe.”
“O-oh, my god.”
He kept talking you through it, your legs trembling around him as your eyes rolled into the back of your head. As soon as your body went limp, Jack could feel it. Your cunt throbbed uncontrollably, a thick spray of release escaping out of your heat as you screamed out.
He didn’t stop, pressing himself deep into you as he chased his own high. The wet sounds of your bodies slapping together made him drop the vibrator on the bed as he came with his own guttural shout, filling you full of him.
”M’god.” You choked out, your body writhing uncontrollably from underneath him. Each slight movement making shots of pleasure shoot through you. “Jack, Jack.”
“I got you,” He cooed, pulling you close to him as you came down from your high. “I know, that was intense, huh?”
“Hmm.” You mumbled, enjoying the sensation of his cock softening inside of you as the two of you caught your breath.
“Oh, baby.” Jack let out a winded laugh, pulling himself out of you slowly. “Fuck, we gotta do that again.”
You could barely speak, letting out a soft giggle and a nod. “S’good.”
Your body was still pliant and boneless as he pulled you into his arms. Your head finding it’s home on his chest as he wrapped his arms around you tightly. “I love you so much, always so good for me.”
“Hmm. Love you more.” You respond, pressing a gentle kiss to his pec.
Before you could lay your head back down, you paused. Once out of your post-orgasmic haze, the soft sound of buzzing came back to both of you. You both looked at each other in realization, letting out soft hysterical giggles as you leaned over the side of the bed to see the vibrator buzzing around frantically on the floor.
“Oh my god-”
“That’s my new friend.” Jack laughed, leaning down to scoop up the toy. “Huh, man’s best friend. Maybe it was never a dog-“
what’s that saying about mixing work and pleasure?
dr jack abbot x female nurse!reader
warnings - smut. cursing. degradation. use of daddy. a small physical altercation with a patient. this actually ends up quite soft which was a happy accident <3
word count - no more than 2k I imagine, will count later
authors note - a part two to stress relief, but can be read as a standalone !! you can’t tell me that filthy old man isn’t nasty in bed. let’s all live out our fantasies together, shall we?
masterlist. inbox.
Jack knew he was in trouble the moment he met you.
Young, pretty, bright eyed and bushy tailed with an enthusiasm for the emergency room that only comes with being shiny and new.
You’re the sun to his moon, the calm before his storm. A perfect balance of two people who shouldn’t work, but do.
You’re also his subordinate.
He’s your attending, the person you look to for decision making and praise and the occasional telling off. He’s supposed to be teaching you, shaping you, moulding you into the kind of nurse that any hospital would be proud to have.
He is doing all of that. He’s also tying you up and calling you a filthy slut on the nights you’re not working.
It’s a work - life balance, he tells you. And himself.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
It’s getting harder and harder to pretend when Jack’s around.
“That’s it,” he’s murmuring next to you as he puts in a chest tube. “Nice and easy.”
His gloved hand brushes yours where you’re holding the gauze in the right place for him.
“Keep applying pressure, you’ll feel it when I get it in. There we go, atta girl. You’ll feel the release.”
You’re hot under your sterile white gown all of a sudden, a bead of sweat dripping down your spine. You focus all of your attention on the patient in front of you, watching Jack finish up with perfect technique and looking at him when he’s done.
“Perfect. Beautiful work as always.”
“Thank you, Dr Abbot. Appreciate it.”
You’re taking off your latex gloves when he brushes past you, subtly whispering in your ear as he goes.
“Good fucking girl.”
It takes you ten minutes to calm your racing heart rate down.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
“Good fucking girl.”
All you can do is whine, knees buckling. You’re gripping the countertop for dear life, fighting to stay upright as Jack slams into you from behind.
“That’s it, baby. Take it like you were made for it.”
He’s got one hand on the back of your neck, keeping you where he wants you, while the other is digging into your hip so hard it’ll leave bruises in the shape of his fingertips tomorrow. You can’t wait to wear them like a prize.
You’d been in Jacks house all of five minutes before he had you bent over in the kitchen, chest pressed into the cold wood and hair wrapped into a makeshift ponytail around his palm. Your leggings and panties are pulled down around your thighs, Jack’s jeans chastely unbuckled and still on his hips. The two of you must look like you’re starring in a scene from some sort of adult film - clothes still on, fucking in the kitchen, the sounds coming out of your mouths bordering on pornographic.
“Oh, Jack.”
He’s angling his hips upwards now, searching for that spot that he knows all too well.
“Is that it, honey? Yeah? Right there?”
“Yeah,” you choke out, more of a gasp than a word. “Don’t stop.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he groans in your ear, folding himself over you. “You were waiting for this all night, weren’t you? Looking at me with those fuck me eyes, like butter wouldn’t melt.”
“I didn’t-”
He spanks you without hesitation, palm connecting with your ass check with a resounding smack.
“Yes you fucking did. Don’t play innocent with me, angel. You know exactly what you’re doing, don’t you?”
When you don’t answer, you get another smack, harder than the last one.
“Don’t you?”
“Yes,” you whine.
“Yes…?”
“Yes, daddy.”
“Oh, atta girl. Perfect, perfect girl.”
You’re coming before your brain can catch up, legs shaking and back arching as your vision goes white.
“Good fucking girl.”
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
Every time you think you’ve calmed down, Jack sends your pulse skyrocketing again.
He’s not even trying to be professional at work anymore.
“Excuse me, Nurse? Can I ask you something?”
You finish hooking up the patients IV and spin to face him, all ears.
“Of course, Mr Gonzales. What can I do for you?”
The curtain to the cubicle is pulled open behind you, the sound of the rail rattling filling the space.
“Are you single?”
You stop what you’re doing, looking at him incredulously.
“I’m sorry?”
“You’re a beautiful girl. Do you have a boyfriend?”
“We have a strict policy against sexual harassment, Mr Gonzales,” a deep, raspy voice says from behind you.
“It ain’t sexual harassment, it’s just me shooting my shot, man. You get it.”
“I’d stop fucking talking if I were you.”
You also have a strict policy against swearing at patients, but you’re not going to mention that in this current moment.
You finally glance over your shoulder to look at Jack, taking him in in all his glory. He’s got his huge arms folded over his broad chest, brows furrowed and face like thunder. He looks so strong, standing behind you like your own personal bodyguard.
You catch the older man’s eyes, getting lost in each other for a second.
“Ohhh,” the patient says suddenly. “I get it now. Damn, good for you man.”
“If you want any care at all today, I suggest you shut your fucking mouth,” you snap, striding out of the room and pulling the curtain closed behind you.
Standing in the hallway, Jacks smirking like the cat that got the cream.
“Great, now you’ve got me cursing at patients.”
“Me?” he asks innocently, leaning against the wall and looking you up and down.
“Yes, you. You’re a bad influence.”
“You love it.”
“You’re unbelievable,” you chide, shaking your head as you walk away.
You do love it. You’d never admit that though.
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
“Keep it quiet, baby. You’re gonna get us caught.”
“You’re a bad influence,” you whine into his mouth, tasting the mint of his mouthwash on your tongue.
“You love it. Don’t pretend you don’t.”
He crooks his fingers just right, your hips bucking up to try and chase his movements. He’s got his hand down your scrub pants in the backseat of his truck, still parked in the parking lot where anyone could see.
“We’re gonna be in so much trouble if we get found out,” you whisper shout, fingers reaching up tangle in his hair. “Fuck, Jack.”
“Don’t worry about that,” he soothes, pressing a kiss into your hair. “Just let me take care of you.”
If someone had told you six months ago that you’d be getting fingered by Dr Abbot in his car during your break on the night shift, you’d have laughed in their face. And yet here you are, in that exact situation for at least the fourth time this month.
“Tell me you want it, baby. Tell me you want daddy to take care of you, right here on the backseat in the parking lot.”
“You love this shit, don’t you?” you ask breathlessly, a laugh sneaking into your voice. “Pervert.”
“I don’t remember you being so defiant last time,” he chides, pressing his thumb down onto your clit and making you jolt. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
Jack leans in so his lips are on your ear, his breath tickling you and making you shiver.
“You love this just as much as I do,” he murmurs. “So don’t paint me out to be a pervert, when you’re just as bad as I am. Just a whore at heart, aren’t you?”
You shake your head and he grips your cheeks between his fingers, thumb digging into your jaw.
“Aren’t you? Say it. Say yes daddy, I’m just a whore at heart.”
“I’m not-”
“Say it or you don’t get to come.”
“No, Jack-”
“Then be a good girl and do as you’re told. I know you can do it, yeah?”
You’re so close to your climax that you can taste it, teetering on the edge as Jack keeps you exactly where he wants you.
“I’m just a whore at heart,” you whine, willing to say anything to get what you want.
“Yes you are,” he patronises, practically grinning. “Whose?”
“Hmm?”
Your head is all fuzzy, ears ringing as you cling to him for dear life.
“Whose whore are you?”
“Yours,” you pout, bottom lip trembling.
“Who’s your daddy?”
“You are, Jack. Fuck.”
He finally takes mercy on you, pressing his thumb down onto your clit and curling his fingers into the perfect spot. You come with a muffled shout, his hand flying up to cover your mouth.
“That’s it, angel,” he’s murmuring in your ear. “There we go, atta girl. Good girl, my good girl.”
You go boneless in Jack’s hold, slumping down into his lap. His arms wrap around you tightly, rocking you gently as you catch your breath. You look around, suddenly remembering where you are and shaking your head.
“You’re a bad influence.”
✵ ✵ · ✵ * · ✵
The patients hand is around your wrist before you can blink.
He’s got a tight grip on you, fingers digging into your skin so hard you can feel the bruises forming already. He yanks so your arm is twisted, the wrong way up and back to front.
“Sir,” you’re reasoning, trying to stay calm. “Mr Miller, please let go.”
You wish your voice wasn’t so meek, the sound barely registering against the volume of the background.
“Just give me the drugs,” he’s screaming at your face. “Give me the drugs and I’ll let go.”
A yelp escapes you as he pulls you down harder, determined to get what he wants by any means. You’re too far away from the panic button on the wall, too far away from any syringe or sedative or solution to your increasingly dangerous problem.
You’re about to start shouting for help when his arm is slammed against the side of the bed, the sound of bone hitting metal crunching in your ears.
“Let go of her, asshole,” someone’s yelling. “I suggest you loosen that grip right fucking now.”
He does, miraculously. All the blood rushes back to your wrist, skin pulsing and sore as you try to catch your breath.
You turn to see who your hero is, even though you know you already know.
Jack’s got both of the guys wrists in one of his hands, holding him in makeshift handcuffs while security come running in.
“Hey, are you okay?” he’s asking as he darts over to you, assessing your wrist gently with his fingertips. “Is it broken?”
“Don’t think so,” you choke out. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine.”
He cradles your face in his big, strong hands, stroking your cheekbones with his thumbs in soothing, repetitive motions.
“Look at me, angel. You’re alright. I’ve got you.”
He’s staring into your eyes like you’re the only person on planet earth, completely focused on you and you alone. You finally take a deep breath, exhaling shakily.
Your eyes glance towards the door, where multiple doctors and nurses are standing and monitoring how the situation unfolds.
“Everybody’s looking,” you whisper.
“Let them watch.”
He’s becoming less and less careful with hiding your relationship at work these days. You’re surprised to find that you don’t actually care in the slightest.
“Sweetheart,” he hums, pulling your attention back to him. “Look at me. Besides your wrist, does anything else hurt?”
You shake your head, eyes glued to his.
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
Behind you, security have cuffed the guy to the bed, while Dana ushers people around to where they need to be.
“My arm, it’s broken!” the patient yells.
“How’d that happen?” the charge nurse is asking, walking over to the two of you.
“He must’ve banged it against the bed rails,” Jack says before you can open your mouth. “Probably hurt it in the tussle.”
“Got it,” she says, entirely unconvinced but completely satisfied to go along with the doctors story.
“Come on baby.”
Jack’s linking his fingers with yours to pull you out of the room, guiding you past all of the people still gaping at the drama of it all.
He sits with you in a quiet room for twenty minutes, conducting a full physical examination despite your protests. He then walks you all the way up to x ray, inspecting the images ten times over before he finally accepts that your wrist isn’t broken.
“I can put it in a cast anyway? Just in case?”
“Jack, I appreciate it, but I think I’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure?”
“Jack.”
You cradle his cheeks with your hands, forcing him to look at you.
“I’m fine, okay? I promise you, I’m alright. I’d tell you if I wasn’t.”
“You should go home.”
“I’d rather be here.”
“You sure you didn’t hit your head?” he chuckles.
“I’m sure,” you laugh. “I just want to be where you are. Even if that is in an overrun manic emergency room.”
“That’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me,” he teases, hands finding your hips and pulling you closer. “I like it when you sweet talk me.”
He leans in to kiss you, right there in the empty cubicle, almost as if he’s forgotten where you are. You kiss him back instinctively, tangling your fingers into the front of his scrubs to keep him from stepping back.
“Someone’s going to walk in,” you warn, pressing your forehead into his. “And then we’re really fucked.”
“Let them watch,” he winks, crashing his lips onto yours without a care in the world.
Neither of you hear Dana open the glass door. She closes it carefully and doesn’t say a word.
